“Culture is a sort of gumbo cooked up out of all the parts of who you are, where you come from, who looks after you when you're small. Your fashion, linguistic cadence, word choice, how you view sex, table manners, farting - all these things are informed by 'home'.”

  -Penelope Ringwarble, Adopters of Culture

  Alex awoke to the sound of waves lapping against the shore, the feel of warm sand on his back, and the smell of burning oil and flesh. He held up his hand to block out the glare of the sun, then sat up with a start. This isn’t my bed.

  He jumped to his feet and looked around, eyes wide and mouth agape with shock, breathing heavily. He stood on the bank of a wide, lazily-flowing river, feet crunching in the sand of a small beach. Discarded fishing rods, nets, and baskets lay haphazardly around him, as if they had been abandoned in a hurry. Footprints in the sand led further down the shore until they turned and disappeared behind a rock outcropping. This isn’t my house.

  Across the wide river, he saw a thick forest of green, leafy trees. Despite the distance, he could almost make out the individual trees and see their branches shaking in a gentle breeze. Has my vision always been this good?

  He shivered in the breeze and realized why he had felt the sand on his back. He was completely naked. Where the hell am I?

  He turned around to survey his surroundings, looking for a place to hide. Behind him, a sheer, rocky cliff face dropped down to the beach. His eyes traced the cliff up, up, and up, then paused in shock. Nestled at the top of the cliff, surrounded by broken and smoldering trees, lay the wreckage of an enormous alien ship. A plume of acrid black smoke rose from it and painted the surrounding sky ashen gray. A trio of massive, kraken-like tentacles stretched from the ship and draped limply down the cliffside.

  Is that… a nautiloid? He blinked twice to make sure it wasn’t an optical illusion. When the flaming wreckage did not disappear, Alex turned and ran down the beach, following the footprints.

  I hope this is just a very, very realistic dream. It has to be. He had an inkling of where he was, and he did not like it. Cautious and curious of what he might find, he paused at the rock outcropping and peered slowly around.

  A dozen bodies lay strewn along the beach, all bloodied and still. The remains of a campfire smoldered nearby, next to the beached wreckage of a wooden fishing boat. Scorched metal fragments of the nautiloid littered the sand.

  Alex pulled his head back around the cover of the rock outcropping, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, to his complete horror, he was still on the beach.

  He knew exactly where he was. This was the Ravaged Beach from Act I of Baldur’s Gate 3, a video game that everyone in his circle of friends, including his wife, had been playing obsessively for the past several months. Because of work and family obligations, he had only been able to play for an hour or two per day and had just started Act III.

  For now, I will assume that this is a dream. A very realistic, lucid dream, but still a dream. The alternative, that this wasn’t a dream, was too absurd and terrifying to consider.

  After checking that the coast was clear, he crept from behind the rock outcrop to the remains of the campfire, trepidation in each step, alert for any sign that he wasn’t alone. Next to the fire pit, he found several backpacks, presumably belonging to the nearby dead fishermen. “Sorry,” he muttered to no one in particular as he grabbed the nearest backpack and opened it.

  Mercifully, it contained a full set of clothes. So did the other backpacks, and after some mixing and matching, he was able to assemble a complete outfit that almost fit. It wasn’t fancy: a formerly white long-sleeved linen shirt stained yellow and brown with dirt, dust, and age; a pair of gray linen trousers that were fraying at the ankles; socks pockmarked with holes and stiffened with dried sweat; and even a faded pair of underwear, which he had to push past his disgust to put on.

  It was scratchy and uncomfortable; everything was either slightly too big or too small, but at least he was clothed. He even found a discarded pair of worn brown boots that barely fit. Even if this is just a dream, I need to get away from the nautiloid wreck as quickly as possible, before anyone comes to investigate or loot it. Or before whatever killed these fishermen comes back.

  He took the least-worn backpack and filled it with anything useful he could scavenge from the campsite: some apples, a few dry and crumbly biscuits, a loaf of crusty and almost-stale bread, a half-used bar of soap, a paring knife, a tiny tinderbox, a handful of copper and silver coins, and, thankfully, a couple bottles of water. He added the few remaining clothes that fit him and the least-dirty bedroll, put on the backpack, and continued along the beach.

  I hope their spirits aren’t going to haunt me for this, he thought as he passed the last of the bodies. But I need this stuff more than them.

  It had been many, many years since he had last gone camping, and he hoped that his Boy Scout skills would come back sooner rather than later. From what he remembered of the game, Act I was set in an uninhabited, foreboding wilderness largely devoid of civilization. It’s been a while, but the only settlements that I remember are the Emerald Grove, the Goblin Camp, Moonhaven, and Waukeen’s Rest.

  The Emerald Grove is my best bet. Though the druids and tieflings are probably at each other's throats, I can try to take advantage of the tieflings’ kindness and get some basic food and shelter. Anything would be better than trying to live off the land. Especially an unfamiliar land where I don’t even know which plants are safe to eat.

  His racing thoughts were interrupted when he spotted a figure laying on the sand, curled in a fetal position. It appeared to be a young woman, wearing silver armor, with jet black hair secured in a long ponytail that sprawled out on the sand behind her. Is that… Shadowheart?

  Alex slowed his steps and carefully approached, trying to disturb as little sand as possible. In the game, she was laying unconscious on the beach. But that may not be the case now. I don’t want to scare her, but I also don’t want to be a victim if she tries to ambush me.

  As he approached, he heard the woman whispering what sounded like a prayer, in a voice wracked with pain. Her eyes were squeezed shut, like she was trying to focus and block something out. “...I beseech you, protect your humble servant from this heretical influence. Shield me from these thoughts with your dark embrace…”

  Alex paused for a moment, unsure of what to do. A prayer of protection? From what? Could it be… the Absolute? After another moment of hesitation, he reached down and put his hand on her shoulder, shaking her gently. “Hey, are you okay?”

  The whispered prayer stopped abruptly, and after a second, the woman’s eyes shot open. Alex jumped back in surprise as she sat up and confronted him. “What did you just do?” she asked, eyes narrowed with suspicion. “And who are you?”

  “Nothing, just making sure you were okay,” said Alex uncertainly, raising his hands. I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t want to screw this up. “You seemed to be in pain.”

  She took a moment to study him, eyes running up and down his ragged body. “Yes, I was. In quite a lot of pain, actually, until you showed up. So what did you do to stop it? And who are you?”

  “...I don’t know what I did. I just touched your shoulder to try to snap you out of whatever was happening to you,” he admitted, sounding just as confused as he felt. “And my name is Alex,” he hurriedly added, almost forgetting to answer her second question.

  The woman slowly stood up, cautious and wary. “Well, I don’t know how you did it either, but you stopped me from hearing… something. Something terrible,” she said, voice trembling. “An evil voice whispering in my head, commanding me to turn against my goddess. I was praying that she would save me, spare me from those heretical thoughts. I'm not sure if she answered my prayers by sending you, or if this is just a coincidence.” She looked back up at Alex, her formerly hostile eyes now filled with gratitude. “But regardless of which it is, thank you.”

  He was taken aback. This is different from the game. Shadowheart was supposed to be unconscious and grateful for being saved from the nautiloid. Instead, she is grateful that I saved her from the Absolute’s voice… somehow. “Er… you’re welcome,” he said with a bashful smile, rubbing idly at the back of his head. “I was just trying to help, and I’m glad that I could.”

  The woman smiled back. “My name is Shadowheart, by the way. And thanks again.”

  Together, Alex and Shadowheart trudged up the beach, eventually reaching a gap in the cliff face with a worn, narrow dirt path that led up into the forest. “So you weren’t on the nautiloid?” asked Shadowheart as they gradually ascended.

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “Or if I was, I don’t remember it. The last thing I remember was going to bed in my home. And then I woke up on the beach.”

  “If you were on the nautiloid, then it is probably for the best that you don’t remember,” she said, voice grim and haunted. “It was horrible. Those mind flayers… they locked me in a pod and put an illithid tadpole behind my eye.” She shuddered as she recalled the experience. “Then I heard a giant boom, and the next thing I knew, I was falling. Only by my goddess’s mercy did I survive. But then after I landed safely on the beach, I heard that terrifying voice in my head and I thought I was done for.”

  “It seems like the voice is somehow tied to the tadpole,” said Alex, stepping carefully over scattered rocks and racking his brain to recall his knowledge of Act I from months ago. “Somehow, the voice has been silenced, but do you still feel the tadpole?”

  Shadowheart tilted her head and winced. “I felt it just now,” she answered morosely. “Wiggling around behind my right eye. I just hope that I can get it removed as soon as possible. I’ve heard terrible things about people who get turned into mind flayers, and I have no wish to join them. I need to find a healer as soon as possible.”

  So you can physically feel the tadpole move around. Good to know, thought Alex, cataloguing this information alongside his mental map of their path up the cliffside and through the forest. I haven't felt anything wiggling around up there, so I'm pretty sure that I am not tadpoled, at the very least.

  A voice ahead of them on the path interrupted their conversation. “Why hello, you two over there! Can you please help me? There’s a monster over here!” The voice belonged to a short, pale elf with scruffy white hair, wearing a cream-colored tunic. He stood in the middle of the path, pointing frantically into the trees that lined the side.

  This must be Astarion, he recognized with instant suspicion. If I remember correctly, he tries to attack you when you first approach him.

  “He’s obviously lying,” whispered Shadowheart under her breath, not taking her gaze off the antics.

  “I agree,” whispered Alex back, halting in his tracks. “We should be careful.”

  “What are you two whispering about?” called the elf, impatience edging into his voice. “Come here! There’s a horrible monster hiding in those trees! Please, save me!”

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Alex shook his head. “If there is a horrible monster over there, why don't you just, you know, run away?”

  “Well, because-” he sputtered, before switching tactics. “You were on that blasted nautiloid, weren’t you? Come here, I want to talk about it.”

  “We’re not stupid,” said Shadowheart, crossing her arms. “What are you trying to do? This is an obvious trap.”

  “Look,” added Alex, doing his best to sound somewhat confident, “there’s two of us and one of you. How about you come to us?”

  Almost instantly, he dropped his facade, the feigned helplessness replaced with exasperation. “Ugh, fine. I suppose I underestimated how gullible you two look.” Instinctively, Alex stepped back and moved closer to Shadowheart.

  “So, what’s your story?” the elf asked as he stopped a few paces away, red eyes shifting between the two of them. He seemed relaxed, but Shadowheart slowly reached for a dagger at her hip and Alex, for what little good it would do, wished that he had not stowed the paring knife in his backpack. “I saw you two down on the beach.”

  "For the record, I was on the nautiloid,” said Shadowheart. “Held in one of those disgusting pods. And then it crashed, and now I am here. But what are you-”

  Suddenly, Shadowheart winced in pain. The elf grunted and brought his hands to his head. “This damned tadpole,” he muttered darkly. He glared daggers at Shadowheart. “What are you doing to me?”

  Are their tadpoles trying to make contact? Somehow, touching Shadowheart was enough to block the voice of the Absolute. Can it also block the tadpoles from communicating? Alex slowly stepped forward and extended a hand. The elf’s eyes snapped to him and he swatted the hand away. “What the hells are you-”

  He paused, and his expression twisted from one of relief to one of immediate suspicion. “What did you just do?”

  Shadowheart, no longer in pain, put herself between them. “He obviously stopped our tadpoles from trying to communicate. You should thank him.”

  “So you do have one…” He evenly met her gaze before turning back to Alex. “And what about you? Do you have one? And how did you do that?”

  Alex swallowed and stood up straight. “I don’t think I have one. I haven’t felt anything moving around up there.” He paused for a moment to reflect and choose his next words carefully. If I say the wrong thing here, or to any of the companions, that could be the end. Either for me or for them. “I don’t know how I silenced your tadpole, but it seems that my touch is enough.”

  “Most interesting,” appraised the elf, tapping a finger to his chin in thought. “I don’t understand it, but I would very much like to stick around with you in case this thing flares back up again. If you don’t mind.” He flashed a grin of feigned friendliness.

  Shadowheart gave Alex a not-so-subtle shake of her head. As much as I agree with her, we need him. The more companions, the better my chances of survival. I just hope his vampiric appetite is a little more contained than in the game.

  “You can join us, I suppose,” said Alex as Shadowheart shot him a look of disapproval. “But don't try anything. My name is Alex, by the way.”

  The elf gave an exaggerated bow. “Astarion.”

  Shadowheart did not bother to conceal her frown, clearly displeased at the turn of events. “Shadowheart. We are trying to find a settlement with a healer to deal with these little worms. Try not to attract any more monsters along the way.”

  The trio walked along the path, which grew less and less refined as they delved deeper into the forest. After leaving the area by the beach and the cliffside, it quickly devolved to little more than a thin trail through the underbrush. It twisted and turned around the trees and shrubs, demarcated only by flattened vegetation and the occasional footprint in a patch of mud. Astarion passed the time by trying to pry answers out of Alex and Shadowheart.

  “So, Alex, if you weren’t on the nautiloid, how did you end up among the wreckage?”

  “I’m not sure,” he replied truthfully. “I just sort of… woke up there. The last thing I remember is going to bed, in my house.”

  “And, pray tell, where is that house?”

  Alex hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. This may be a dream, but I’m definitely not telling a vampire spawn and a cleric of Shar where I live. “Very, very far away from here,” he said, with a finality that precluded further questioning.

  Astarion moved on to Shadowheart. “So, how did you end up on the nautiloid?”

  “That is none of your concern,” she said tersely.

  “Come now, if we’re going to be travel buddies, then we need to trust each other. Why are you so tense?”

  Shadowheart looked like she wanted to slap Astarion, or worse. “If she doesn’t want to answer, then she doesn’t have to,” intervened Alex. “To be fair, you haven’t told us anything about yourself, either.”

  “What is there to tell?” he said with a devilish smile. “I’m just a normal, boring, everyday-”

  Astarion’s monologue was interrupted when they rounded a bend in the path. They came upon a clearing in the forest, with a large boulder resting at its center. A massive, swirling purple vortex of magical energy emanated from the middle of the boulder, occasionally shooting forth bolts of crackling magic that crashed into the surrounding trees. The air was tense with energy that made Alex’s hair stand up, like he was standing in an area that was about to be struck by lightning.

  “This looks fun,” said Astarion, sounding not at all enthused. “Maybe you should check it out.”

  A man’s desperate voice could barely be heard above the crackling of magical energy. “Is anybody out there? Hello? I could use a hand!”

  “Sounds like someone is in trouble,” observed Shadowheart, sounding equally uninterested. “Not that we should help him, just pointing it out.”

  Gale is trapped in that vortex. We definitely need him and his spellcasting. Much more than we need Astarion, at least. Despite the danger, Alex steeled himself and crept forward, bolts of purple energy whizzing by.

  “Don’t mind me,” called Astarion. “I’m going to stay right here. But have fun!” Shadowheart held back for a moment, hesitating, then ran after Alex, seemingly just out of spite.

  Somehow, Alex reached the vortex without being scorched by a magic bolt. The purple void swirled on the stone’s surface like a batch of angry watercolors. “Hello? Is anyone in there?”

  A disembodied hand extended out of the vortex and waved, making him nearly leap back with surprise. “Yes, and I could use a little help. I am stuck in this half-collapsed portal and could use a good tug. Just grab my hand and pull.”

  It’s Gale, right? It has to be. He tentatively reached forward and grabbed the hand.

  The vortex pulsed, the ground shook, and the storm of magical energy turned into a full-fledged maelstrom. Wind swept across the clearing, making the trees shake. “Ah, by the Weave, what manner of creature are you? The portal is collapsing! Get me out of here!”

  Alex placed his other hand on the disembodied hand’s wrist, dug his feet in, and pulled, but the hand barely budged. Shadowheart appeared at his side and grabbed the hand’s lower arm. With her help, a forearm, shoulder, and eventually a full wizard in purple robes shot out from the vortex just as it collapsed, the three of them falling to ground in a heap.

  The wizard pushed himself up and off of them. His purple robes were wrinkled and his beard unkept, but he wore a friendly, grateful smile. “Sorry about that, but thank you very much for your assistance. It would have been an ironic way to go, a wizard killed by his own portal. My name is Gale Dekarios,” he said as he extended a hand to Shadowheart and helped her up, then did the same for Alex. “You may have heard of me.”

  “Shadowheart. Can’t say that I have.”

  “Alex. And neither have I”.

  Gale looked wounded. “Come now. You must have heard of me. Gale of Waterdeep, former Chosen of Mystra…”

  “Are you the Gale of Waterdeep?” said Astarion in an awed voice as he approached the group, the danger now passed. Gale appeared about to break into a smile, but Astarion abruptly dropped the act. “Just kidding. Astarion. Never heard of you.”

  Gale sighed. “Well, it can’t be helped. I have fallen far from her grace, after all…” He shook his head and straightened himself up. “Anyway, I am most curious about you,” he said to Alex. “How did you dispel my portal?”

  “Dispel?” replied Alex with confusion. “What do you mean?” Behind him, he sensed Shadowheart and Astarion perk up with curiosity.

  “When you grabbed my hand, my connection to the Weave was disrupted. As if Mystra herself cut me off for a brief moment,” explained Gale as he leaned close, studying Alex’s face. “Did you cast some unusual sort of dispel magic? Make a deal with Mystra or some other godly figure to disrupt the Weave? Eat a sussur bloom stew recently?”

  “No… to all of those things,” replied Alex. He looked down at his hands. “I’m not sure how, but somehow my touch was enough to stop their tadpoles from working,” he said with a glance at Shadowheart and Astarion.

  “Fascinating. There are creatures that have innate magical resistance, and spells and items that can generate antimagic fields or dispel magic, but the natural ability to dispel magic… that is new, even to someone as well-read as me,” said Gale with an academic chuckle. “I would very much like to join your travels for a bit. To study you, and for help keeping my own tadpole quiet, if you will have me.”

  “I don’t mind at all,” said Alex with a genuine smile. Just like in the game, this is someone I can get along with.

  After a couple more hours of following the path through the forest, the group of four came across another clearing, just as the sun began to set. The clearing was dominated by flattened grass, with the remnants of a fire pit in the center. With this being the first sign of civilization they’d seen since the beach, they decided to camp here for the night.

  Alex and Gale repaired the abandoned fire pit, scooping out the ash and replacing the stones around its perimeter, while Astarion and Shadowheart searched for loose branches and tinder for fuel. The campfire was soon ready, ignited with a prestidigitation cantrip from Gale.

  Alex shared the rations in his backpack. Everyone was hungry and thirsty after a long day of walking, and the food was quickly finished. The water ran out, too, but Shadowheart used a create water spell to refill the bottles while Alex watched in awe at the simple display of magic. Amazing. The food’s all gone, but at least we won’t die of dehydration. But why am I worried about that? This is just a dream, right?

  He laid out his bedroll next to the campfire. Gale cast presdigitation to smooth out and soften grass patches for himself and Shadowheart to use as makeshift beds, and was about to do the same for Astarion until the rogue waved him off.

  Hopefully he can keep his appetite in check. But at least someone will be awake to keep watch and mind the fire. And if not… well, that’s a problem for a future dream. Alex laid down in his bedroll. The night sky was a beautiful tapestry of stars, far more vivid than the one he was used to. Even the moon seemed larger and more detailed, with a trail of shining asteroids following its path. After admiring the view for a long moment, he closed his eyes.

  Well, this was probably the most realistic dream that I’ve ever had, but I’m glad that it’s coming to an end. Don’t I have to go to work tomorrow? And cook dinner? And maybe even take Melanie to dance class? I’m exhausted…

  He drifted off to sleep. But when he opened his eyes again, he was not at home, in bed, next to his wife. He was also not in a lumpy bedroll next to a campfire.

  When Alex opened his eyes, he was floating on his back in a vast field of stars, infinite in number. Against a black backdrop, he saw countless stars, galaxies, and nebulae suspended around him, slowly drifting along their preordained paths.

  “Come, speak with me, human,” rumbled a deep, echoing voice, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and his heart race. The voice sliced through space and time with no discernible source; the stars seemed to flicker with each word. A wave of cold malice and dread washed over him, like he was being scrutinized under an uncaring microscope.

  Somehow, even though he appeared to be floating in the vastness of space, Alex was able to sit up and pull himself to his feet, standing on seemingly nothing. A great circular void of complete blackness stretched across the horizon, around which the stars and galaxies orbited like water circling a drain. A halo of pure white light surrounded the all-consuming void, almost like the corona of the sun, and it seemed to call to Alex, as if trying to pull him in. A black hole? Or a wormhole, maybe?

  Another rumble, one that seemed to shake the very fabric of the reality that he stood in. It was… laughter?

  “Most amusing,” boomed the deep voice. “You are incorrect, but you are a smart pawn indeed.”

  Heart racing, sweat pooling, skin crawling, Alex somehow found the courage to speak. “...What are you? And where am I?”

  “I am a creature that is normally beyond your comprehension. I have taken this form, and am using this voice, as a means to preserve your sanity.”

  He gulped. “Are you… a god?”

  Another rumble of laughter, this one longer and more intense. The stars flickered and nearly went out, the galaxies spun wildly on their axes, and an invisible wave of force swept across the plane.

  “No, I am far beyond what you know as a god. While gods quarrel and meddle and have petty affairs in their own little domains, I stand beyond them, seeing and watching all,” the voice rumbled. “You may know me by many names. He Who Watches From Beyond the Stars. The Key and the Gate. Opener of the Way. Yog-Sothoth. But you may address me by my true name: Bolothamogg.”

  “...Bolothamogg?” repeated Alex, raising his arms and leaning against the force that threatened to bowl him over. Where had he heard that name before?

  “I am no god, but perhaps you know me as something else: a cosmic horror. An Elder Evil. A Great Old One.”

  The breath caught in Alex’s throat. His mind immediately tried to recall every single piece of information about Great Old Ones that it could. They were primordial beings on the edge of existence, incomprehensible to all but themselves. To look upon one, or even have one glance in your general direction, would instantly render you mad. If only I had read more Lovecraft. “Wait. If you truly are a Great Old One, shouldn’t I be dead? Or at least have my mind destroyed?”

  Deep, reverberating laughter shook the plane with a small earthquake. “You are sharp, for a mortal. But as I said, I have taken this form to preserve your sanity. Should I wish to, I could reveal my true form and end you instantly,” rumbled Bolothamogg, a hint of malice creeping into its voice. “But fear not, for I have use for you, my little lanceboard piece.”

  A feeling of pure terror settled in the pit of his stomach and spread through his body, making his hair stand on end and hands shake. “What do you mean by 'little lanceboard piece'? What am I to you?”

  “All will be revealed with time. Just know this: your task is a straightforward one. Stop the Illithid Grand Design.”

  Alex felt himself being pulled backward, the circular void receding, the stars and galaxies flying by as he accelerated, blending together until there was just a constant white glow…

  His eyes opened. He was not at home, in bed, next to his wife. He was in an uncomfortable bedroll next to a smoldering campfire, soaked with sweat and breathing heavily.