| An ancient prophecy foretold of a child born in the city of Farc'b'n with a piccolo-shaped birthmark, who would grow up to be the greatest Wizard ever known. You have a birthmark like that, but at first you were only a sort of okay Wizard. Everyone has to start somewhere, I guess. Having heard many rumors about how Phleberron was being systematically sacked by a band of marauding gypsies (who had already looted and burned the villages of Morpork, Ironforge, and Dogspittle), and the ludicrous reward being offered for the arm of their leader, you decided it was finally time to put your mettle to the test. At first it was a real breeze, until you had to actually go in the dungeon. That was when you fell in a spiked pit, got attacked by lizardmen, and got your bung bitten off by a githyanki. Bruised but unbroken, you readied your 10' pole and marched forth into the darkness, where you were immediately captured by the Vampire Wizard Goldthwait's army of red-headed kobolds. They hauled you before their master, but got bored and wandered off during his long gloating speech. Seeing your chance, you pushed the evil douchewad into his own beartrap, and escaped to claim your reward from the grateful people of Cavill.
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