The Life, Near Death, and Retirement of Sock the Bootless

Sock, no relation to Jock, was returning home over Bittermoon pass having conducted some less than savoury business in the western reaches when he became embroiled in a mystery involving wolves, werewolves, people who were wolves, and a skeleton with the most luscious hair you've ever seen in a dungeon.

Finding all of that rather a bit much, and hearing that the Innkeeper was soon to abandon his post, Sock jumped at the opportunity to "inherit" in the Inn through the perfectly legal means of changing the name on the deed.

Having spent the night skulking around in some tunnels and watching a Monk fall repeatedly into what felt like every single trap down there, he decided that it might be best if everyone just had a sit down and waited for night to pass. Strangely enough this did indeed appear to be the solution to everyone's problems, and in the morning they all went their separate ways. Apart from Sock, who donned the Innkeeper apron with great gusto and began worrying about things like chefs and taxes rather than theft and axes for the first time in his life.

Some say if you visit the Bittermoon Inn on a full moon you can still hear him walking the halls, grumbling about debt collectors, and wondering just exactly which of his erstwhile compatriots stole all the fucking silverware.