Canis Osvultus, or the bone-faced worg. Often colloquially called a skulldog or a skullwolf, the bone-faced worg is smaller than its worg cousin (Canis Vargr). Hardier in nature than true worgs, with notable regeneration, the bone-faced worg is a often difficult enemy to face. Bone-faced worgs are characterized by dark brown to black fur with little to no fur on their faces–creating a skull like appearance–as well as what many have said to be glowing red eyes.
– Compendium of Monsters, 778
Some may call me an angry man. They’d be right, and they’d get a broken arm for it. It isn’t my fault my father is Curo Llid. The Curo Llid, greatest wall commander in all the Seven Sisters. Ha. People talk about him like he’s some kind of hero, all because twenty years ago, he managed to drive off a dragon. It was only a lindwyrm.
What’s so great about driving off a lesser dragon? Killing it would’ve been better. People who disagree with me can shut their trap, or I’ll shut it for them. Sure, tell me I have anger issues. If you have a problem with that, you know where to find me: Third stool from the wall at the bar of the tavern The Lamia’s Scale, located in a worse part of Celaeno.
Tonight, I’m on my third mug, and the thing I hate most right now is being disturbed, with my father as a close second.
“Dicter! Dicter Llid! Is Dicter Llid in here?” I studiously ignore the man, but my fist tightens around my drink. Whoever it is stomps into the room and asks a regular the same question, then continues his floor-bruising march in my direction. A hand slams down on my shoulder.
“Are you Dicter Llid?”
“Tsk. Can you be any louder?” I can feel the man scowl as I stare into the amber liquid of my drink.
“Are you Dicter Llid?” He repeats.
“What’s it to you?”
“Your father is Curo Llid?” I nearly punch him then and there. This man. My taboos. He did both. He interrupted my drinking, and then, he had the gall to mention my father to my face.