The Crook had been a lover of music since they first formed, often passing their time in the Alter World by creating small melodies and duets with themself.

Once returning to Skire, the small Crook continued to sing their ethereal songs, but now had the tools to write them down. Sometimes it was hard to remember the exact tempo and progression of the many melodies, but inspired by the beauty of Skire the crook found a way to rewrite a number of them until they ran out of books to write in.

“Hm, I’ll have to go pick up some more, before I forget this chorus!” the crook lamented, distressed at the thought of forgetting the beautiful melody they’d been replaying in their head.

As they searched under a stack of books, the crook paused. An odd tablature was tucked away beneath the heavy manuscripts. Picking it up, they did not recognize having bought it. It was completely black, strangely bound in leather with crisp pages of pristinely inked chord lines. They were instantly enamored, and knew that this was the perfect thing to write their beloved solo in.

Picking up their inking pen, the crook envisioned the first few notes; a melancholy sweet draw over the strings of a violin. The instant the first note was written, the crook felt a shock through their arm which sent their heart racing. The pages filled before their glazed eyes, every note, every fingered string loud and clear in their mind.

It was a gift, a sonorous tune that filled the room and universe and reality, a fire in their soul that sprung outwards into its own.