Though seemingly mundane, the common chicken is a diminished scion of ancient, feathered titans that once dominated the primordial landscape. These flightless beasts are ubiquitous across the Material Plane, having tethered their survival to the rise of humanoid civilizations. They spend their days scratching at the earth with a rhythmic, mechanical precision, their nervous movements and unblinking eyes suggesting a constant, high-strung vigilance. To the uninitiated, they are mere livestock, yet druids note that chickens possess an uncanny sensitivity to shifts in the Weave, often falling into an eerie, communal silence moments before a supernatural storm breaks. In the shadows of remote hamlets, these birds often serve as more than a source of sustenance. Legend tells of birds that never eat grain but instead peck at the shadows of travelers, marking them for misfortune. A flock that suddenly departs a village is considered a dire omen of plague or siege, for chickens are the silent witnesses of history, indifferent to whether they scratch in a garden or upon the sun-bleached bones of a fallen kingdom. Adventurers should take heed when a lone rooster follows their trail; such birds are often the eyes of a distant hag or the victims of a permanent transformation, harboring secrets that their beaks can no longer speak.