"Th-thank ye," clucked the chicken. "You have 'cluck' saved me."
It would be an odd sight to any observer to see an armoured, hooded man squatting low to engage in dialogue with a common hen. This, however, was the situation Malark and company had found themselves in. The process of getting there was simple enough. The party had romped around the outskirts of Beregost, checking off the odd jobs they had picked up. They got back the sword, found a note, retrieved the boots, stumbled onto a cache of healing potions when Malark said he felt like going further west.
After about a full day's travel, they set up camp for the night. When they woke in the morning, a hungry wolf attacked the party. Nothing seemed off about this to any of the party members; it wasn't the first time this sort of thing had happened. What was a first, however, was a chicken waddling over to thanks its rescuers.
"Aaaaahhh!" screamed Malark in feigned terror. "Unholy magics are afoot! This chicken is possessed! This bird is FOUL!"
"If you are quite 'cluck' through with the the-'cluck'-atrics," complained the chicken, "my situation is indeed quite 'cluck' grave!"
"I'm sure the fate of the universe henges on it!" Malark, obviously, was not through with the theatrics.
"Thank you," continued the chicken into their complaints. "Yes, 'cluck' that was just what I needed in my 'cluck' hour of need. You laugh it up while I *cluck* learn to cope with passing eggs."
"Holding out on a wing and a prayer, then? I'm sure it'll never get the breast of you then. Am I ruffling your feathers?"
"Malark!" interrupted Imoen.
"Right, right, don't need to egg myself on." Malark paused. "Alright, I'm done. So I'm guessing that you don't want to be a talking chicken forever? Suppose you'd be making a bit of a cock of yourself."
"MALARK!" yelled Imoen, louder this time.
"Yeah, I lied about being done. I've got a million more to hatch."
Imoen dragged Malark away while he continued to pull as many chicken puns as he could out of his brain, leaving Ajantis to handle the chicken situation. What Ajantis learned was that the chicken was called Melicamp, that he was polymorphed, and that his master could probably dispel it. After waiting patiently for Imoen to finish lecturing Malark, they agreed to take the chicken to the wizard, on the condition that Malark stopped.
He didn't.
"I don't have much patience for strangers on my property. Do us both a favor and move along... Unless, of course, you have magic for sale. From the looks of you, you couldn't afford the items I have for sale."
"Hang on just a bloody second there!" Malark was not used to being on the receiving end of sass, least of all it from old men.
"I sincerely hope you have some reason for bothering me," said the wizard. "I've already stated that I wish you to leave."
"Well, tonight's dinner wanted to talk to you."
"What? It's just a simple polymorph then. Chickens do not talk. It will wear off with time, and is not worth the waste of my day. Keep moving."
"I haven't completely flown the coop - oh, wow, I still haven't stopped - yet, mate. This chicken claims to be your apprentice."
"Apprentice?! I have had no apprentice. I teach no-one about what I… wait… Melicamp? MELICAMP, is that you?!"
"Cluck," crowed the chicken, meekly.
After a riveting analysis of the situation, Malark fetched a skull from one of the skeletons they had killed on the way. Fortunately for Melicamp, it all worked out in the end. Having been wished intelligence for their journey, the group returned to Beregost to sort out their tidbits. All the missing items were returned, and words travelled of their deeds.
A couple of nights later, Neera caught Malark's ear at Feldepost's inn, while Ajantis was pawning off loot.
"Have we honestly spent the last four days just fetching stuff people had misplaced?"
"Huuh," considered Malark, "I guess we have." After finished everything on their to-do list, the party had gone out, found items people hadn't told them were lost, found the owners by asking around town and returned their items. Given Malark had spent most of the time trying to remember and record all his chicken puns into verse form, it hadn't occurred to him that he had spent nearly half a week as a glorified gopher. "Aww, and I thought the best part about escaping Candlekeep was I wouldn't have to run errands anymore. Oh, Gods, I must have been brainwashed! Neera, save me from this curse of idle item investigation!"
"I can't believe you," lamented Neera, rolling her eyes.
"Ah, at least it pays better out here. We're up a thousand gold on when we left. I'd say I made just about the right calls, to be honest. If only we could find a healer - pity I turned those two away back then. Was that it?"
"Umm," said Neera hesitantly, "well, errr… no. I actually have a favour to ask."
"Oh, I can feel the extortion coming. Will it be the right arm or the left?"
"Even though I ran away at first because I was scared, I've begun to think I should find a way to reduce the unfortunate side effects of my otherwise awesome spells."
"What? I'm all in favour of the surges," joked Malark. "You can hobble screaming at more ankhegs. It sounds like a great time."
"Casting wild magic is like... playing a flute by ear," said Neera, rolling her eyes. "I just kinda... picked it up as I went along, doing what felt natural. In magical terms, I can play a pretty mean tune. But when I miss a note, the flute shoots fire at everyone." She paused for a second. "Also, the flute sometimes turns me into a hamster."
"Do we have any other hamsters? Because-"
"Malark, the three of us made it very clear last night. No hamster cage matches."
"...if you'd seen the one in Candlekeep you'd all be trying to buy hamsters," Malark mumbled dejectedly.
"Anyway," sighed Neera, "Wild mages tend to keep to themselves for rather obvious-"
"How has surgetastic not caught on?"
"Are you taking this seriously? At all?" Neera scowled at Malark, anger brimming in her eyes.
"Obstificating stupidity. It's a defense mechanism."
"What?"
"I'm listening carefully to everything you say, but by acting goofy and disinterested, I can avoid both opening up to people and it causes people to let their guard down and tell me more things than they normally would."
"You realise you just opened up to me, right?"
"Don't worry, I realised the irony long before I finished the sentence," said Malark, as he cracked a dry grin. "Now, something about wild mages keeping to themselves?"
"Huh, you were listening," said Neera, surprised. "Anyway, I've heard about a very old and wise one nearby. His name is Adoy, and he was last seen east of Firewine Bridge."
"I mean, we should have some spare time after we've sorted out Nashkel, so why not?"
"Ugghhh," groaned Neera, "I can't tell if you're being serious or not now! You deserve all your unprevented electrocutions and your permanent baldness if you're lying to me."
"Guess you'll just have to wait and see then," smirked Malark, as he ordered another beer.
The party then returned to high hedge. Malark wished to purchase the potion case from the wizard, as well as any good spell scrolls for himself and Neera, so the party went. As rain began to fall and a thunderstorm set in, Malark braced himself for the worst. He was the only one wearing metal armour - Imoen was in leather, Neera had robes, and Ajantis had giant, acid spitting, insect skin. After the skeleton attack, he was especially concerned. He was barely standing, until a flash of light struck right behind him.
"Only take me to a licensed cleric…" moaned Neera from behind, smoke coming from her ears, as she collapsed dead.
"How in the hells did that not him me?" asked Malark frantically, before his emotional brain finally managed to overpower his analytical one. "Oh Gods, she's dead. Can we bring her back?"
"If you act quickly and have some coin," said a voice from the shadows. "What brings you this far from civilization?"
"Gear to help us smite these cursed bandits from the face of Toril!" cried Ajantis, causing Malark to pinch the bridge of his nose in utter frustration. "Oh, Imoen. Sorry for the, uh, rough language."
"You realise I grew up with Malark, right?" Imoen teased. "Ignoring him half the time is about the only way to stay sane."
"A strange coincidence!" continued the elf from under the tree. "I have a quest similar to your own. I have been hunting the bandits in the region for the past few months. Perhaps if we worked together we would fare better. What say you to that?"
"A fair argument," considered Malark, "but I'd need more than that. A few months is a long time. Why?"
"Their leader, an ogre named Tazok, took the life of someone very dear to me."
"I don't know if that kind of vengfu-" Malark was cut off
"OH YOU POOR THING!" wept Imoen, launching herself around the elf. "Of course you can come with us!"
After the combined strength of Ajantis, Malark, and Kivan - or so the ranger said his name was - found themselves unable to remove Imoen, they gave up and went to buy the potion case before a quick temple stop on their way south. Apparently, the wizard knew Kivan, and Kivan had even protected him from bandits before. With a returned spear and a potion case, the party left for the temple.
Within moments of arrival, Kivan attempted to break down the priest of literal sunshine with angst - this did not succeed. As the party vaguely surrounded Neera, anxiously, she eventually drew breath. As the party sighed in relief, she bolted upright, millimetres from Malark's eyes.
"Do you ever miss Candlekeep, Malark?"
In Candlekeep, as a result of being such an isolated community, pretty well everyone who lived or frequented there had a reputation. Hull, for example, was the only man who could ever threaten Winthrop's mead supply. Malark, being a particularly charismatic individual who naturally found himself in the spotlight, had a very clear reputation. He had possibly the foulest mouth in the library, could weasel himself out of just about any trouble, and always had a snarky response to everything.
So for Imoen, Neera coming back from the dead and interrogating Malark like it was nothing was the second most shocking thing she had ever seen; Malark's gaping maw in utter mortified confusion, unable to even eek out the slightest of sound was as if the sky had turned green and the grass blue.
"Uhhh… yeah," Malark eventually managed to half-mumble as his brain finally started to make sense of the situation.
"I know exactly what you mean," chuckled Neera, clearly amused by the scene she had caused. "If there's one thing I miss about High Forest, it's definitely the food. Well, that, and the beds. Oh! And the baths! Feels like I haven't had a proper bath in weeks."
"Huh," mumbled Malark, sniffing. "I mean, I'd say you're a little fragrant, given we abused the hospitality of Feldeposts less than a day ago, but that wouldn't do it justice. Oghma's collective papercuts, you smell awful. Like the most rotten zombie exploded onto a ghast and that ghast was made from a skeleton."
"Well," huffed Neera, "thanks, Malark. Thanks ever so. You're just the nicest person in the whole wide world and not at all offensive to sweet elven mages!"
"I think you mean half-elven," retorted Malark, in his best Neera impersonation. She stared at him blankly.
"Actually, coming back to life does come with the unfortunate side effect of the smell," commented Kelddath, "You start to not notice it after your enough resurrections. I'd completely forgotten."
"Malark?" asked Neera. "Can we stay at an inn tonight? He's not wrong about the mormhaor saurot."
"I really wished I had time to spare on languages," lamented Malark over his own lack of culture. "Yes. Soon as we hit Nashkel, first order of business."
With that, the party headed southward. Finally, real progress. No running in circles because I'm unable to say no to anyone. No waiting for ankheg body parts to be made into protective clothing. No ankhegs, even! Everything's coming up Malark. Despite the vividness and intensity of his internal monologue, Kivan managed to draw Malark's attention as they reached the road the party had fought a hobgoblin bandit group.
"For a bookworm you are well at ease outdoors, my young friend. I can see only the smallest indications that you are not accustomed to walking under the beasts trails and sleeping under the dome adorned by stars."
"I'm a bard, old man," offered Malark, a hint of humour drifting into his voice. "If I can't do anything I set my mind to, I think I'm failing at my profession."
"Of course you can," said Kivan, his voice full of warmth. "It is only that you remind me of myself on my first ranging. I wonder if, like me, you feel that it is time for you to start living. And if I am not mistaken, you are quite pleased with that change."
"I'm afraid you are mistaken there," confessed Malark. "This is a resigned fate, nothing more. Gorion is dead. Were I able, I'd hide under the biggest rock in the securest fortress in the city furthest from here, but that just isn't an option for me anymore. This isn't living, it's just surviving."
"I wish I could console you, Malark, yet I cannot. I know the pain and the emptiness of a loss and the hopelessness all too well. However, we must keep going, if only to avenge those who are so mercilessly erased from this world."
"As if that was going to solve anything," mumbled Malark to himself as Kivan walked away. I'd have already slaughtered the armoured figure myself if it would.
A/N: So we added Kivan to the party and the timer is on! 20 days to bandit camp. Few quick things; Neera's bit of Elven there translates to "undeath taint," closest I could pick out to note the smell of the dead, and Elven is basically the fantasy equivalent of French. A few of the odder parts here are things that made me question the game's rather odd sense of timing with a little bit of artistic license - Neera was killed by that lightning bolt on my way to Kivan, and the second she was resurrected that dialog popped up. We finally finished chapter one, yay. Next time we handle arriving in Nashkel and meeting two fan favourites - Minsc and Edwin. I'm having fun just thinking about how Malark can make them squirm - he's been so passive these last couple of chapters.