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Summary: Edwin Odesseiron, Imoen, and Branwen most certainly didn't sign up for a random excursion in the Far Realms. Will our plucky heroes find their way home before they end up burning down the whole plane and three-way wringing each other's necks? Or will they stay stuck there forever, burning down the whole plane and three-way wringing each other's necks?

For GriegPlants at the Baldur's Gate Gift Exchange 2021.

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The Somewhat Adventures of Edwin Odesseiron, Imoen, and Branwen in the Far-Gotten Realms
(Yes, groan in terror and awe at the magnificent title, you simians!)

Part Two


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The trio trekked through the curious terrain which played home to elements one might be amiss in labeling as either flora or fauna. At times they came across vertical streams of chalky white fluid flowing seamlessly from the field all the way through the atmospheric layer. Mucilaginous worms frequently sprang from pore-like protrusions to slither along the ground before being borne up by unseen currents to float away. In the distance stretched what appeared to be forests of spiky trees and undergrowth draped with vibrant orange moss, rising above a pale viscid sea.

After some time Edwin broke the silence. "Do you realize what is more perplexing than the apparent defectiveness of the Netherese manuscript?"

Without slowing their pace Imoen and Branwen replied with indifferent shrugs.

"What is even more puzzling is why the two of you were teleported with me. Why could it not have been any of the more competent and less odious members of our group?"

"True. Why could it not have been Minsc accompanying you instead?" Branwen suggested a little too eagerly while casting him a dangerous side-eye.

"Or even better, two of Minsc!" Imoen added a little too brightly. "This funny spell of yours could've made a double of him. And then there'd be two Boos!"

To enable the duplicated rodents to go for each of his eyes? How considerately symmetric.

"You are both missing the point of which I'm not surprised given your cripplingly limited attention spans. Had it not occurred to any of you how our particular combination, a superior human and two simians, might actually hold a clue as to why we were brought here?"

"Uh, nope. Isn't magic sometimes weird and random?"

"This could be a trial from Tempus if perhaps my worthiness might be tested in a field and with foes of another plane."

Fire from the Hells, these fools are impossible!

Branwen raised her chin, her beastly height affording her the position to dare to look down upon him. "You know, wizard, if your abilities were broader than simply burning your enemies from a cowardly distance, then perhaps you might have been able to divine the reasons and the means for us to escape this place."

"Again with the tiresome jibe at my choice of arcane practice. How dare you imply my inadequacy?" Edwin spat.

"To imply by hiding behind words is for the craven. No, I outright declare your magic as impotent as your limpid loins with which you disappoint the paid harlots!"

"Oooooooh," Imoen cooed, eyes darting between the wizard and cleric.

Indeed, she dared to imply his inadequacy. Edwin angrily squawked as he swiped at his sleeves, stepping back. "Insolent shrew, you will regret those blatant lies! How fortuitous we found ourselves together in this loathsome expedition so I may finally end your existence without the interference of our weak-willed companions who tolerate your revolting comportment."

Likewise, Branwen made space and crouched into a defensive stance. "The Lord of Battles wills that I purge the realms of your despicable ilk who cower behind subterfuge and undermine the glory of honorable combat."

"Please don't fight, you two," Imoen called out, tiredly. "There's nothing here to accidentally burn down like last time, but I don't want to have to explain to our friends why I'm bringing home a smushed wizard and a roasted cleric."

Branwen stretched her hand to summon her spiritual hammer. Which didn't come. She stared at the glaringly empty palm. "Impossible! Could it be, the favor of the Foehammer cannot penetrate the barriers to this place?"

"Hah! Where's your god now?" Edwin jeered as he pinched a grit of sulfur from his belt pouch, rapidly murmuring the words to the spell and his hands circling around a materializing sphere of flames.

"Uh, Edwin, I don't think a fireball's a good idea," Imoen warned. "This whole place might be one of those wild magic zones."

Nonsense! All of his ideas are perfect and no magical zoning ordinances may restrict his greatness. Jubilant, Edwin loosed the fireball at Branwen. Which never reached her.

For as soon as he released the spell it sped upwards as if drawn towards the membranous sky. They stared in expectant horror as the fireball streaked closer to the gauzy firmament, awaiting the eventual puncture and the freakish flood of unknown waters to rain down and drown them.

It hit the membrane and fizzled out. Barely had they finished sighing in relief, a section of the sheath trembled and spewed back a bluish blob. It hit the ground in a loud burbling spatter and broke apart into a horde of giant ticks. A greater number scurried away into the distant horizon, clearly seeking foul and plentiful blood to feed their aberrant appetites.

"By Tempus, they're the size of a dray horse," Branwen exclaimed, awed.

"Perhaps if I cast another-"

"No," Imoen and Branwen cried in unison as each grabbed one of the wizard's arms for herself.

"Why would you restrain me, I am trying to – Curses! They have seen us!"

Indeed, a legion of the massive ticks had turned away from following after their fellows. Before any of them could even draw a weapon, the creatures rapidly swarmed the distance towards them. To flee proved useless, for the horde immediately surrounded the trio. Surprising even himself, the wizard herded the others behind him.

"Stay there and don't move," Edwin hissed through his teeth.

Hopefully, these monsters will recognize him for a dominant specimen and leave them alone. Or, take one of the women instead of him.

All three held their breath as the creatures encircled and loomed above them. Countless pairs of scratchy foot-long segmented feelers probed mostly at their hair and general person.

"These ticks tickle," Imoen whispered, giggling.

Soon with their curiosity apparently sated, the ticks flipped and scampered away. Edwin's shoulders sagged as he breathed once more. He turned to face his companions, brimming with the confidence of a sure survivor.

"Do you see? Even the denizens of another plane can recognize a superior entity such as myself and dare not to test my mettle."

He was interrupted from further gloating by the splash of something suspiciously wet and heavy at his back. Edwin glanced over his shoulder. One of the ticks now lay facing them, on its back with legs up, suddenly dead and dry as a husk.

"What is it now?" he mumbled with some irritation.

"The creature shot something at you while you were looking away. Never turn your back on your foe unless you are sure they are completely defeated," Branwen said matter-of-factly.

"But now it is dead anyway of its own volition. What incredibly timely advice you had offered," Edwin muttered, eyes rolling.

Imoen circled him, peering and poking at his robe for closer inspection. "Odd, it dropped dead right after spitting at you. Ewww, whatever it is, it's like snot and… now your robe's absorbing it."

Edwin's eyes widened, horrified as the cold wetness seeped through the fabric, feeling the fluid pulsing into his skin, freezing pins prickling into his pores. Panicked, the wizard attempted to reach and claw over his shoulder. A horrible sinking sense of hopelessness and eventuality engulfed his heart as something burst through the skin of his back, howling with the throats of a thousand tortured souls.

"Tentacles!" Imoen yelled and jumped back. "You got tentacles growing out of you!"

"What are you waiting for, fools? Get if off me!"

He could feel them even as he frantically spun around in panic, weighted limbs flailing and wrenching against skin and muscles yet surprisingly without any sting or pain – maybe for now. Circling him, Branwen roared a battlecry, punctuated by the swoosh of her hammer whipping through the air.

"By Tempus' shield, you will fall, or wither, or stop squirming you foul creatures… or creature!"

"Careful, you might hit Eddie's skull instead."

"I am trying to… hit the tentacles, of course!" Branwen grunted. "And you should be more sure with your sword lest you slice off the wrong appendage!"

"Ha ha, you mean the tentacles?"

"This is no laughing matter, you jibing apes! I command you to remove this… this plague from my beautiful body at once!"

By some cruel divine specification, the alien limbs possessed enough length to curl around him while others reached over his head and dangled right before his eyes, giving unhindered view of their sickly gray hue and pulsating razor-toothed suckers. Yet even as he desperately batted with his hands, the tentacles merely evaded then darted in to gently poke at him. Puzzled by the unexpected tenderness from such an unnervingly formed creature, Edwin hesitated, seized by a moment of curiosity. A finger reached out and brushed against a tentacle – then flashed a sudden jolt of percipience.

"Wait," Edwin cried as he swiveled to face his companions, each of whom clutched tighter at their weapons. "Hold a moment. I… I feel no pain. I sense this creature has no intention of slaying me."

"Are you sure?" Imoen said, waving her short sword. "Maybe it's messing with your brain. Oh Tymora, maybe it's melting your skull right now and playing your throat inside like a pipe to make you talk!"

"It is not! Now cease your childish morbid fantasies and listen to the one voice of intellect and reason in this whole gods-forsaken place," Edwin admonished, crossing his arms.

The tentacles ceased their flailing and likewise knotted themselves in pairs, in peculiar emulation of their newfound human host.

"Hey, you're right. It isn't trying to kill you at all. Where's all the blood too?" Imoen asked, looking every bit as baffled, before her eyes lit up.

"Maybe it really is friendly," she said in bubbly agreement. "I know, let's call it – Bob!"

Hammer still raised, Branwen frowned. "Are we giving names to creatures of darkness now?"

Edwin ignored the cleric, himself contemplating the new moniker, touched by an unvoiced sense of approval which he acknowledged with a nod. "Bob? Hmmm. Yes, that should do. Bob finds it acceptable. Now let us depart."

Snapping his fingers at his companions, the wizard turned on his heels and resumed walking. Behind him the tentacles languidly swayed like a bundle of carefree puppy tails.

"Bob?" mouthed Branwen with a puzzled look at Imoen as the two fell in step.

Imoen whispered back, "You know – Minsc's got Boo. Edwin's got Bob."

"I heard your infantile rationale." The Red Wizard rolled his eyes, then felt another sentiment bubble through the surface. "But Bob says to let it pass since those with inferior cerebrations also require the venue to express themselves, lest they feel… unvalidated."

Edwin noticed the others giving him baffled glances, but he ignored them and said nothing more.

Really now, Bob shouldn't be too magnanimous with these under-evolved simians.

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