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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 Three
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Attribute it to cosmic purpose or gut feel, Edwin immediately felt attuned to the parasite even in the short distance they had been walking. One might liken it to having a loyal and attentive puppy, if one had a puppy embedded in one's spine which gurgled endearingly instead of barked, and caressed one's hair and cheeks with surprisingly gentle strokes of their tentacles instead of a sloppy lick of its tongue.
"Could you not purr like a drunken cat while it does that?" Branwen complained.
Edwin threw her a smug glance over his shoulder. One of the tentacles thrust itself at the cleric's direction and rattled angrily.
"I think Bob's blowing a raspberry," Imoen chuckled then coughed when Branwen glowered at her. "Say, Edwin. Are you sure you know where we're going?"
"I'm certain we're heading in the right direction."
"How do you know?" Branwen countered.
"Bob is sharing some knowledge of this place with me, a combination of telepathic connection and benevolent impressions on my mind. And Bob says we should walk this way until we reach the first farm we find."
"Farm?" both women sputtered, but Edwin paid them no heed, so sure and confident of his newfound awareness.
True enough they came across the strangest sight in this world yet. A very ordinary looking farm as if someone took one from the many others dotting the lands of the Sword Coast and dropped it right here in this curious world.
A farm standing on a vast patch of earth and pasture with a homely wooden cottage, a red barn, and a low enclosure surrounding a herd of cows grazing in a verdant meadow.
"And of course, it is not a normal farm," Edwin proclaimed dryly upon reaching the fence and finally seeing up close what they had thought were cattle from a distance.
"Moo," greeted the very humanoid-looking livestock, a hulking form of a man kneeling on all fours. He pulled at what mercifully appeared to be normal grass with his mouth, munching blissfully. Scattered all over the field were other human-cows, ambling along without care, mooing and grazing and napping on their bellies.
"By Tempus," Branwen whispered, slack-jawed. "What madness is this?"
"At least they all got clothes and no horns," Imoen mumbled with awkward optimism.
Someone emerged from the barn, sporting a wide-brimmed hat. The trio stepped back, readying themselves for flight but the other seemed to have sighted them from afar for it waved and whistled.
"Do you think they're friendly?" Imoen asked.
"Bob says it matters not whether they're friend or foe, so long as we're assured of their usefulness to us," Edwin proclaimed with certainty, shrugging off more of the strange looks from his companions.
As the other person neared the fence, everyone's eyes widened in astonishment at finally beholding the man.
Or rather, a cow.
Every bit bovine in appearance except it stood and walked upright on hind legs in muddy trousers of a rough and blue cloth held up by bands looped over the shoulders, torso garbed in a checkered buttoned shirt, sleeves rolled-up and exposing very animal forelegs, a sack slung over the back. It gazed down upon them with the expression of a cow curiously regarding a new salt lick before rumbling in an undeniably alien tongue. When the three merely blinked up in confusion, the creature leaned back as if understanding the situation and coughed thrice to clear its throat.
"Oh, Primes. We don't often see your folk around here. Good thing I learned Common from my great-great-great-grand cousins who once visited your plane to sample some of your hay," the cow addressed them in a very human voice with a very bovid snout.
Then he took off his hat and gave them a polite nod. "Farmer Feeb here at your service. Please pardon the state of my denim overalls, the tag says to give 'em a washing only once every century."
"You are a farmer?" Branwen asked, clearly awed at having to look up to a taller creature besides Minsc.
"Why yes, little lady, an honest steer living off the land," Feeb declared proudly, fiddling with his suspenders. He leaned down, cupping the side of his snout with a hoof, and whispered, "But don't tell my neighbors, I also put up a candy artisan business on the side. You know, nowadays it's best to diversify, especially when those wily beholders be working to pull down the market price of vermiformicular cabbages again."
"I would probably regret asking this, but why must your neighbors never uncover your alternative source of income?" Edwin queried, unable to rein in his curiosity. "Are your confections comprised of precious metals rendered edible or the rarest spell components?"
"Naw, they're just sugar, butter, salt, and food dye. But my neighbors are addicted to the stuff and if they find out, nothing's going to stop them from breaking into my stores and making off with everything. Those uvuudaum can be a real pain in the rump sometimes."
Edwin unconsciously grimaced, recalling reading from a rare travelogue by an explorer of the planes about the Uvuudaum - beings of pure malevolence with a humanoid torso but in the place of legs were six arms like a spider's limbs, and instead of a head, a tail-like appendage starting from the neck and ending into an iron-spike. As if their visage wasn't horrifying enough, they were said to delight in inducing madness into their victims by revealing even just glimpses of their disturbingly insane homeworld.
"Ha ha, I bet those uvuus are a bunch of stupid trollops," Imoen chuckled. "But what kind of candy are you making?"
Farmer Feeb's face brightened. "Mostly taffy. Here, you might wanna to try some and let me know how I did."
The steer proceeded to rummage into his backpack while Imoen clapped and looked on eagerly. Farmer Feeb held up a sample of his candy craft, a handful of innocuous pastel-hued chews wrapped in waxy parchment. Branwen and Imoen eagerly reached up to help themselves to the proffered taffy, but Edwin impatiently slapped their hands away.
He paid no heed to the women's murderous looks, himself so fed up with these trivial segues. "Yes yes yes, I am sure your confections pass for what is fit for consumption in this plane. But we have more important matters to attend to, namely the question of –"
"Are those real humans?" Branwen interjected, pointing at the herd.
"Oh ho ho, naw they're not, don't worry," Farmer Feeb replied with a friendly laugh. "They're descended from the same great-great-great-grand cousins who went to your world, but some ornery lich over there had cursed them for selling him extraplanar milk gone sour too quick. Nothing serious at all but thanks to the jinx, their family line's been popping out at least one human-looking calf in each generation, though with less sentience than the rest of us. But hey, we 're not letting any of our own starve so I take care of them like this. We Feebs, we're a loving family and my man-cow cousins are all happy, living the life and roaming free range."
The wizard and cleric both beamed the frown of those not wishing to mentally rehearse how such bizarre birthing occurs.
"Oh, how sweet of you, Farmer Feeb," Imoen genuinely gushed. "But we need your help. Our friend got this little tentacle pet on him, and we're hoping you know of a way to take it out."
Edwin shot her a threatening look. Bob trembled and hissed.
"Without… hurting the tentacle pet," she added cautiously. "And we got here by some weird magic. Maybe you could find us a way to get back to our own world?"
"You'll have to pardon me, but I've no idea how to help you Primes leave this place, 'cause myself I never get too far anywhere though I've always wanted to trek right up to the head of this behemoth we're living on."
Behemoth? The three humans looked around, expecting to behold a giant face or an eye to suddenly rise in the horizon.
"You've probably seen the rest of this one's herd floating close. A generation ago, the Feebs chose this Mammoth Manatee for our home because it's always asleep and doesn't sneeze as much and draws just half the ticks. Unlike our last one which they say got overcrowded rather quickly."
Reflexively, the three humans looked down and lightly raised a foot each as if doing so would cause less disturbance on their humongous host.
Farmer Feeb guffawed. "Nothing to be worried about there, our big friend here's too thick to feel a thing. We're standing on leagues of dirt above its skin. Good dirt too, my potatoes couldn't get enough of it. As for your parasite, here let me take a peek – Whoa!" the steer exclaimed at getting a closer look at the tentacles.
"Is it bad?" Imoen asked.
Farmer Feeb's ears flicked rapidly. "Not some simple pimple on your back. What you got there is a –"
All they heard of Bob's true name was the sound of the deep and primal scream of a dying cosmos caught in the callous violent whims of the insensate demiurge, in duet with the screaks of countless unoiled door hinges. And it took the steer a full ten seconds to pronounce it in full, and another ten seconds for the humans to recover from the assault on their senses.
"But, lucky for you, it's still a baby. Don't worry, you came to the right place for your pest problem 'cause I know exactly what to do with these critters," Farmer Feeb continued with nonchalant cheer.
A tiny voiceless whimper of fear rippled through Edwin's consciousness. "Bob is not a pest," the wizard shouted indignantly. "And it has never caused harm, just so you're aware and take heed with your words and next actions."
Farmer Feeb blinked and fiddled with the ring around his nose. "Sure, young fella, it won't hurt you now but I've seen what happens once this thing's grown too big for your body and can't hold off from feeding on its host anymore. It's gonna start pumping its own corrosive blood into your veins and liquefy your organs, then its tentacles will expand and enclose you within an impenetrable flesh cocoon while the razor-sharp suckers slowly slurp you up like chowder."
They stared at the cow in realized horror.
"A chowder is a kind of soup, if that's what you're wondering about," Farmer Feeb casually added. "But I know of a way to get the parasite out without hurting your friend or the critter. All we need is a bucket of man-cow milk. Want me to show you how I do the milking?"
They looked at the man-cow standing next to the farmer.
"Please don't," they droned in unison.
"Naw, it's no bother, really. You just unbutton their polo shirts and out comes the udder on their bellies for easy access." And indeed, Farmer Feeb did as he described, and proceeded to obtain the milk from what were evidently bovine udders on a humanoid creature.
Edwin looked on, pale and discomfited at the sight. "In all of my distinguished and illustrious existence, never have I been both disgusted and relieved at the same time."
Soon the bucket was filled to the brim and the farmer held it up close to the parasite, cooing while gently flicking some of the milk on the tentacles. With an excited gurgle, Bob popped out of Edwin's back and jumped into the bucket, splashing and wriggling excitedly. Miraculously, both robe and skin remained unharmed and intact. Having drained all the milk, Bob belched and curled into a coil in the bucket and promptly commenced its satisfied snoring, a contented quivering mass of tangled gray appendages.
"See? It looks much happier now," Farmer Feeb said.
"How can you be certain? Does this monstrosity even have a face with which to smile?" Branwen asked.
"It has a mouth," Farmer Feeb replied. "But it's a small one, and I'm sure you don't wanna see what it looks like."
"But I wanna," Imoen begged. "Maybe it's got buck teeth."
"I wish to see as well," Branwen agreed. "Since it has been made harmless now."
"I dunno. It's not something a Prime might find… pretty."
"Do you take us for fledglings in witnessing atypical phenomena? I have beheld and survived greater horrors than your middling world has foisted upon us so far. Now, show us, steer." Edwin pointed at the bucket. "I too wish to look into the mouth of Bob."
Hesitating for a moment, Farmer Feeb shrugged, finally relenting. "If you say so," he said in a hesitant tone. With a gentle hoof he lifted one of the tentacles to reveal a tiny mouth as the three humans leaned in for a closer look.
And by onus of their own curiosity, they found themselves staring into a yawning gateway irresistibly beckoning to the incomprehensible horror of an unfathomable void overwhelming and rendering meaningless all life and existence.
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