"What do you mean you just closed off the entire fucking city?"

Many living creatures are quite calm under pressure or when things go wrong. Malark, in spite his inability to have something resembling a long term plan, was usually pretty good at handling things going wrong. However, there are some times in anyone's life where everything they were hoping for just falls apart. For him, it was the Flaming Fist closing the city of Baldur's gate.

"I said that because the Flaming Fist are protecting the border with Amn, that we can't keep the city safe from the bandits roaming the countryside and that you can't enter," replied the guard, a little tired and dedpan given the sun was rising and his relief hadn't come yet.

"For the sake of the gods, man, I'm a travelling poet and I can handle myself against these bandits. How in the hells can trained guards consider backing down?"

"Not repeating myself. Move along."

"Fucking wanker," Malark mumbled as he walked off the bridge. This is very not good. Where do I go now? Athkatla? I'd be dead before I could make it, even with a small army. Think, godsfuckit. You can find a solution… solution… oh no, that's crazy-

His train of thought was interrupted by a pink hand on his shoulder. "Malark? Whatchu thinkin about? Seem pretty lost in thought there."

"What gave it away? The silence?"

"Oh, no, it was you nearly walking into this tree," Imoen giggled, as she pointed to the tree he hadn't noticed until she pointed it out. "So do we smuggle ourselves in?"

"No, I've got a much more sensible idea. What's actually stopping us going in?"

"Huh? Something about Amn and all the bandits, right?"

"Not quite the exact words I was looking for, but definitely close enough that you get the point. Anyhow, I don't see us being able to stop a war - much more likely for me to start one, all things considered."

"So, what you're saying is…" Imoen screwed up her face in thought, "I actually have no idea. What are you saying?"

"We get rid of the problem and wipe out the bandits."

Imoen froze, as if her gaze had just met a basilisk's. She even stopped blinking for longer that most ever would.

"What? Hiding in Baldur's Gate still makes sense, if now or a month or two from now. So we keep a low profile and go toe to toe with the bandits. I'm sure we can gather enough people that we'd actually be a fighting threat - any ally we get, I get stronger. Look, we've got nowhere else to go, and we can afford to be on the road for only so long. I mean, it's a small miracle we're not being digested by ankhegs, even if I did find you screaming in terror pretty funny. Also, I'm sick of doing nothing. This is an excuse I can justify, at least."

Imoen collected her thoughts and nodded. "So...umm...how do we start?"

"I know just the man for the job," announced Malark, with a wolfish grin on his face. "C'mon."

By now, it was clearly day, and sleeping was just a luxury that would have to wait. Adventuring was not a profession for those keen on keeping a schedule. After escaping another Ankheg or two, they returned to the armoured figure waiting on the road.

"Hey tin man," greeted Malark, needlessly cheerfully, as he approached Ajantis. "How's it… ummm...smiting?"

"As a paladin, I have much to do and cannot tarry about for idle tasks," curtly replied Ajantis. "So if you have something to say, make it quick."

"Tasks such as wiping out bandits, right? Well, as far as I can make out, they have a base of operations in Nashkel. Fancy a walk?"

"What?" Ajantis visibly blinked, confused.

"Right, someone who's not used to my oddly academic sense of humour. I'm going to the south to bash some bandit's heads in; would you like to join me on the smashing quest?"

"Certainly! By Helm, it's good to have a friend or two!" Ajantis gathered his gear as frantically as he could.

"Glad to have you aboard, AJ," Malark offered his hand.

"AJ?"

"Ajantis, right? You're stuck with AJ now. Less syllables."

"But… miss, surely you can't approve of this… mockery!" Ajantis panicked, quite red in the face.

"...I like AJ…" Imoen mumbled, a little sheepishly.

AJ sighed, resigning himself to his fate. "You'd better prove yourself a man of honour, Malark. I have no time for scoundrels."

"You're travelling with a bard and a thief. Get used to it."

The party returned to the Friendly Arm to rest and recover. Malark purchased a fancy new buckler, to which he commented 'Smells like the cemetery but the magic bonus is totally worth it'. Come the hour they woke, which was the middle of the night, Malark's attire of choice sent some shockwaves through Imoen.

"No armour?"

Malark nodded. "I'm getting the hang of some of that magic we found in Tarnesh's spellbook and some of the scrolls the hobgoblins had, but there's no way I can cast it in armour. May as well use an armour spell until I'm out of magic and then put it back on."

The road to Beregost was nearly uneventful, were it not for Malark's sense of academic curiosity. Finding a raided caravan, which contained a few coins of loot, the party consensus of two to one meant they went hunting for other abandoned caravans.

The second one was easy enough to find; it also had the same smell that Malark's new shield had. It was, however, a little more complicated to loot.

"Boy, are you in the wrong place at the wrong time. Have to kill ya now. Nothing personal, you understand?" stated a woman, matter of factly, as she drew a sword.

After a roar about the glory of Helm, AJ burst into the fray. Imoen, using her absurd quickness, shoved the remaining healing potions into his pack. Malark, channelling his newfound magic power, threw a sleep spell into the fray. This proved to be the only thing that saved them in the end.

AJ and the woman bandit hefted their swords at each other. While he was more physically powerful, she was quicker and in better armour. It proved quickly she had better endurance, and AJ had to down the last two potions to stay on his feet. Malark's song of battle rang out, as he ran at the other remaining bandit, forcing him to draw his sword and try and strike him down. The armour spell he had cast once they reached the road and the magic woven into his song made him an unhittable target. Eventually, the woman fell as AJ cleaved through her unprotected head. Without her leadership, and two thirds of their number still asleep on the ground, the battle was won swiftly. Malark got to work on the scalps and loot while AJ finished off the last couple of bandits.

"Huh, that's a fancy brooch." Malark held up one of the treasures he found. "Silvershield… rings a bell, at least. Better hang onto that. And her armour would look spiffing on you, AJ. Not like she has any use for it."

Ajantis just stood in shock. "Malark, if I may - a word?"

Malark gestured for him to continue.

"So your preferred method of fighting is not the magic flail on your belt, but to get as close to the enemy as possible and sing? Ajantis cried out, incredulous.

Malark just shrugged. "I mean, getting close is kinda icky. Would have sung at a distance if stopping them shooting you wasn't a better idea."

"And you think you can beat these bandits?"

"I'm a fantastic tactician and I've got a very vested interest in doing so. I think I can find a way. Besides, it's not like I can't charge in and bash some heads in. Or sling spells. Point is, I'm smarter than whoever's in charge of this whole bandit thing. That's enough to beat them."

"Where does your knowledge of these things come from?"

Malark, ever the eager storyteller, threw his arm around Ajantis' shoulder and began to regale him with the flair of an overzealous preacher. As Ajantis tried to escape, Malark just held tighter and continued to try and make years of long nights of reading, fleeing from authority, and a lot of mostly failed womanising into a saga worthy of the ages.

Imoen just rolled her eyes.

Ajantis managed to escape after the twelfth verse of his word-for-word recount of the longest bawdy limerick he'd ever ad-libbed, by which point Malark was getting bored of torturing the paladin's innocence. They stopped on the outskirts of Beregost for a spot of late breakfast, and while Ajantis sat off to the side eating Imoen's latest creation, Malark pulled her aside for a quick word.

"How're you finding the adventure, Imoen?" He asked, a little apprehensive.

"Well, I guess overall it's better than washing dishes in Winthrop's kitchen, even if I'm just washing dishes in a slightly different environment." Imoen retorted, as she rinsed her bowl.

"That wasn't what I meant, Imoen," sighed Malark, rubbing his temples. "Why are you still here? I'm the one in danger, Ajantis has religious fervor and is contractually obli - do you think The Order of the Radiant Heart has a contract?"

"What? No? What?" Imoen reeled from the juxtaposition in the mood.

"Sorry, just a funny thought. Anyhow, point being, you really don't need to be here, and I don't see any reason for you to put yourself in danger. So what gives?"

"Are you being serious?" Imoen asked, a little forcefully.

"Yes."

"Good, because I can never tell with you. You run off into tangents about holy orders and contracts and stuff-"

"Now you're tangenting, miss pot calling kettle black!" Malark cried out, both of them oblivious to the fact the pot was blackening on the stove as those very words were said.

Imoen just rolled her eyes. "Because you'd be dead without me."

"Fair enough," Malark shrugged. "I mean, it's not that I'm not grateful, it's just, ah, fuck it, I'm not very good at this." He took a deep breath. "Like, I'm glad to have you but worried you'll get horribly killed? Something like that."

"You are the worst bard."

"I'm a singer of sagas of struggle and strife who sparingly slings select smutty sonnets. Not some salesman of sappy sentiment."

"I can't believe you spent three years 'attaining the altruistic art appellated alliteration'," moaned Imoen, as she buried her head in her hands. "When is that ever going to come in handy." She paused, then interrupted Malark before he could open his mouth. "And don't you dare say that Chult girl!"

"At least you never forgot it," Malark said dejected, visibly deflated.

"Because you said it, like, a thousand times!"

"Yeah, because it's really good," laughed Malark. "Besides, we killed an ogre because I made fun of it. I'm sure my years of goofing off will win us plenty of battles to come. Improvisation is mightier than any sword."

They continued to argue for the better part of an hour, before Ajantis had heard enough cursing in front of a 'decent young lady'; a term he could only loosely use to describe Imoen at that point in the argument, and the party packed up breakfast and went on to Beregost.

A/N: So yeah, they backpedaled and got AJ. I think I'll have the hang of writing him in a chapter or two; I think just ruining his day as much as possible until he's a broken shell of a knight seems pretty funny. Imoen is tricky to write but I really think I need her in order to give Malark a conscience. Hopefully these walls of dialog are okay; I'm a scriptwriter/VN author by trade and it's been a long time since I've sat down and written something. (It shows, spellcheck makes me wince every time I hit F7.) Anyway, next time you can expect more walls of dialogue, a new companion, and more haphazardly written battle scenes!