The Friendly Arm Inn finally loomed before Malark and Imoen. Loomed ominously, almost. The huge, dark building with few lights eeking out of the top floor was a haunting sight as the moon could barely burst through the clouds. All was still, and all one could hear was the quiet croaking of cicadas. After finding another magic ring under a rock, and a more serious befuddlement as to who on Toril would leave all this stuff just lying around; the two of them entered the drawbridge.
Malark couldn't help but almost burst into laughter, and his first smile out of genuine joy in a couple of days broke through his face. Look at us, he mused, both of us in armour, bag full of loot, weapons at the ready, potions easily accessed - we actually look like adventurers! His heart was lightened by relief. Khalid and Jaheira are here, that ogre was manageable, and we might actually be able to slink into Baldur's Gate in safety. We might actually survive. Guess Imoen was right about Tymora. His rather unnatural fit of optimism was quickly broken by the scream of a woman in the house they were walking past.
"Oh damn them all to the hells!" was followed by the sound of a dull thunk.
After walking in the door, the woman who shrieked into the night explained that she was robbed by a band of hobgoblins, and wanted her ring back. In far less of a rush, Malark shrugged and agreed to get it back.
"What's the reward?" he asked.
The woman looked at him in shock. "I just got robbed, remember? You'd have to do this out of the kindness of your heart."
"Oh. Right. Yeah, sure, still sounds fine."
As they left the building, Imoen got into his ear.
"You totally weren't listening, were you?"
Malark's face crept into a sheepish grin. He was most definitely not listening. In fact, he was even tuning out Imoen as she talked about something, because something else had his attention. A robed man walked down the steps of the inn to greet them. His hand falling to the morning star on his belt, he faced the man.
"Hello, fellow travellers. What brings you to the Friendly Arm Inn?" inquired the man.
"Just need a place to rest. Long day. If you'll excuse me?" Malark tried to walk past when a hand placed on his chest pushed him back.
"Now, now, don't go anywhere hastily. Any chance it was Candlekeep you left this morning?"
"Wow! How did you know?" chimed in Imoen. In that exact second, Malark could have strangled her. I can't believe you right now! Something isn't right about this! Oh, we are so fucked.
"Hold still, Malark, I take it?" said the man, "I have something for you."
"IMOEN! SHOOT HIM!" barked Malark, as he quickly quaffed a potion of speed. The robed man confirmed Malark's suspicions by firing off a spell to grant himself duplicates. He tried to get off another spell, but the speed of Malark and his morning star managed to break his concentration and left him a bloodied pulp on the ground.
FUCK! Malark internally screamed, as he read the note on the mage's body. His eyebrows shot up like fireworks. Two hundred gold on my head? I'd almost kill myself for that sort of money!
"Manos… Potentus… PAH!" Imoen's 'mage voice' interrupted his train of thought.
"Imoen, what on Toril are you doing?"
"Trying to turn you into a toad! Geez, this spellbook is amazing!"
"For fuck's sake Imoen, now is not the fucking time! Do you realise what just happened?"
"Yes, sorry. I was just trying to lighten the mood, is all," she replied, clearly upset.
"Ah, sorry Imoen. Didn't mean to yell. I just need a second to think, okay?" Malark gently apologised. They must have tracked us here. I gave my name to no-one on the way. Mad mage and psycho halfling gave us a potion, but we told them nothing about ourselves, save that we were going to Baldur's Gate. If we were attacked there, I'd be able to blame them. The merchant suggested we go here or Beregost - I doubt someone would take that sort of fifty-fifty chance, unless he sent an assassin to both - although he did strongly suggest here. It just doesn't seem likely, but keep it in the back of my head.
"...Malark?" Imoen gently prodded his shoulder.
"Still thinking." Old man - sent him packing before doing anything else. Knew by name Imoen, but he still would haven't known if we were going here or Beregost. What said we were definitely going here?
"Gorion's letter!" Malark exclaimed. To settle Imoen's look of confusion, he continued. "What was the only thing that had a clearly set destination for us to go to? That note must have been compromised."
"Oh, well, that explains how he found us then. Is that a good thing?"
"Probably not." Malark shrugged as he walked in. "Hand me those scrolls, too. While you might be able to play around with those little things in the back, I'm sure I can bard my way through whatever those scrolls have. Also, probably best you talk to the innkeeper. I'm still figuring out our next best move."
Imoen nodded in response, and they entered.
The room was massive. Malark, still hyped on speed potion, wandered around to take it in. After finding out that roads were shut off and flipping off a half-orc who took him for a waiter, he sat down, and managed to work out the finer details of a couple of the spell scrolls. In the corner of the room, two half-elves walked over to where he sat.
"I told you I could see some of Gorion in him. Look at the way he reads," mentioned the woman, a hint of amusement in her voice.
"He's nearly the s-s-spitting image, dear," stammered her partner, his voice much quieter.
Malark glared at the pair. Trust was a little foreign to him at the time. "Can I help you?"
"Oh, where are my manners? My name is Jaheira, and this is Khalid. We were friends of Gorion."
"C-c-c-careful dear, he seems a little guarded."
Ah, fuck. Realisation hit Malark like a ten tonne hammer.
Jaheira, noticing Malark remove his hand from his weapon, continued. "Gorion's absence means what I think it does, doesn't it?" Malark confirmed this with a nod.
"We share in your loss, then." Khalid was solemn.
"If something were to happen to Gorion, he wanted us to take care of you. However, since you're no longer a child, I leave this in your hands. If you are to accompany us, however, we do have to make a stop in Nash…" Jaheira began to explain, although Malark it seemed had other ideas.
"Sorry, but I'm afraid I have to say no." Noticing their confusion, and silencing their interjections, he continued. "While you aren't aware of it, someone tried to kill me in the last half hour."
"Even more r-r-reason for us to l-l-l-look after you!" Khalid exclaimed.
"He found us, I have reason to believe by tracking you. I don't want to fight this person who wishes me dead. I've a better chance of living if I run away, and to do that I need to be as hard to find as possible. If they found me through you before, it's a matter of time till it happens again. I do appreciate the offer for care, but I'm also not much help for you with that Nashkel business. Sorry. I expect to spend the night here and be in Baldur's Gate by tomorrow afternoon." Malark walked off, heading upstairs toward the room that Imoen had just procured. I am not looking forward to having to explain that to Imoen. Eeesh.
As they walked upstairs, they ran into a few of the guests. One was a lady who accused them of smelling like ogre, then talked about being attacked by an ogre with a belt fetish. Malark put two and two together very quickly, and they got paid for their services. Imoen somehow ended up with golden pantaloons in her hands, which Malark immediately took to 'cajole his calves'. They also had a gnome request them to clear some spiders out of her house, and somehow weren't able to give no as an answer.
"We can probably make it to Beregost as a day trip in the next day or two, if we must. I'd rather not leave her request unfinished," Malark commented, and with that, the two of them went to bed.
The next morning, just before leaving, they popped in on Joia to give back the ring that they head earlier recovered from the hobgoblins. While Malark was rather unhappy at the thought of no reward after he had nearly died three times, he was able to begrudgingly return the item in question with minimal urging from Imoen.
They left with the sun still slowly rising over them, as they broke through the edge of the sparse foliage. A little fishing village popped over the horizon. Malark, keen to break for lunch suggest a break to the village, which Imoen quickly agreed to. Despite staying in the royal suite with all the services provided, fresh food on the road was still a precious commodity. As the buildings just grazed his eyes, Malark sighed in contentment.
"HALT!" cried out a voice from down the road. "Be you friend or foe?"
Malark buried his head in his hands. Sighing deeply, he looked up. "Has anyone ever answered 'foe', you oaf? Why the hells would you ask anyone that?"
"Well, aren't you the rudest traveller I've met in a tenday and a half! Off with you!" he barked.
"Sorry, sorry. Can we start over? Not my best effort."
"My name is Ajantis, squire paladin of Helm. I am here to end this bandit crisis. As for yourselves?"
"Oh, just travellers looking for safety in Baldur's Gate," Imoen chimed in. For the first time in his life, Malark was grateful for her butting in.
"The roads are dangerous, young miss. I wish you the best of luck in your travels." Ajantis commented, then resumed staring menacingly at the road.
"Ugghhh, you're insufferable," pouted Imoen. "Are you just scared of people?"
Malark just sighed and walked over to the village. He really had nothing to add. He just wanted to get himself out of danger as soon as possible. When people were that danger, trust was impossible.
If only he could work out how to tell Imoen.