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I was born the bastard son of Black Mage and Kary of 8-bit theater. After years of serving my father and learning from him the ways of Black Magic, I tested my skills through a fight to the death with my own father. After I won this battle, I roamed the world searching for my father's arch-nemesis, and my own, Fighter McWarrior. I finally found him at the crater of an exploding volcano, which he was dancing around in order to prove to Thief that he wasn't insane. Unlike my father, I am not cruel, psychotic, or inaccurate, and so shot down the great Fighter with a single well-placed FIR3 to the back. A painless death, far more than he deserved.

I roamed the world for many years searching for a purpose, when I was ambushed by White Mage, who had become a petty highwayman after one of my father's failed attempts to enslave her and turn her into a "toy" had shattered her conscience and morals. I felt sorrow when I killed her. I really did.

I wandered to Corneria, where the good King Steve welcomed me with open arms. Pretty quickly, they were charred, blackened, and scarred arms, for, as my father's son, I had inherited his hatred for King Steve as well. I lived there for about a week, before meeting the Wizard Chief of Corneria Castle at a social event. Sarda, the almighty wizard with a grudge. Our duel lasted for almost a week, before Sarda finally blasted me into the Realm of Fantasy, a mythical place where ponies and unicorns frolic, and gnomes and leprechauns danced and sang all day. Needless to say, when I showed up, that changed. I quickly became the Lord of Fantasy of that broken world. But now I'm here...