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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 Four


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"Awfully nice of Farmer Feeb to give us some candy before sending us off," Imoen mumbled with her mouth nearly full. "And he even let me have all the pink ones!"

"I vaguely remember seeing something I shouldn't have and then all of us screaming as if all joy and will to live were being ripped from the very fabric of our souls. And then the steer urgently force-feeding us with this confection which feels both life-saving and therapeutic for some reason," Edwin said in agreement while unwrapping another piece of taffy.

Branwen said nothing while savagely chewing at her share as if her very life and faith depended on it.

Not only gifting them with the free treats, the kindly farmer also promised to arrange to have Bob sent to one of his siblings in possession of a biscuit tin which opens a portal to a dimension of inapprehensible darkness and despair. Regretful as it may have been to let go and bid farewell to the endearingly affectionate creature, irrefutably, Bob would be better off and happier in his new forever home.

On the other hand, they remain stranded in this insane mire of a miserable excuse for a world.

"This is all your fault, cleric," Edwin snapped. "Your witless babblings must have finally offended your patron enough to send you here as punishment. And I only happen to be somewhere in the vicinity."

"Blasphemer! Your life may have been spared from that abomination but not from my hammer. You should thank the Lord of Battles who still sees fit to grant you an honorable end at my hands."

Imoen counted the remaining taffy in her store, then crumpled the empty pouch. "Listen here, you buffleheads! I'm already out of candy and if you don't shush it this time, I swears I'm going to tie you together and light you up like a –"

The wizard and thief glanced at each other.

"A beacon," they exclaimed together.

Edwin rubbed his knuckles, the mind racing at the idea. If they have not the means to teleport themselves back to the Prime, then perhaps they could send a signal or even a message to their compatriots who would certainly have the resources to rescue them, particularly with the Bhaalspawn able to use the Pocket Plane to open a doorway to any location.

But how to send the distress beacon? Divine magic and petitions were certainly out of the question. On the other hand, they have proven how the very place itself merely blocks and absorbs arcane magic.

Magic… magic… what lies beyond magic, what encompasses the existence of magic and even its lack?

Reality. Edwin bit at his knuckle. Of course, reality and the present state of being, every single possible and even impossible result of this scenario occurring at this very moment, but among these were outcomes where they were eventually returned to their home world.

Without the components and guide to scribing the conjuration runes, how might one recast the ritual? Hah! Did one even need to cast the spell at all? Is not his pure will and desire sufficient to influence the probability field and direct this reality into giving him what he wants? Meanwhile, would not his vastly superior mental faculties be capable of transmitting a telepathic call to their companions?

"What are you jabbering about, wizard?" Branwen interrupted.

Edwin blinked. Had he been thinking aloud this whole time?

"Enough of this meandering doctrine. A beacon, you need? Perhaps if I break your kneecaps, your cowardly cries of pain will be loud enough to be heard across the universe."

"Perhaps if I set you on fire, the stench of your burning hair will be mephitic enough to be smelled across the universe."

"No no no it has to be worse than those things you two said," tutted Imoen who had been rubbing her chin in deep contemplation. "We got to do something so unlikely and impossible it'd make the gods themselves agree it's huge enough to cause ripples in reality, big enough and loud enough to be felt all the way home."

"Listen to your own words," Edwin retorted. "Rambling as if you have the understanding to interfere with powers greater than yourself."

"Well, all this woo-woo also sounds weird to me, but I think I know exactly what we got to do." Imoen snapped her fingers and pointed at the wizard and cleric.

"Branwen, Edwin, you two should kiss each other. All hands and torridly."

What, their eyes screamed in protest.

"Preposterous! I'd never-"

"I prefer to flee from battle and be shamed –"

Imoen wrung her hands. "Come on, you think I want to see that as well? Don't you get it? The two of you getting all mushy and lovey-dovey together is so impossible, I bet not even Alaundo would've seen it coming!"

"Then why should I be the one to suffer actual physical contact with this harpy? Why not you and Branwen instead?"

Imoen beamed a smug grin. "Because this was my idea. If you got a better one than flapping around like a bunch of headless chickens until we get eaten by Bob's brother or something bigger and not as nice as Farmer Feeb, then go ahead, I'm all ears."

Out-reasoned, Edwin rested his knuckles on his waist, glaring at the others. Fine, it was up to him then to save their sorry simian skins. Truly, what would they all do without him? An image flashed in his mind, of his companions overcoming their foes and obtaining wealth and glory with ease for not having to trip over themselves to shield him from powerful and cunning enemies who knew to target the spellcaster first, or having to beg the city authorities and inn owners to not have them arrested for his accidentally setting the building on fire again. Edwin shuddered in denial.

"But you gotta do it like you really mean it, you know, with… with feelings! Imagine your emotions floating out into the ether all the way back to our friends," Imoen explained dreamily while gesticulating at the air.

Edwin narrowed his eyes at the thief. A pinch too eager to test her theory.

Sighing in resignation, Branwen nervously adjusted the warhammer in her belt. "I do not like this at all, but if you believe it will somehow work then who am I to stand in the way of our return home. Do your worst, wizard."

"Neither am I a willing participant but I will oblige so long as none of us shall speak of this," Edwin agreed, leveling a finger at each of his companions. "Ever. Again."

"Fair enough. If we all get nightmares from this, just tell them we saw something really awful out here. Because I know I will."

Both breathing deeply to gather courage, the wizard and cleric faced each other, lifting their hands to awkwardly rest on each other's arms.

"Maybe if you got snouts like elephants, but you don't. Closer, closer," Imoen cheered.

Grunting angrily, Branwen rolled her eyes, then roughly pulled the wizard close.

"Oof," Edwin stammered at the sudden impact, hands fumbling to encircle the cleric's waist.

"Yeah, that's it. Now look into each other's eyes," Imoen coached them.

They did, and Edwin swallowed hard. Never did he find the Norheim woman attractive by any measure – too harsh and inflexible for his tastes. And yet there was something, dare he say, suddenly intriguing in her stony bearing, the angular sharpness of her features so unsymmetric and yet refreshingly open, complemented by the unnerving iciness of her blue eyes, dispossessing of the curves of her species yet the broad firmness of her stature signifying confidence and control, as evidenced by the strength of the arms wherewith she held him now.

He swallowed hard again at the intensity of the cleric's gaze. And what would Branwen be seeing in him? A specimen of painfully crafted perfection yet hindered by the ironic fragility of mortality? Wait, did he remember to gargle with mint water this morning?

"Yes… yes… a bit more…," Imoen urged.

Finally shutting their eyes, they inched their faces closer. Just as their lips almost touched, the wizard and cleric paused, opened their eyes, glowered at each other and unceremoniously shoved themselves apart.

"What," Imoen yelled, stomping. "What just happened? What went wrong now? I thought you two-"

"I prefer to suffer again the indignity of my previous transformation a thousand times in unending sequence than to touch an inch of this belligerent ogress."

"May Tempus strike me where I stand if I so much as defile myself with this vile and depraved scoundrel!"

"Aw c'mon! You don't have to kiss more than an inch of her, Edwin. And Branwen, that's not even enough for any defiling at all," Imoen pleaded, wringing her hands with unconcealed disappointment. "Unfair! How could you ruin my only chance to see if my spell really works? Oops."

The slip didn't escape Edwin's notice. "What do you mean by your spell?" he questioned.

Grinning, Imoen held out her palms. "Oh? I dunno what you're talking about. Maybe you heard wrong."

"She's attempting to deceive us. Observe how her entire frame twitches unnaturally," the wizard pointed out.

"Like a regretful squirrel caught stealing from another's winter hoard," the cleric agreed.

"It's true I dabble here and dip over there with magic, but nothing serious and… and… evil like Edwin's," Imoen reasoned nervously as she eased back, hands up placatingly at her advancing companions.

"Behind you! It's another giant tick," she abruptly cried, pointing over their shoulders.

Edwin and Branwen glanced behind them, indeed, finding a lone giant tick, standing still as if observing the humans.

"Of significant dimensions like the ones prior," Edwin said as he turned to face the creature, unimpressed. "Though no more than the size of a mere fist."

"This one is no threat. We have faced and withstood a legion much greater than this," Branwen agreed, yet pulling out the warhammer from her belt.

The tick chittered and leaped to attack, only to explode and shower them in a deluge of cruor and entrails, leaving no spot on the ground nor humans unstained and not dripping.

Waving his utterly soaked sleeves, Edwin sputtered, "How in all that is inane can something so small yield so much blood?"

"Because little tick just fed. You see the size of the mutt it came from?" a pitched scratchy voice replied from behind them.

Spitting and wiping the slime from her face, Imoen leaped towards the newcomer, snatched the hovering imp and cuddled it.

"Cespie! You're here! I'm so glad to see you!"

"Ack! Lemme go! Ick, now I needs another magma bath," Cespenar squeaked, wings fluttering, wriggling free of Imoen's grasp. "You is lucky I gots here fast to blast it to bits, or the tick might've drunk you quick to empty!"

"Strangely, I no longer doubt such a thing, not after all that Tempus has employed to test my faith today," Branwen said. "And yet I prevailed and remained steadfast!" she roared triumphantly, hefting her hammer, unmindful of the viscera still clinging to its head.

Edwin scowled with disgust at the cleric, but this was not the time to call attention to her slovenly ways. For right now, the most important task of all must be performed – one that shouldn't be delayed any further.

"You, servile imp," the wizard snapped. "I command you to magically clean me, thoroughly and immediately. And the others too, for their filth offends my senses."

After all, his delicate skin and costly robes were much too sensitive and fine to remain soaked in extraplanar ichor.

"I no listen to you," Cespenar squealed in defiance. "Wimpy limp-magicked wizard not my Master."

Impertinent devilkin! Edwin spluttered, his angry mumbling inching closer to the chant of a vindictive fireball when Imoen held up a hand and with the other petted the imp on its head.

"Please, won't you clean us now, Cespie?" she entreated with a syrupy tone. "You can have the real cookies in my pack, if you do."

As usual, Branwen contributed nothing to the cause, still occupied with praising her god and prattling about the potential abundance of more worthy foes in this plane.

Cespenar flapped his wings and tapped his nose. "Oh all right. For the cookies, I cleans you head-to-toe and deep in the ears. Hold still or I might wipe inside your skull too but Master won't want that, no no."

Cleaning cantrip cast and the magic done, Cespenar bade them to stand close together, fluttering about and prodding at their sides to herd them like petulant sheep. Just as the imp prepared to commence the teleportation spell, Edwin waved his hands to interrupt, ignoring the disappointed groans of his companions. A few things needed to be clarified before they were to be repatriated back to the Pocket Plane.

"Hold a moment. I must know how you traced our presence across the planes and into this world. Did you receive a signal of any kind from us?"

Cespenar stayed his claws, pausing to let his stinger scratch at his chin. "Signal? From you? You think your weak magic poked through Far Realm layers and nudged me in the behind? Oh no! I heard nothing from yous. So peaceful in there, no one going Cespenar do this, Cespenar do that, Cespenar arrange my scrolls and potions, Cespenar polish my greaves and shield, Cespenar test my new pink glitter bomb – ack, I hates those things, so hard to get them out between the tiles and the lava spouts!"

"But how did you realize we were missing, and how did you track us down?" Branwen asked, then narrowed an eye at Edwin, a sure threat to say nothing else of what had very nearly transpired.

For once, Edwin agreed to the silence.

"When it gots too quiet for too long, no one trying to burn down anything or smash stuff or steal Bhaal's collection of mini action statues, I knew something's up. Then I finds you three all gone, so I tracks you down by using something of you."

Of course, attunement. A target's location might be scried by utilizing an object they were known to possess, usually magically bonded to the user such as enchanted jewelry or weapon, or body parts such as hair and fingernails, or even common items but frequently used and cherished. Such as red lace underpants. Edwin coughed.

"Doubtless, it must have been one of my… innumerable artifacts and items of considerable power."

"My spare armor or the holy chalice blessed by Tempus, gifted to me by Grand Duke Belt for our heroic deeds in Baldur's Gate."

"Eh, maybe some of my… stuff," Imoen mumbled with an awkward grin.

"No no, none of those other junk. Here, I gots it with me." Cespenar wriggled his claws to conjure a small object which he showed to them.

A bundle of loose blond hair tied with a strip of red cloth.

"Found it in your pack," Cespenar said to Imoen. "You try some new magic with your friends? Make cleric less bash-y and the wizard less burn-y with each other?"

Branwen protectively gathered her locks, leveling a sharp look at the thief. "Is this why you borrowed my comb? And I had thought you did me a small kindness by returning it cleaned of hairfall."

"And I got a lot of it, too! You really should go easy on your brushing or you'll go bald before we're done with all the Five, you know?"

Edwin collected the edge of his robe, glaring at the evidently shortened hem, reduced by about a quarter of an inch when Imoen returned it to him after her mending. How could he have missed it? So obvious now, her true purpose had been to construct a token using elements harvested from him and the cleric, and she did mention a spell of hers concerning them before they were interrupted by the tick and the imp.

Often, intimately sourced components were utilized for targeted enchantment magic. Of course, Edwin would know – because he was a genius and not because he ever made a similar attempt during his days of apprenticeship in Thay which had backfired horribly because his target, another pupil unfairly favored above him for being such a sycophantic snob who deserved to be humiliated in the most demeaning manner, happened to be more proficient in mind protection and counterspells. Edwin shuddered. Oh no, that regrettable incident certainly never happened.

"Your smoochy-smoochy spell and the wizard's reality-tinker spell don't make a good mix. Weird Nether Magic cast at the same time? Always no telling what it do. No, not good, very baaad. Like potpie made from pickled anchovies and fruitcake," Cespenar chatted on, oblivious to Imoen's frantic wagging and shushing.

The thief's intent now clear, they turned their irate eyes to Imoen who merely chuckled stiffly, waving a penitent hand.

"I guess I shouldn't have stayed behind to buy a Tome of Ancient Netherese Love Magic from the same crackpot who sold you the weird scroll. Who would've thought casting our spells at the same time was going to have such a crazy outcome?"

"My ritual was for the attainment of my long-deserved greatness while you attempted to sample us for your juvenile experimentation?"

Imoen shrugged. "Hey, who better to test a love charm than with the two folks who hate each other the most in our group? Although, Edwin, I could have used it on you and anyone else in our band and it would've been the same. Now that I think of it, what if I tried it with you and Minsc, or on Branwen with Viconia?"

And just as the wizard and cleric screamed the visceral cry of the exceedingly wronged and for once moved synchronously for the sole purpose of strangling the thief at the same time, Cespenar cackled and flapped his wings, teleporting the three humans back to the Pocket Plane.

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Ah, so quiet here. No Cespenar do this, Cespenar do that, Cespenar scratch my hamster, he can't reach his nose with his hind paw! Maybe if paunchy space rodent did more running in a wheel than snacking on biscuits then he can do it himself!

With his charges rescued and returned, the poor overworked imp stayed for a while, savoring the rare moment of tranquility in this peculiar plane.

Heh, this place nice, should take a little side trip. Find some special sweet chewy Far Realm taffy. Maybe even get a new house pet. Yes.

And then, call it - Bob.

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Singularly Strange Scribblings:

Written for the Baldur's Gate Gift Exchange 2021 and humbly offered to GriegPlants who requested for a fic with Cespenar, Branwen, Edwin Odesseiron, and Imoen, and likes the following themes: worldbuilding, camaraderie, lots of blood, artists or craftspeople, weird academia, dark magic, eldritch entities, serious and unpleasant illnesses, unconventional beauty, snark, meandering philosophy, and natural settings described in horribly excessive detail.

I wasn't sure how to write about any of them, so I put in all of them wheeee! I hope I've satisfactorily ticked all the boxes! ╰( ⁰ ਊ ⁰ )━ ゚.*・。゚

The Sigil Inhumane Society was responsible for monitoring all non-plantlife action. No actual man-cows, giant ticks, Edwins, and Bobs were harmed in the making of this fanfic. ~(*w*)~

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