[ WP ] Tell the origin story of the most awesome or most interesting character you can imagine .

Many years ago, in a tiny town named *Sumpfland*, there lived thirty-six citizens who had settled there from the East. Four times a year the Great Rains would sweep through the plains and rush down upon the small town with an upheaval that made one suspect the gods themselves were standing in the storm, slapping and stomping the houses of the townsfolk. Previous settlers had not prepared themselves and had been swept away in the sudden sliding mass of mud and rocks and trees. 
 
 The citizens of *Sumpfland* knew of the rains and built their homes one next to the other until it formed a perfect circle, and the circle strengthened their foundations, and they dug deep into the earth so it might be stable. There was one man who did not. 
 
 The thirty-sixth citizen of *Sumpfland, * an old, wrinkled man who was bent almost in half in his stature, and every word that left his lips was only ever the truth. The townsfolk were angry, for when the old man went about town talking he would speak the deepest, darkest truths and secrets that each of them hid inside themselves. 
 
 The old man decided to leave town, and he set off to build a home under the large hill that sat just beyond the town. The townsfolk *harrumphed* to themselves and turned their noses to the sky, for they thought that the old man was foolish and would be swept away in the Great Rains, but their hatred for him was too strong to stop him, so they let him. 
 
 The old man built his home and sat inside. The townsfolk shut their doors and closed the shutters and they waited. The Great Rains came and went, washing away a layer of the earth and laying a new one behind. The townsfolk went to the old man's home and found it still standing. And so it was for four and a half years, until one day the old man became tiresome and lonely. 
 
 The old man shuffled into town, still bent low and leaning on his wooden cane. The townsfolk, who had nearly forgotten of the old man, reared themselves up, saying `` What have we here?'' and `` The old man is still alive?''. 
 
 And the old man shuffled around town, mumbling the truth to himself, unveiling the darkest secrets of the townsfolk, and the townsfolk scoffed and posh'd and lied to one another, saying `` the old man is senile, and does not know what he speaks.'' And the old man, feeling once again unwelcome, shuffled out of town and back to his home, where he planned to stay until the end of his time. 
 
 And that year when the Great Rains came, the townsfolk slipped out of their homes with shovels and picks, and they crept behind the hill in which the old man lived under and climbed it. They climbed through the roaring wind and rushing water until they reached the top, and there they looked down the other side of the big hill and saw the home of the old man just underneath them. 
 
 They kicked at the earth and they dug their shovels into it, and they used their picks to chip away at the boulders until they could shove them. With a great groan, half of the hill suddenly came loose and slid down upon the old man's home, covering it completely. And the townsfolk went down and shoveled more dirt and mud onto it, and threw big boulders upon the mud. 
 
 They walked wearily back home and slipped into their beds where they waited for the sun to shine once more. 
 
 The Great Rains had gone, and so the townsfolk left their homes and once more made the trek to the old man's home. It was covered in dirt, and not a single set of eyes could detect movement from within that dirt. Long they waited there, assigning shifts and watchmen over the pile of dirt until they were sure that the old man was dead. 
 
 And they returned to the town where they continued to live in happiness, until the Great Rains came. 
 
 They shut their doors and closed the shutters and the Great Rains wept furiously upon the city and the wind wailed and howled through the homes of the townsfolk. 
 
 The sun returned and the townsfolk met at the center of town, but one was missing. And so with worried glances and furrowed brows they went to the home of the missing citizen and banged on his door and tapped at his windows, but there was no answer. They kicked the door in and searched the house, where they found the citizen laying in his bed, arms at his side and legs straight and touching, as if laid in a coffin, and a pile of dirt covering his head so that you could see nothing above his shoulders except the dirt. 
 
 And after every time the Great Rains came and wept over the home of the old man, and after the wind had wailed its lament, the townsfolk would meet at the center of town one citizen less. And the citizen would be found in his home, with the shutters drawn shut, the door closed, and the chimney sweep sealed tight, and a pile of dirt covering the neck and head of the dead citizen. 
 
 This continued until there was but one citizen left, and he stood on his porch peering at the approaching storm, fear and anxiety balling up into the pit of his stomach, for he knew he had been the one who had convinced the others to kill the old man, and he feared the coming storm, for he too would be killed. 
 
 The last citizen of *Sumpfland* retired inside his home, drew the shutters closed, shut his door, and sealed his chimney sweep. He sat inside his home, unable to sleep as the Great Rains once again came upon the town. For hours upon hours the trembling citizen sat in the corner of his bedroom, watching the door with nervous anticipation, his mouth dry and his heart beating faster and faster, until he could not hold back the weariness any longer and slowly nodded his head and blinked his eyelids until at last slumber came for him. 
 
 He awoke with a start. The sound of the Great Rains had gone, and he listened carefully; he could hear nothing, nothing at all. He jumped to his feet and explored every inch of his home until he was certain the old man was not hiding in some closet or nook or cranny. He sang jovially to himself and went to the kitchen where he prepared toast and jelly, and scrambled eggs and even went so far as to make flapjacks and ate them cheerfully. He gulped down milk and sighed. He would leave this cursed town, then, and find somewhere else. Or perhaps not - he had n't been killed like any of the others, and he did n't quite mind being alone, in fact he rather enjoyed it. 
 
 The last citizen of *Sumpfland* sat happily at his kitchen table and plucked at his teeth with a straw of hay as he pondered the great many things he could accomplish alone in the town. He'd never quite liked the others, anyhow! He giggled like a schoolgirl and headed for the door, fully intending to raid the other homes and collect any treasure he could find. He turned all of the locks and pulled the chains away from his door and with a smile he flung the door open. 
 
 There was dirt. A wall of dirt. The last citizen frowned and went quickly to his shutters, where he reached out to push them open but found that they were stuck on something. He pulled at the shutters frantically, tearing them apart until he could see out the window - dirt, and nothing more. Frantically and whimpering as the realization of his fate was slowly setting upon the man, he went to each window and tore at the shutters until he could be certain that yes, *yes, * every window was blocked by dirt, even the chimney sweep! 
 
 The last citizen of Sumpfland sat down on his bed and stared at the window in his bedroom. The dirt sat still, as if it had sat that way for thousands of years, and the man, sitting alone in his bedroom, surrounded by dirt and silence, laid his head against his pillow and closed his eyes.
