When we last saw Pillius Flenk, he was allowing his bravado to write cheques his conflict-avoidant ass was unlikely to cash. By agreeing to help everyone he sashayed into after escaping the crashing nautiloid, he got himself into something of a pickle, especially since he had no genuine intention of acting heroically. Via a combination of over-promising, under-delivering and avoiding physical exertion, he reached a point where his only option was to creep into a goblin stronghold to rescue a druid; an unwelcome task for a man less courageous than Donald Trump on a polished staircase. Flenk, you’ll remember, is a mewling weakling with the fortitude of a sugar sculpture on a drizzly day; a prey animal, albeit one who wants you to believe that he’s a actually a snarling alpha.
People are expecting great things from Pillius and he cannot disappoint his audience. And it’s with this unwelcome thought in mind that he assembles his fellowship. There’s Astarion, a fellow roguish cad (or caddish rogue); Shadowheart, for whom Flenk feels a suppressed flaming ardour; and Gale, who is only here because we haven’t found Lae’zel and Wyll makes Flenk feel bad about his lacking rapier skills. Our band of poorly
