[ For the first time in an age, Gale no longer finds himself alone. Not in waking hours, when the party alternates between the depths of the Underdark and stunning mountain vistas above ground, searching for a crèche as likely to kill as to heal. The true miracle is that Gale finds himself in good company in the evenings, too. On any night when exhaustion doesnât drag him to sleep, he reads in Astarionâs tent; or Astarion entwines himself with Gale among his pillows, hands wandering his chest like uncharted territory; or they kiss until he can hardly breathe; or Astarion quiets his wretched mind with a bite (until his neck, wrist, shoulder all bear the marks). Itâs good. Itâs everything. In the daze of blood-loss and heady intimacy, Gale hushes an offer into cool skin. When all this is done, he could show Astarion Waterdeep. His city. His home.
With Astarionâs help, he feeds his arcane hunger more frequently than ever before â and itâs not enough, the ache yawning ever wider, like to consume him, too. Even so, thereâs a glimmer of hope in the companionship.
Itâs the tell that this peace is a mirage, like the snag in an imperfect illusion.
At the edge of the Shadow Cursed lands, Elminster not only sees how far his pupil has fallen (shame coming off him in waves), but also knows the true depths of his folly, as told by Mystra herself. Only Tav joins their conversation in camp. Laeâzel notes that Gale reeks of fear when she joins the others, though the dig almost veers into concern.
There is hope for you yet, dear boy. Forgiveness dangles beyond a jagged ledge, all heâs ever wanted in the agonising months since he lost his power and purpose both. He would do anything for it, for her, all higher thought forgotten until â youâre asking him to die! Tav breaks the trance, incandescent with rage on his behalf. The rest of the conversation passes in a haze of tension, terse barbs exchanged even as Elminster makes good on his promise to stop the orbâs advance. A stray thought: If Mystra could have saved him all along, her beloved, her Chosen⌠why hadnât she?
No, he was going to die one way or another, wasnât he? For his mistakes. Better it be in the service of something greater. Then, he wouldnât be forgotten.
Without a word to the others, he disappears to spend the night alone on the steps of the monastery, staring up at the stars. Word travels fast at camp in his absence. Fortuitous, for once, when heâd rather not see their faces on learning of his imminent demise.
In the morning, the only thing he says to Astarion before they journey into the darkness is an upbeat, You wonât need to waste your spoils on me any longer. Itâs the last positive thing on his mind, as the shadows encroach. A place rotted by blackest weave, shrouded from Mystraâs shining eyes. At their first camp in this wretched place, Gale doesnât sleep. He casts and upholds light through the night, only relieved by Wyll in the morning.
The Last Light Inn provides a true reprieve. Well, after an interrogation and a rather depressing reunion with the tieflings. At the end of the day, Gale finds himself nodding off in an armchair as the others celebrate the prospect of beds. When he blinks awake, only Astarion remains. ]
Oh, gods. [ Gale massages the taut line of his neck, sore from the angle of his dozing, and glances around blearily. There isnât a Harper in sight. Even Rolan has given up on drinking himself into a stupor and vanished. Voice rough with sleep, ] How long was I out?
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With Astarionâs help, he feeds his arcane hunger more frequently than ever before â and itâs not enough, the ache yawning ever wider, like to consume him, too. Even so, thereâs a glimmer of hope in the companionship.
Itâs the tell that this peace is a mirage, like the snag in an imperfect illusion.
At the edge of the Shadow Cursed lands, Elminster not only sees how far his pupil has fallen (shame coming off him in waves), but also knows the true depths of his folly, as told by Mystra herself. Only Tav joins their conversation in camp. Laeâzel notes that Gale reeks of fear when she joins the others, though the dig almost veers into concern.
There is hope for you yet, dear boy. Forgiveness dangles beyond a jagged ledge, all heâs ever wanted in the agonising months since he lost his power and purpose both. He would do anything for it, for her, all higher thought forgotten until â youâre asking him to die! Tav breaks the trance, incandescent with rage on his behalf. The rest of the conversation passes in a haze of tension, terse barbs exchanged even as Elminster makes good on his promise to stop the orbâs advance. A stray thought: If Mystra could have saved him all along, her beloved, her Chosen⌠why hadnât she?
No, he was going to die one way or another, wasnât he? For his mistakes. Better it be in the service of something greater. Then, he wouldnât be forgotten.
Without a word to the others, he disappears to spend the night alone on the steps of the monastery, staring up at the stars. Word travels fast at camp in his absence. Fortuitous, for once, when heâd rather not see their faces on learning of his imminent demise.
In the morning, the only thing he says to Astarion before they journey into the darkness is an upbeat, You wonât need to waste your spoils on me any longer. Itâs the last positive thing on his mind, as the shadows encroach. A place rotted by blackest weave, shrouded from Mystraâs shining eyes. At their first camp in this wretched place, Gale doesnât sleep. He casts and upholds light through the night, only relieved by Wyll in the morning.
The Last Light Inn provides a true reprieve. Well, after an interrogation and a rather depressing reunion with the tieflings. At the end of the day, Gale finds himself nodding off in an armchair as the others celebrate the prospect of beds. When he blinks awake, only Astarion remains. ]
Oh, gods. [ Gale massages the taut line of his neck, sore from the angle of his dozing, and glances around blearily. There isnât a Harper in sight. Even Rolan has given up on drinking himself into a stupor and vanished. Voice rough with sleep, ] How long was I out?