| When you were growing up in the little town of Mudhole, you always wanted to be a mighty Ranger. You ended up being a Fighter instead, because you didn't have the right prime requisites. In the fiefdom of Glameroth, in the unpleasant-smelling backwater of Pittsburgh, you found an inn with cheap barley wine and spent the night carousing. There, you heard a tale of the forgotten treasure of the Silver Plains, lost for ages during the time of the great winnowing. You decided to seek the treasure yourself, heedless of the literal mountain of skeletons of those who had tried before you. You were doing really well but then you wandered into a room totally full of hobos, plus a flesh golem, which is weird because you would have figured they'd have killed each other. They made a pretty good attempt at killing you, though. However, you managed to overcome the odds (and your injuries), and after a lengthy crawl through a necropolis infested with indigent native tribesmen, you finally came upon the lair of the Evil King Demonhammer, who was guarding the object of your quest. The evil fiend fell before your pike, and the land was finally free of his foul shenanigans. You made your way back to civilization, and basked in the glory of your success (and the reward money).
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