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Waterdeep is, against all expectations, lovely. The docks with the gentle creaking of the wood and the lulls of the waves, the town with the bustling and lively nightlife, and his partner, Gale, with the doe brown eyes and the gentle and patient touch, are all lovely.
Life is peaceful. A tad too peaceful. Two centuries of torment as an enslaved vampire spawn followed by months where he’s had too many close brushes with death and permanent tentacle-ication would do that to a man like Astarion.
Astarion spends his morning sleeping, his days reading, and his evenings tearing up the town (going to one or two pubs one a tenday) with Gale. It’s a fun, peaceful life, but every now and then Astarion’s body twitches at the thought of adventuring again lest his skill and agility dull over time from disuse.
On one particularly raunchy night (they went to a bookstore after hours because the sun sets later in summer), Gale brings up a work story as they read their books next to each other on the balcony in Gale’s tower.
“Plershé, a colleague of mine over at Blackstaff was talking about their research into inter-dimensional travel and the connectivity of different works towards our own.”
“Oh? Anywhere we could go on holiday?”
Unphased, Gale continues. “Not quite, but perhaps. There’s been an anomaly in one of the portals in the cellars of Blackstaff tower - she says that it leads to some sort of cross-universe carpenter store.”
“Carpenter store?”
Gale nods, a small knowing smile on his face. “It’s only a hypothesis. But she’s asked around for someone to hop in and investigate.”
Astarion perks up. “Is that so?” he says, feigning disinterest. It sounds fascinating, it really does, but Astarion is still Astarion after all. He wouldn’t do this for free.
After a small silence, Gale continues. “She said she’ll pay handsomely to whichever brave adventurer would like to give it an investigation and procure something for her.”
Astarion shuts his book, crosses his legs, and leans forward. “How much are we talking, dear?”
—
The portal swirls with a yellow and blue interweaving pattern. Astarion wouldn’t consider himself incredibly sensitive to the effects of the weave, but even he could feel the magic crackling. The pattern is hypnotising. The complementary colours contrast yet meld together so well - and - Astarion inhales deeply. Was that the smell of freshly baked bread?
A warm hand on his shoulder pulls him back to reality. Astarion snaps his head to the culprit.
Gale has a solemn look on his face. “Be careful, Astarion. Plershé warned me of the possibility of being sucked in. The last adventurer she sent in has yet to come back.”
Astarion stalls. “Hold on a moment, dear. You’re telling me that people have gone in and not returned?”
“That’s a harsh way to put it, but… perhaps.”
“We just barely came back alive from fighting a giant sentient brain - don’t you think our first adventure since then should be something a little more pedestrian? Something with a little less risk of permanent death or bodily deformation?”
“Well, I supposed a carpenter shop wouldn’t be as high risk.”
“A supposed carpenter shop. The only one who’s been in hasn’t come back. What if there are flying saws around?”
Gale looks at Astarion with those stupid, pretty, sad, eyes of his and Astarion just sighs.
Astarion holds Gale’s hand in a tight grip as they step into the portal together.
—
Bleary-eyed, Astarion takes a moment to adjust to the light. It’s bright, almost painfully so. The lights are flickering – fast enough to be missed by the average human eye, but Astarion’s vampiric senses are even more attuned to these sorts of differences than a regular elf.
He bolts up. The last thing he remembers is clutching Gale’s hand in the dank basement of Blackstaff Tower as they stepped into that portal together.
He’s lying down, and is… surprisingly comfortable. But his hand is awfully cold. If there’s one thing burned into his memory, it’s Gale’s warm hand clutching to his as they entered the portal. That which is painfully absent at this point in time.
The ground beneath him is soft. Actually, there is no ground beneath him. It’s… soft? And silken?
Astarion clutches at the sheets. It’s a chequered print with varying shades of grey. The sheets, although comfortable, feel rather cheap.
But this isn’t the time to be distracted by the fabrics.
He takes a closer look around him. There’s a dresser, a mirror, and an open closet with unfashionable shirts and trousers hanging from a rack. The style of furniture is minimalistic and lends itself towards an utilitarian style, the room comprising nothing but the bare essentials, but lacks the style or personality that he may have seen in Gale’s tower.
Speaking of Gale, where on earth has this man disappeared off to? The sheets next to him are crumpled — not dissimilar to the way Gale leaves the sheets of their shared bed in the mornings.
Astarion starts to look for a way out of this room. He clambers out of the bed, checks that his effects are still intact (they are), and turns around the corner.
What he sees next is horrifying. Half-rooms after half-rooms of differently styled bedrooms are all Astarion sees. Masses of oddly-dressed humans (and only humans) walk between rooms, testing the beds, opening drawers, feeling the materials.
When someone locks eyes with Astartion, he immediately stands up straight and is vigilant for any sudden unexpected movements. But his paranoia was uncalled for, as all they do is look away, almost shamefully, and carry on. This happens a few more times. Astarion doesn’t sense any hostility from them, but rather curiosity.
He has enough self awareness to realise it’s because he’s the one out of place here. His leather pants and ruffled white shirt, rather pedestrian wear in his opinion, does not fit in here.
Some of these humans appear to be uniformed, in a dark blue shirt embroidered with that yellow and blue symbol he’s been seeing everywhere. There are a series of letters on the symbols. They’re not in Common, but Astarion’s spent enough time poring over Gale’s personal tome collection to recognise the symbols as ‘IKEA’.
Astarion approaches one of these uniformed humans and clears his throat. If he’s oddly dressed in comparison to these humans, his lovely Gale in his gaudy purple robes would definitely not have slipped by unnoticed.
“Oh, hello sir. How can I help you?”
Thank god. She speaks Common.
“Hello, dear. You wouldn’t have happened to see a man pass by recently, have you? About my height, shoulder length brown hair, purple rob– shirt?”
“Oh, yep, I know the guy.” She glances at her watch. “He’s over at the food court.”
“The food court?”
“Yeah, you should have passed it when you walked in.”
Well, he portalled in so that’s useless information. Wary to not raise any suspicions, Astarion says, “Oh, well, my memory is a little fuzzy. There are just so many… knick-knacks around, I was distracted as I walked around. Care to direct me towards this… food court?”
She just laughs. “Yeah, no worries at all.” She points down the hall of half bedrooms. “Keep going down that way until you get to the kitchens, then turn right, and you’ll see the food court.”
“Lovely, thank you dear,” Astarion says as he turns back.
“Oh, and before you leave sir, awesome job on the elf cosplay. I love what you’ve done with your wig, it looks super realistic. Keep it up!”
She may as well have been speaking Gnomish. But Astarion can recognise the tone of a compliment when he hears it, so he simply thanks her and takes note of the wording of the compliment, lest it become useful later on.
Astarion follows her directions, and is indeed led through multiple half-rooms of kitchens. Many of the contraptions look similar to items he could name, but were labelled oddly. Wooden chopping boards were named ‘LÄMPLIG’ and ‘APTITLIG’, mixing spoons were called ‘RÖRT’, and pots were called ‘ANNONS’.
But Astarion can’t let himself be distracted – he takes a mental note of the items in the rooms, and weaves in and out of the crowd to get to this ‘food court’ area. But he barely has to look, as the scent of freshly baked bread and tangy-sweet tomatoes hit him first. Humans are shoving bread and sausages into their mouths, perusing shelves of packaged goods, and lining up at a counter.
And behind that counter is a very familiar wizard. A wizard, not in his usual purple robes, but rather that blue shirt he saw all the other uniformed humans wearing and a yellow-trim apron. Said wizard locks eyes with Astarion. Astarion knows Gale well enough by now to know that that slight widening of the eyes and the knitted brows is a way he asks for help.
Astarion storms to the front of the counter, but is held back by a rather plump man in a white shirt and green pants. “Um, excuse me man,” he says, pushing Astarion back with a clammy hand, “but the line is here. You’ll have to wait for your hot dog just like everyone else here.” He gestures to a tub of sausages submerged in water behind some kind of glass display.
Astarion looks behind him, and as the man said, there is a line of people.
“Yes, um, that’s right. I’ll be happy to serve you Ast- sir, once you get to the front of the line.” Gale cuts in, giving him a subtle wink.
Astarion hides a scowl. “Right, my apologies,” he manages out.
Then another uniformed human claps Gale on his shoulder, causing him to jump. “Right-o, new-hire Gale. Corporate says we need to give you guys a fifteen minute break every two hours otherwise we’re violating some workplace health and safety rules, so go on break.”
“Right… so I can leave now?”
“For now. But be back in fifteen – and be quick about it, the food court gets packed on Sundays.” He takes over Gale’s spot behind the counter, pushing him out of the way. He mutters something like, “Can’t believe corporate hired someone with no experience…” under his breath before serving the next person in line.
Astarion watches this exchange in amusement and slinks to the back of the food court. Gale hurriedly takes off his apron and clambers out from behind the counter, clutching his bag and a familiar set of purple clothing. When Gale gets close enough, Astarion pulls him in and starts to walk them back into the bedrooms section where they could get a bit more privacy.
“Gale, where in the hells are we?” he hisses, keeping his volume low. “Why did you wander off without me and why are you working for them? Selling these foul ‘hot dogs’?”
“It’s a long story, but here’s what I’ve gathered in the past few hours. We’re in some kind of furniture store called ‘IKEA’.”
“So the carpenter store guess wasn’t too far off. But we’re not in Faerun are we?”
Gale shakes his head, and then ducks into one of the rooms. This one looked to be some sort of living room. “We’re in a completely different plane. Magic doesn’t seem to be commonly, or at all, utilised here, and the population is entirely human. Their technology seems to be incredibly advanced – many of their devices are powered by varying degrees of intensity of lightning, and they’re able to communicate using–”
“Gale, my dear, I do find your tangents rather endearing, but this is neither the time nor place – could you hold it until we’re back in Waterdeep please?”
Gale flushes and clears his throat. “Right, yes, of course.”
“So can I ask why you were working for these people?”
“I woke up next to you in some kind of bedroom. You weren’t waking up so I went to do some investigating. But in the middle of that, I was pulled to the side by the charming man at the food court and forced to work.”
“Right, so that explains why you disappeared.”
Gale nods. “I’m sorry Astarion, I didn’t mean to abandon you. But I wasn’t sure what would happen if I refused. But I can assure you that we are safe here. Apart from the person who was my boss for a few hours, I don’t sense any hostility from anyone here.”
Astarion nods in agreement. The confirmation of the lack of danger here allows Astarion to relax a bit. “While this place is fascinating and I’m sure you have plenty to learn from here, we do need to return home.”
“Right, and that’s why I wanted to talk about magic in the first place – I did have a point to make about that. I just got lost in the fascinating use of lightning here.” Gale lowers his voice. “Magic isn’t a concept here. I also don’t sense any magic here either, except for traces of some sort of crackling power.”
“Crackling? I felt something similar right before we jumped into the portal to this world.”
“I thought so too. Very astute Astarion, I’m glad you picked up on that. I’m going to assume that that is our way back home.”
A small surge of pride swells in his stomach at the praise. “Right, so we grab an item for our dear Plershé, find this portal, go home, and collect our reward? Seems simple enough.”
“Famous last words, but I do hope so.”
Astarion hums in agreement. “Well, first thing’s first, darling. We’ll have to get you out of that drab outfit, dear. Not only is it rather unsightly, but it’s quite attention-grabbing.”
Gale nods. “Agreed.” Then he takes off his blue shirt to reveal tan skin underneath a thin undershirt.
Astarion can’t help himself. “My, oh my. Someone’s eager to test out these IKEA beds.”
Redness creeps up along Gale’s neck. “N-no! I’m quite literally just following your advice.”
“I suppose so, but you do know how much I love it when you follow instructions.”
“Astarion!”
Astarion just laughs. “Apologies, darling. I was only teasing. We’ll have plenty of time to go bed shopping back in Waterdeep. I can imagine the craftsmanship there would be much more impressive.”
Gale clears his throat, pulls his purple shirt over his head, and tidies up his hair in the mirror. He stuffs his uniform and name badge into his bag. “I suppose Plershé could find some use for this,” he mutters. “Now then, we should get going. My boss will hunt me down.”
“You looked like a natural behind that counter,” Astarion teases, “is this a new potential business venture you could start up in Waterdeep? Boiled sausages in bread – or ‘hot dogs’ as they called it?”
Gale scoffs. “Perhaps. Maybe I should bring some back for Plershé.”
Speaking of bringing back items. “In fact, we could bring back anything we wanted to, no? If we find this portal, and a few items here and there happen to slip into our packs, nobody would notice, no?” Old habit die hard, after all.
Gale looks at Astarion, looks around, and looks back to Astarion. “No,” he says slowly, “but morally, I don’t think that is a great–”
“If a tree falls in a forest in a different universe and nobody is there to hear it, did the tree ever fall at all?”
“I mean, technically speaking–”
“You know what I mean, darling.”
“But–”
“Think of all the wonderful lightning-powered contraptions you could take home with us if you do.”
Gale relents all too quickly. “You’re not wrong. But let’s do it quickly before my supposed break is over. We’ve ten minutes to go.”
They look at the rows and aisles of miscellaneous home goods in front of them. They look at each other, and nod, an unspoken agreement between them.
—
Once the trolley is piled up neck high with all sorts of furniture, gadgets, and for no reason other than because Astarion was strangely drawn to it, a stuffed bear called djunkelskog, Gale leads the way to the source of magic. The trolley is unwieldy, but Astarion manages to sneak it through waves of fellow shoppers. The trail of magic eventually leads them to a door in some dimly lit hallway behind three different doors
“It’s behind here, I’m sure of it,” Gale says, trying the handle.
“It’s locked, but nothing I can’t pick, I’m sure.”
Astartion crouches down and begins the old routine again. As he starts to feel the click of the lock giving, the unmistakable sound of footsteps begin to echo down the hallway. It’s only a second later that Astarion takes the lockpick out of the door, stands in front of Gale, knees bent, ready to pounce. Gale similarly gets into his battle stance.
The footsteps approach closer and closer, and the shadow of the single party is now visible. They stall for a second. Astarion and Gale give each other a glance, and nod. They know what they have to do.
The footsteps begin again, and is followed by the sound of… sniffling? Astarion arches a brow, but stays on high alert. A scrawny young man with mousy brown hair and a patchy, unkempt beard comes up around the corner. When he catches sight of Gale, Astartion, and their highly stacked trolley, he runs towards them with tears in eyes. This young man is wearing that same blue uniform, and he has a tag pinned to his shirt that reads, ‘Hej, I’m Gail!’
“H-hi, sorry sirs, u-um… but I just started my job today but I’m so lost down here and I don’t know how to get out of here. It’s my first day and they sent me down for uniform ages ago but I fell asleep on the couch in the break room…”
Astarion blinks. As a full-time liar himself, he has a discerning eye for those who have a similar occupation. This man, or rather boy, couldn’t lie his way out of a paper bag. Astarion relaxes his stance a bit.
Gale speaks first. “Gail, is it?” Him speaking first is probably for the better. He’s a tad more skilled at soothing agitated individuals.
“Y-yeah,” he sniffles, glancing down at his own name tag.
“You don’t happen to have been assigned to the erm… ‘food court’, are you?”
“Yeah… please don’t tell me I’ve already been fired – my mum’s gonna kill me…”
“No, no, you’re fine,” Gale says, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “If you get back to the food court in the next,” he glances at the watch on the boy’s wrist and grimaces, “or rather, as soon as possible, I think you’ll be okay. They had erm… someone covering you this morning, so I don’t imagine you’ll be in any trouble at all.”
Gail’s eyes light up. “Really?”
Astarion steps between Gail and Gale. “Yes, yes. If you turn left, go straight, and then go through two sets of doors, you’ll get to the kitchens. Your workplace should be straight ahead. Anyway, we’re very busy here, so you should go along before your boss gets too irate, alright dear?”
“S-sorry, could you repeat that please?”
“No.” Astarion smiles sweetly.
“Um… okay. I think I remember most of it anyway. Thank you sirs!” he says, wiping away his tears as he walks back down the hallway.
Astarion and Gale stay still until the footsteps disappear and the door clunks shut. “Well. I suppose that solves the mystery of why the main hot dog seller was so insistent on your presence as his hot dog selling lackey,” Astarion says, slipping back into lockpicking position.
“I think my beard is quite a bit more well-kept than his.”
“I’d agree.” Astarion smiles, and then the door opens with a click.
It’s a familiar scene behind that door. In between crates and cardboard boxes, is a yellow and blue swirling portal. The very same that appeared in the basement of Blackstaff Tower. Though… it does appear to be a bit smaller than it was initially.
“I could have sworn that the portal was at least twice my height at Blackstaff…” Gale surmises.
“No… I agree. Though it certainly doesn’t look like we’d be able to fit all our spoils in a single trip.” The diameter of the portal is shrinking. “Or any trip at all.”
“God damn it, we have to go, now!”
“But the loot – “
“The loot be damned if we can’t get back!”
“But your tech–”
“You come first!”
Astarion clutches at the boxes atop the trolley, but before he can register anything, a firm hand pushes at his back, forcing his head through the portal.
—
When Astarion wakes for the second time, the ground is hard and the room is darkly lit. It only takes him a second to regain his bearings.
He’s back in the basement of Blackstaff, where he and Gale stepped through initially. Speaking of Gale –
Astarion bolts up. He scrambles to his feet, eyes darting through every corner of the room. He’d been pushed into the shrinking portal first. He tries to rack his memory for anything that happened after that, but his mind simply blanks.
“Gale?” he calls out, banking on the possibility that despite searching every inch of the basement, that he had somehow missed him.
There’s no response.
“Gale?”
Still, nothing. He doesn’t want to think about the possibility of Gale being stuck on the other side.
“Gale…?” he tries again, one more time, desperately.
Silence.
Astarion swallows. One more time wouldn’t hurt, he thinks. Before he can speak however, a flash of yellow and blue fills the room, followed by a sharp clanking sound and a thud. When Astarion opens his eyes again, there’s a very familiar man on the ground, groaning. He’s squinting in pain, but appears otherwise unharmed.
Astarion drops to his knees and holds Gale close to make sure that he’s real.
“You absolute idiot –” he starts, eyes moist, “what were you thinking? You could have –”
Gale coughs, cutting him off and sits up, leaning on Astarion’s arm for support. “I… I had to get something back for you.”
Astarion shakes his head. “Gods, are you mad? There’s no gadget in all of Faerun worth more than you.”
Gale chuckles, then winces in pain at the movement. “It’s not some gadget.”
“That’s even worse - don’t tell me you risked your life for some wooden chopping board.”
Gale shakes his head and gestures weakly over to something over to the left.
When he sees it, Astarion can’t help but laugh. It’s irrational, it’s stupid, and it makes absolutely no sense, but he can’t help that warm fuzzy feeling at the pit of his stomach.
It’s a large, brown, stuffed bear. It’s… djunkelskog.