Crimwinkle was in the mountains near Stoney Deep. He had some quiet hours to himself, and during that time he would walk along the crags outside of the populated mountain keep. He somehow hoped to find his riding dog wandering this region, even though he knew that was impossible. Visions of gallantly riding on the dog into battle, into a concert, into a fancy dinner, anything really, all passed his mind. He had all the devoted fans he could want, but not a single steady companion, like a nice riding dog.
In his wanderings he heard a great clash between some creatures. He slinked around the corner to witness a Worg being attacked by several goblins. At first he watched, making sure that the worg would not be an enemy, before he sprung out and started playing his lute. The beast had stark black fur, and a slavering mouth beset with cruelly sharp fangs. His eyes however, were soft blue, quite rare to Crimwinkle's reckoning.
Stunned the three goblins dropped what they were doing, apparently trying to break the worg so it would serve them. They rushed at Crimwinkle. With a flick of his wrist upon the strings of his lute and few words one goblin stopped mid charge and then attacked his goblin comrade. The third one was inches away from hitting Crimwinkle with s short sword. He head was savagely torn off by the beast, which then uttered in a bestial version of common, “thank you.” The worg then made short work of the charmed goblin. However when he was distracted the last goblin dealt a savage blow to the hinds of the worg. He yelped in pain, and then in rage ripped apart the last goblin as easily as paper.
The worg then lay down, wimpering. “I shall die here, after so much, I nearly escaped the curse of my pack.”
Crimwinkle always the one to interject and be curios offered, “Run from what, kind beast?”
“My pack, my kind, all are twisted and malevolent beasts. I was not interested, and wanted to see the world, free of my stigma, free of my pack.”
Crimwinkle thought about worgs for a second, they were indeed twisted beings of evil. However Crimwinkle is also an amazing judge of character, and there was an unmistakable twang of truth to the gruntings of the nearly dead beast. He strode over and laid his hands upon the worg, and healed him.
“You want to see the world? I am Crimwinkle, a traveling bard, the best in the land. Lend your aid to me, and we'll make a great team.”
The worg looked on quizzically. He was taught that all the fair-skins were evil, but then again he was rebeling against what he was taught. If there was one thing he kept, it was a sense of honor. He got up and knelt on his front limbs. “My name is Flidder, because my old pack said my tail always fliddered. My tail wagged then for the hope of a day like this. I would be honored Master Crimwinkle. Would you like to ride me, I am probably more swift than your legs?”
Crimwinkled smiled, “This will be the beginning of a great friendship.”
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