Astarion listened near the stairwell to the sounds above, in the master bathroom. The sounds of water running periodically followed by Sarge's snuffing sounds reminded him of Scratch, who surely wouldn't tolerate a bath.

After returning to the apartment, Astarion neatly placed his clothes on the guest bedroom bed. (Though he removed the tags that Blue told him about. What was this world's obsession with putting tags on everything?)

This was the first time he had consciously chosen and kept his clothes. While they were very different from what he was used to, he treasured them all the same. His own. His clothes.

Blue's generosity wouldn't be forgotten. He was secretly tracking all the favors he owed her, despite what she said about them being friends. Were they friends? Or was he just leeching off her, trying to earn her approval like so many times before?

No. Astarion stepped away from the stairwell, firm with himself.

In truth, he wanted to go to the party because the thought of staying here alone seemed unpleasant. He should be trying to meet more people, make new friends, and find adventures elsewhere before-

Before he found himself caring too much for Blue.

Before Cazador found him.

Before he had to return and feel the constant sting of missing this world, and Blue.

It wasn't fair. The magic that brought him here was chaotic, it could have dropped him onto an unforgiving asshole's doorstep, forced the vampire to grow from the experience, and become the only living thing from Toril to have survived material plane travel.

Instead, it put him in front of a kind soul who was far more easygoing in a harsh world. Instead, it brought him to someone willing to lessen the blow of being new to this world. It shocked him to his very core.

In Faerun, everyone wanted something. Compassion on the roads and in cities just wasn't heard of. Even companionship had a price. And Astarion knew he was contributing to the problem; he never did anything for free, even in his time with Cazador, he was always searching to bargain for someone else's cost.

But here, he lacked the knowledge of the world's mechanics to do this. Hell, he wasn't even sure about the currency here. Blue explained it was in a form called, 'digital', but it was all on this small square she carried. He still didn't quite understand it, and even this put him at a great disadvantage.

And now, he found himself attending a party with her.

Astarion wandered her apartment, listening to her speak to Sarge in calm tones as if Sarge were a child. It made him smile, warming him.

He stopped in her kitchen, observing the many appliances that were common in this world. After they had returned, she had explained a great many things in this apartment to him, and he listened carefully. If he was going to leave her, he needed to know how to operate these things.

He gingerly opened the device called a microwave. It beeped, so he shut it promptly. Opening the fridge, which was mostly empty save for the extra food from the camping trip, (which still replayed in his mind). It was more brightly lit than any device he'd seen in Faerun.

Wandering around the apartment, he stopped at her bookshelves, eyeing the titles. Most of them had to do with writing or appeared to be fictional novels. Some looked like autobiographies. Others were mostly full of large pictures that looked like captured representations of her world.

His gaze settled on the guest bathroom. Raising his arm, he smelled himself. It had been several days, even before ending up here that he'd found a way to wash himself. And Blue re-introduced what soap looked like in this world to him. They were, undoubtedly, not potions on a shelf.

"Though, I guess they're kind of like potions," She had said with a tilt of her head. Whenever she did that, it made Astarion's guts churn in a way that only great fear did. He usually ignored it out of dismissive denial. But he wondered if it would persist. Part of him hoped it wouldn't. Part of him hoped it would.

Walking towards the bathroom, he opened the door and then shut it behind him.

He turned the silver water spouts in a counter-clockwise direction like Blue had shown him, careful not to pull too hard. ("Or you might risk flooding, and that would be bad.")

Undressing himself, he glanced at the mirror behind him. Nothing. Suppose I can't have it all here, can I? He thought to himself, stepping into the tub. The warm water was an instant relief, a confirmation that this was the correct way to spend his afternoon.

As the water rose to Astarion's chest, he leaned back. Though he was a little large for the tub, it was certainly roomier than the tubs he'd sank in before. The texture was a little slippery, but as long as he didn't make any sudden moves, he wouldn't slip around. Not that this seemed like a priority, as he felt sleep tug at his eyelids.

Resisting the urge, he pumped soap into his hands, the texture reminded him of thick gravy. It smelled nice. While he washing himself, he thought about how he ended up here, in a world so different, yet similar to his own.

Shdowheart and Karlach had asked Gale to find supplies before continuing to Baldur's Gate. There was a huge city nearby, similar to Baldur's Gate itself, but somehow more guarded. Astarion wondered why there was so much security for a typical-looking place.

And of course, someone recognized him. He had claimed Atarion was a vampire who "kidnapped his friend and killed them". Of course, it was true. Astarion wouldn't have doubted it. But they started acting like a maniac, lashing out and crying about his loss, thanks to "your incurable kind". While the man seemed genuinely upset, Astarion couldn't care less. He said, 'Take it up with lord Cazador if you want to make such a fuss about it,' and tried to move on.

Then, it was downhill from there.

He was trying to transport himself back to camp. There were so many guards, coming from all directions, and neither of them knew the area, so they split up. It was Astarion's idea, of course, since he was usually better off on his own.

It's not like he wouldn't have found a way to escape eventually. But the idea of someone capturing him again. Imprisoning him after finally being free, stirred a fierce desire to do everything in his power to avoid this. In prison, perhaps Cazador could have found him.

They had started going their separate ways. Astarion tried to use a conjuration spell, picture camp, and return there with Gale. He had no idea what the hell Gale was trying to do. Gale had stopped and was trying to cast something powerful, white light blinding Astarion from afar. It could have been anything. Astarion started to run back towards him, but there were too many people, too many guards -

Then, it felt like the air was being sucked out of him and pushed back in. He was suddenly falling but didn't feel gravity pulling down. There was a flash, and then he was suddenly underneath Blue.

Was it because he didn't finish his spell? He'd heard that was very much looked down upon, but never that it would lead to interplanar travel.

He hoped Gale was still alive. This was, in Astarion's mind, still Gale's fault. But if he'd turned to mush while Astarion had survived whatever magical conundrum they had created, then he'd be annoyed for the rest of his life.

"Ugh." Astarion sighed. Magic wasn't his area of expertise so much as murdering, persuading, sneaking around, and manipulation. What a great toolkit, he thought to himself with amused bitterness. He wouldn't have it any other way, of course. But it certainly didn't help in making friends.

Letting the soap sit in his hair for a while longer, Astarion shut his eyes. Would he ever return to Faerun? What if he waited a thousand years, and they never found him? This both terrified and relieved the vampire spawn. On one hand, it was a fresh start, and here, no vampires were trying to enslave him. And he'd always have an advantage against humans. More often, they proved easier to manipulate.

But the thought of never seeing his friends left a longing pit in his chest. Did they think he abandoned them? Were they angry at him, if they discovered Gale and he was dead? Of course, they could always try to bring him back, but the blame would still be cast. Had they moved on already?

All of this scrupulous thinking won't get you anywhere, Astarion. Think of the now, and make do with what you have, he thought to himself with stubborn affirmation.

He rinsed his hair, dunking his face in the water, letting the warmth deafen his ears as he shut his eyes.

After drying off and re-dressing himself, he pushed his hair back, feeling brand new. He rinsed out the tub, careful to leave everything as dry as he found it, even hanging his towel back on the towel rack.

As he opened the door, Sarge came running up to him out of nowhere. He gave him a dutiful scratch on the neck, and looked up, searching for Blue. The living room was empty, so he listened. Nothing.

Hm. He looked down at Sarge, and asked, "Well, where has she run off to?" Sarge tilted his head up at Astarion in confusion, then trotted to his food bowl, which was empty. He picked it up with his mouth and brought it to the vampire spawn, who looked at Sarge disgustedly.

"I don't want that, thank you." He said. As he said this, he heard Blue from her bedroom, "Sarge, put it back. I'll be down in a second."

With a sulk, Sarge dropped the bowl back into the kitchen, making a loud clanging noise that made Astarion jump.

Just then, Blue's upstairs door opened and she walked downstairs, wearing loose joggers, a shoulder-less t-shirt, a soft hat, and soft boots. Astarion watched her trudge downstairs with a heaviness.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say something was on your mind," Astarion said and crossed his arms expectantly. Blue glanced at him, replying, "I'm just not looking forward to sucking up to people, is all."

She walked to the kitchen and put Sarge's bowl in the sink, a certain grumpiness in her tone, though it wasn't directed at Astarion. She started moving things in the kitchen, taking out dishes, and filling a pot with water. She opened a package of something and dumped it in the pot with water. Her eyes weren't focused on what she was doing, but rather, on her thoughts.

"I thought most people enjoyed parties. That is, when they are, at best, a party." Astarion tried.

Blue grunted and leaned back, staring at the pot of boiling water, as if her glare would hasten its state. Perhaps if he tried a different angle.

"You know, 'sucking up' to people unless you mean literally," he bowed slightly and gestured to his fangs, "isn't about them, you know. It's about you. It's about getting what you want."

Blue continued glaring at the water for a second before she looked at Astarion. There was dread, annoyance, and fear behind her eyes. But it wasn't for him. He wondered what she wasn't telling him.

He continued, "The art of persuasion is not to lower yourself to the idiocy you are trying to convince, it is to make them believe in something that isn't there. Something that you supply for the sake of bending them to your will, or at the very least, your words."

Blue thought for a moment, the water beginning to steam. She replied, "But I'm not trying to lie to Augustine or the stakeholders. I'm trying to change their decision. I can't make false promises at a company driven by content creation."

Astarion countered, "Then you focus on why they're wrong. Why," he gestured to the air, "the very thought of this decision is so erratically stupid, unwise even, that they must then look to you for the right one."

Satisfied, Astarion studied Blue for a reaction. She thought about it, biting her lip. Astarion watched the way her teeth grazed off of her lip, leaving a slight pink mark that faded away as quickly as it was formed.

She responded, "How do you change someone else's mind, then? What do you say?"

"It depends, but for the most part, I rely on my charm and intimidation. For some creatures, however, logic won't get you very far. But I sense that your…colleagues, would listen to reason if you demonstrated your credibility. Your leadership or wisdom, for example."

Bleu thought for a moment. She stirred the contents of the pot, then dumped it into an empty bowl nearby. Astarion could tell she was thinking about what he said, but he added, "Of course, opening with flattery tends to work well on most humans I encounter."

Making a "duh" face, Blue asked, "Were the humans you encountered mostly women?"

Astarion answered, "Well, now that you mention it, no. Turns out, men and women find me quite attractive." He leaned one hand on the kitchen counter and put his other on his hip.

Blue gave him a look.

"But most importantly, if you don't let your enemies see your hate, then you have many more routes to their weaknesses, and by proxy, their will." Astarion finished.

Blue considered his words, the contents in the bowl steaming. It smelled like salty beef but looked like noodles of some sort. How it came to be from the hard rock she dumped into the pot from the package, he wasn't sure.

"That's an interesting perspective. I've never thought of an interaction like that before." She concluded.

"When you spend centuries in my enslaved shoes, your ability to persuade others successfully is directly tied to your well-being, so you get quite good at it." Astarion did not enjoy recalling the times he wasn't able to lure prey back to Cazador. Sometimes, people bailed on him, and he'd beat himself up over it, despite knowing that Cazador would do this for him as punishment.

Blue grabbed a towel, wrapped it under her bowl, and walked to the couch. Astarion followed her, delaying only slightly to let her brush past him, lost in thought. She smelled like vanilla with a hint of lavender. Her blood smelled soothing to him, like a warm drink on a winter day, the kind that you could feel dripping down your gut, warming your spine as it did so.

The sound of Blue's fork hitting the bowl filled the silence as Astarion sat down across her, hands resting on the armchair. She wiped her mouth with her arm and set the bowl down. Sarge sat at her feet, watching Astarion with big eyes.

She said, "Tabling that discussion, I think we should figure out what to do if, you know, your friends are going to take their time retrieving you."

Astarion raised his eyebrows.

Blue started, "The way I see it, you could stay here. But," she looked out the window before asking, "I wasn't sure if that's what you wanted."

Kosef took a sip of his tea and gestured for Gale, Karlach, and Shadowheart to sit at the table.

"Would you like some tea?" He asked.

"No, just tell us how to find our friend," Karlach grunted, plopping down on a chair as Gale and Shadowheart took their seats.

Kosef lived on the outskirts of Waterdeep, closer to the mountains, away from the bustling center of 'all that is splendor'. He'd met Gale long ago on a brief encounter to barter for a scroll of invisibility. It was Gale who gave him a recipe for a potion, rather than a scroll. Thus was born the favor for Gale, that he was taking him up on, years later.

But at the time, Gale had no idea Kosef had spent many years in a different material plane. It seemed difficult to believe. He was only in his forties.

"Wow, you are quite the hothead, aren't you?" Kosef gestured with his cup to Karlach. She gritted her teeth at him in response.

Karlach made a scoffing sound, but Gale interrupted before she could continue, "Kosef, just please, for the love of all that is holy, tell us what you know. Our friend could be in trouble." Though he had a sixth sense that Astarion would end up in favorable conditions, he still fought back dread as to where Astarion could have ended up, and Kosef wasn't helping.

"Right, you are. He could be dead." Kosef remarked, eyeing the wall past Gale, seemingly a little distant. Gale had to admit, he was starting to question Kosef, who seemed less present than when he met him years ago. Perhaps he was just lonely. No one else had answered when they knocked, and he couldn't tell if there was another presence here besides Kosef himself.

"But there is a good chance he's not, right?" Shadowheart asked, trying not to scowl. If they were to seek help, they needed all they could get. Best not to assume Kosef was an enemy, despite Gale never mentioning him before.

"It's a good a guess as a coin flip, bird," Kosef said. "For me, I nearly died myself, since I didn't know how to swim." Kosef took another sip, somewhat distant.

Gale waited patiently for him to regain himself. After a moment, Kosef looked to the group in front of him with a kind of fiery sadness, of angst tinged with something akin to excitement, as if he was about to warn them, but wouldn't have heeded his own words.

"Look, what I'm about to tell you is all still very theoretical. There's a reason no one does this kind of thing, because it's only for those who are willing to leave this plane forever, potentially never to return, got it?" His words rang with the same air of excited warning.

"Alright. We'll take that into account then." Gale affirmed.

Kosef closed his eyes for a few long seconds before starting.

"It was long ago, but something like this, you will always remember." He looked up at the group, eyes still full of warning, "We were kids. Barely able. Eventually, we started learning to become sorcerers. We wanted to be the best ones out there, who could save anyone, you know?" Kosef's eyes turned bright.

"It turns out, my friends and I were all gifted. Call it the power of friendship, call it blood, whatever. Our skill grew with every spell, and every cantrip we practiced. I had a fondness for the elements. Hells, I could wield fire, thunder, and ice like the strongest storm in the palm of my hand." His eyes wandered to a portrait of a woman, an elf with red hair, unkempt.

"My partner, Isolde, had a knack for conjuration and defensive capabilities. In our skirmishes with the odd gnoll or criminal, she was the real fire to be dealt with." He closed his eyes and put a hand on his heart, muttering a prayer.

The group respectfully let him finish before he opened his eyes, which held a darkness so cold that even Karlach could sense it through her churning heart.

Kosef continued, "But Zedaar was skilled in necromancy. Of all blasted, damned things to be adept in, he chose the undead. The forces you shouldn't have control over if you ask me." Kosef looked away, shutting his eyes, trying to hold in his rage.

"For a time, we tolerated his pursuits. We all had our ambitions and respected that. But one day, Zedaar runs into a maniac follower of Bhaal. It was just a simple conversation. I even saw it, across a market in Rivington, as we were meant to pass through towards the mountains. And since that day," Kosef gritted his teeth and spoke quietly, "he began bringing corpses back to life without permission. Sneaking off into the night, tormenting anything dead just to see how long he could do it. At night, he'd hunt for animals to kill, then bring them back just for 'the experience'."

Kosef took another sip of his tea, a seemingly bottomless pit of liquid. "I was willing to let Zedaar continue, as I thought that eventually, he'd piss off and see the errors of his ways, and stick to applied necromancy. I thought, 'Even necromancy has limits'."

Shadowheart asked gently, "Does it not? I've heard of powerful necromancers, but there is a clear end point to which one can control, or interact with the dead."

Kosef looked at her with a powerful mix of sadness and rage, and said gravely, "Zedaar sought to break that point. He sought to push necromancy to its limits, and be damned if anyone got in his way."

Karlach whispered, "My god."

Kosef laughed bitterly, "God indeed. Eventually, he began killing people in service of this Bhaal. It started with simple 'accidents', he called them. But then he searched for excuses to wipe out entire groups of people during our travels, just to bring them back and use them as a brief traveling order of slaves. It was sickening."

Gale could feel his insides churning at the very thought. He could bring people back from the dead, but never more than one, and it was extremely temporary. He'd only ever seen the most powerful of sorcerers manage to control more than a few zombies or corpses, but it left them vulnerable.

"Anyways, long story short, Zedaar thought he could find a way to both permanently kill someone, or permanently summon someone back, under his control, but not as a zombie. He wanted ultimate control over life and death, under his sick terms."

"Like a vampire lord," Shadowheart whispered.

"Indeed. Except much worse. And with no chance of the spawn even considering leaving their 'life-master', as Zedaar coined it. While he was experimenting with this disgusting violation of life, I had half a mind to kill him myself. Can't necromance yourself, can you, you bastard?" Kosef spoke to the ceiling.

He continued, "Isolde thought…" a tear began to form in his eye, "She thought we could cure him of this sickness. Of his obsession with this power, and with Bhaal. By this time, he was starting to make a name for himself, so of course, the selfish prick wouldn't hear it."

With a great breath, Kosef carried on, "She…she told him that if he was serious about his fate, then they could no longer be friends. She…," Kosef wiped a tear from his eyes, "She told him that if he was to continue this path, he would have to kill her, or she would kill him."

Silence filled the room. Kosef sighed, recalling, "You can imagine how he reacted to that. What followed was the most painful battle between three very powerful sorcerers…and three long-time friends."

"Gods. That must have been one hell of a shitshow." Karlach said.

"And it was. We nearly destroyed an entire forest and its nearby city. You see, Zedaar had buried corpses around wherever we were staying, so he practically raised an army. He was a true monster, but he didn't want to be the one to kill us. Me, he'd have a hell of a struggle. But Isolde…," he shook his head, "A conjuring sorcerer might have control over weaker or even mediocre strength of wills, but she wouldn't have lasted against him. But he was hesitating, kicking me around while deciding whether he could kill her or not. She was always the gentle force between us, all those years."

"Towards the end, when we were finally whittling the arsehole and his forces down, she spoke to me in my mind, her beautiful voice telling me that we must banish him somewhere that no living being could go."

Kosef tightened his jaw in guilt as he spoke, "But I didn't care about his life anymore. I wanted her to be safe. So when she began to cast a spell that would banish him, I tried to cast one that would send her away, so I could finish this alone, so she could be spared of the violent end."

"But, Isolde, being the woman I never deserved, didn't tell me that she was doing the same to me. And I know this because she told me to wait before I finished the spell. But I was too stubborn, not realizing, not thinking about what she was doing. I should have known."

Kosef shut his eyes, taking deep breaths. "And what happened next was next to impossible."

Shadowheart asked, at the edge of her seat, "What?"

Kosef looked at the group and said, "I found myself in a completely different place. And when I say 'completely different place', I mean an entirely different planet. Later, I coined the term Plane Shifting. But I spent a decade and a half trying to figure out how to return to her. I ran every detail in my head and asked necromancers to even try and kill me. The planet I ended up at was called Nerath, a place like Toril, but with slight differences."

Gale frowned and inquired, "Wait, so you and Isolde tried to use conjuration spells, except with different targets, and you ended up being displaced onto another planet?"

Kosef cleared his throat before answering. "It's…a little more complex than that. Believe me, this is the best answer there is, so if it doesn't make sense, then I don't know what to tell you."

"Go on, mate," Karlach said.

Kosef nodded. "When you cast any kind, and I mean any kind of spell or magic that moves anything to another location, that 'thing' must not be trying to do the same to itself or anything else. It has to do with the intricacies of the magic moving you while not interfering with other magical forces."

"If I'm trying to teleport you across the room," he gestured to Shadowheart, "and you're trying to teleport me in the kitchen, and we're both standing in the living room, it won't work. The 'magic', for lack of a better word, doesn't have a subject to expel the forces on if we're both trying to displace the other. It searches for the next closest thing, which is, theoretically, you."

Gale's eyes widened. "Oh shit."

Kosef was almost amused, but he agreed, saying, "Yes. While it's known you don't typically ever, and I mean ever attempt that in any circumstance, I can see the odd situation in which it might seem useful. And, in some cases, it likely didn't end as catastrophically. But the more powerful the spells, the sorcerer, and the conviction in which it's cast, the more chaotic the results will be. I only know this because, in my studies, I met young sorcerers much like ourselves back in the day, that had tried to use misty steps at the same time. Since this was cast on each other, it didn't end in their insides turning outwards. Instead, it blasted them to kingdom come."

He took another sip of tea. "But they were all right. They laughed about it. But later, one of the kids told me he was trying to outcast, or cast onto another person, his misty step. I told him that he should never try such a thing, lest he want to keep his life intact."

"Jeez." Karlach commented.

"I know." Kosef sipped again, and with a snap of his fingers, his tea cup was full. "Later on, I also met others who were attempting these sorts of experimental teleportation methods. And more often than not, it ended with people's bodies exploding or burning alive. This type of magic can become chaotic quickly, and it is eviscerating once it does."

With a gentle curiosity that she hoped wouldn't return a terrifying answer, Shadowheart asked, "What happened to Isolde? How did you return to Faerun?"

Kosef set his cup down and answered with a sigh, "I was able to re-create my mistake, but I had to give an arm and a leg to the sorcerer. I conjured a spell that should have placed me directly near Isolde, while the sorcerer I paid tried to cast me away to a city nearby."

"And it worked. But," Kowsef lifted his arm and there were asymmetric swirling scars running up his arms, "I paid a price. During the travel, the magic left me with a reminder to never try this again."

"And when I returned, it was to her grave, surrounded by others taken by Zedaar. She had died shortly after I had disappeared." Kosef admitted.

Gale exhaled. "Well, this just gets better and better."

"The only good thing is she somehow managed to kill Zedaar. He was buried right next to her. And I know he's dead because I dug up his bones just to make sure. Nearly got arrested for it, were it not for the city's distaste for Zedaar." Kosef growled.

More silence hung over the group. Gale's mind began churning.

"So, from what I hear, if we want to find Astarion, all we need to do is look at each other, all think of Astarion, and try to teleport each other-"

Kosef slammed his fist on the table, making everyone jump, but he had tears in his eyes. "Did you not hear anything I just said?! Don't ever, try anything I did, ever!"

Gale's gaze softened at Kosef, who now had tears running down his eyes. "We have to try. And you're the only one who is the expert on this. We need your help." Gale looked into Kosef's eyes, hurt buried deep beneath dark grey pupils.

Shadowheart commented, "We need to know as much as we can before we try anything. But I agree. There has to be a way we can all find him, without being transported across worlds unknown and without knowing the consequences."

Kosef wiped his eyes. He got out of his chair and walked away to a far room. He opened it and shut the door behind him.

"Well, fuck." Karlach said.

"There has to be someone who knows how to send us to another material plane. Doing this out-cast spellcasting trick doesn't sound very stable. And it might end up blowing us all in different directions." Gale said.

"Maybe only one of us seeks him out then?" Shadowheart suggested, despite everything in her soul disagreeing with this idea.

"No fucking way. We all go." Karlach encouraged, now standing.

"It's not even guaranteed more than one person would plane shift. Kosef was the one that got teleported. Astarion too. Me and Isolde didn't go anywhere." Gale countered. "We need to find someone that knows how to transport others across material planes," He confirmed.

"But does such a person exist?" Shadowheart said. Groaning, Gale massaged the bridge of his nose, a headache brewing above his eyebrows. Behind him, Kosef emerged with a carved wooden box, a stern look on his face. He looked at Gale once more, as if having decided something.

He said, "I know someone who can, at least to my knowledge, can still transport others to another material plane. But you must have a strong conviction for whom you seek. There can be no hesitation." Kosef warned.

Karlach rolled her eyes but chirped, "Why didn't you say so earlier then?" Kosef returned to his seat and set the box in his lap. It was small, like a jewelry box.

"Because I'm not sure if she'd be willing. She was a past lover of Isolde, before me. And elves are, well, particular about who they speak to. And beyond the fact that this ability is little known to others, she'll know I sent you if you ask."

"How?" Shadowheart urged.

"She blames me for Isolde's death. Always has. Always will. As a result, she tried to find a way to move through time," Kosef replied. The room fell silent, until Gale said, "Oh."

Kosef sighed. "Her name is Seledra. She remained with us right up until Zedaar began his early obsessions with Bhaal. Isolde tried to convince her to stay, but Seledra was more stubborn than the deepest rock in the ocean."

"Did she…find a way to travel through time?" Gale inquired. He feared the answer if it were anything close to 'yes'.

"Thankfully not. Her pursuit was born of grief, and thus, not entirely thought-through. But due to the nature of conjuration and teleportation magic, the closest she got was becoming the only interplanar transporter I'd known. She is quite powerful, and dangerous to piss off." Kosef set the box on the table and opened it.

Inside were two silver-chained pendants with small oval opals on them. They were simple but polished to a perfect shine that matched both the sun and moon combined. Kosef let his hand rest on the box as he eyed them with sadness. Shadowheart asked, "What are those?"

Kosef replied, "I named them 'Lover's Call'." He pulled one of the necklaces out, the pure opal resting in his palm, the chain shimmering like a strand of unbreakable metal. It radiated energies of strength and longing.

"They're enchanted, the last of my efforts from before I discovered Isolde was dead. I crafted these to give to her once I found her. But it seems… I no longer need them." He placed it gently back in the box before continuing, "Should you ever find yourself traveling great distances, wear these. They strengthen the bond between the wearers and will create a throughline for the magic, even if your mind lacks conviction, or you are weak from battle. It's like a connection if you will." Kosef closed the box delicately and pushed it towards Gale gingerly, and with some hesitation.

"I tested them after finding Isolde's grave, having little faith in my life. I buried one pendant in her grave and wore the other. I convinced another sorcerer to send me someplace else, while I tried to do so to myself. I figured I'd kill myself in a stupidly poetic manner. Instead, I ended up in the Astral Plains, wandering for an eternity, alone. So I cast myself back to her. It worked. I dug up the pendant and swore to never practice this chaotic art again." Kosef finished with a heavy sigh.

Gale paused before accepting them. "Kosef, we can't-"

"Just take them. I don't want to be reminded of my failures. At the time of enchanting them, I had hope, but I must move on. For her." His gaze fell on the portrait of Isolde, his eyes threatening to tear up again.

He stood up and turned once more to the group, who stood up. "Find Seledra. Convince her to send one of you to your friend. And above all," he glanced at the box, "wear the damned things. Or you might end up somewhere in pieces, or worse, forever lost, on your own."

Shadowheart asked, "Wait. If there are only two, how will we bring our friend back without stranding the person who traveled?"

Kosef responded grimly, "When you try to teleport to someone else using the method of imagining them you can take one person with you. If you try anything more, it will overload the magic, it will cause them to shatter. And god knows what will happen to us if that happens."

Gale took the box and eyed Kosef, who was purposefully looking away. Shadowheart and Karlach grouped with Gale, who put a hand on Kosef's shoulder. "Thank you, Kosef. I'm sorry to hear about what happened-"

"You can find Seledara in Baldur's Gate. She works in that ridiculous circus, conjuring things for entertainment." Kosef interrupted as he began pushing in the chairs.

"Find her. And when you do," Kosef gave the group one last melancholy look, "tell her that I am, and always will be, sorry."

Gale nodded and replied, "Of course." And without another word, they left Kosef's house, the wooden door shutting with a certain finality of their journey.

In their search for Astarion, it was about to take a material plane of a shift into the unknown.