#✨— — verse;; act 1 (the walking apocalypse)

[wizofwaterdeep]

@oathwilled asked: "not him just casually stuffing every scroll he finds in gale's bag, cause wizard, right? he'll know what to do with this."

“Oh my.” Soft brown eyes widen in wonderment, a rugged bag stocked to the brim with numerous assorted books and scrolls. It is not infrequent for his companions to return to camp with diversified loot—they must survive somehow—but this is quite unique. “Have you been… hoarding all of this, for me? I can’t imagine carrying such weight is without great effort, thank you.” Oh, how darling. Paerin is quite thoughtful despite the brief time they have known one another. “I assure you, I will make use of these.”

[wizofwaterdeep]

Gale looks positively grumpy, agitated arms folded across his chest. Unbelievable. "I was hardly going to allow you to venture off in the Underdark on your own. Disagree with your objectively unwise decisions or not, I am still a gentleman." Perhaps Miriam is correct, his snotty behavior will do little to solve their less-than-ideal situation. He's not Astarion—haughty and rude. The wizard sighs, heavy and apologetic, "I apologize. I should do better than to allow my frustration get the better of me."

Some light would do nicely, and the practiced wizard has precisely the spell to do so. "Fiat Lux," a spoken incantation upon his lips. His hand remains outstretched, palm open to supply a small flame as it flickers into existence before their very eyes, hovered just above his skin. Far from ideal, however, preferable to total darkness. "Now, we simply need to locate an exit. Conceivably, this cave contains a tunnel further down. And where there is a tunnel, there is potentially an escape upon the opposite side."

The crumbling of an unfamiliar environment was already enough to leave a heavy stone within her stomach, something about the darkness and near claustrophobia of the cave being all too familiar and reminiscent of Miriam's youth pushing the elf into a tense silence while she tried to think of a way to get out of their little predicament. Perhaps her hubris had been a bit of a problem given things really had been going far too well for her little group of companions and perhaps she really should have listened to the wizard when he'd told her it was unwise to go off on their own and wander about.

( He can't see too well here either, can he? Way to go Miriam. )

Even still though, the bubbling anxiety laying heavy within her heart only left room for rising irritation and defensiveness as Gale rightfully complains about the position her poor choices had put them in. “ Perhaps after we get out of here would have been a better time, don't you think? ” She grumbles softly, fingers tracing the roughened stones that had just trapped them within the cave cautiously. The tentative optimist in her is sure the rest of their party is looking for a way to get them out. “ But yes, you told me so and you were right, honestly I don't fully understand why you came with me if you were so certain something like this would happen. ”

[wizofwaterdeep]

@rotdame | cont.

A  wizard  of  great  intelligence  and  knowledge,  though  perhaps  lacking  in  wisdom.  Gale's  keen  eye  for  detail  does  not  always  extend  to  interpersonal  cues,  and  so,  he  remains  oblivious  to  her  nervous  shifting  in  demeanor  as  his  mind  is  consumed  by  thoughts  of  Waterdeep, of home.  "The  moniker  Gale  of  Waterdeep  would  be  quite  misleading  if  I  was  not,  wouldn't  you  agree?"  The  city's  name  dances  upon  his  tongue  lost  in  his  own  musings.  "The  City  of  Splendors.  It  is  magnificent  indeed."  Perhaps  when  all  of  this  madness  has  ended,  she  could  visit  once  more.  "And  where  are  you  from?  How  rude  of  me  not  to  inquire." 

[wizofwaterdeep]

@astraltouch asked: "[ NAUTILOID. ] A starter where our muses awaken on the beach after the nautiloid crashes. (from essek, in his bg3 verse)" // bg3 canon compliant memes;; open

Gale  slowly  awakens  upon  the  beach, head  throbbing  and  ringing  in  his  ears.  Despite  all  conceivable  logic,  he  should  be  dead  from  such  a  vast  fall,  yet  he  miraculously  remains  alive,  albeit  with  a  volatile  orb  of  Netherese  magic  pulsing  within  his  chest.  He  can  feel  it  stirring  softly,  soon  it  will  be  hungry  once  more,  however,  for  now  it  rests. 

With  a  groan,  Gale  struggles  to  his  feet  and  dusts  off  his  purple  robes,  taking  in  his  surroundings.  The  beach  is  deserted  except  for  one  figure  lying  on  the  dusty  sand.  A  drow  man  with  light  lavender  skin  and  perfectly  styled  white  curls,  despite  their  obvious  fall  from  above.  As  Gale  approaches,  he  realizes  this  is  not  just  any  drow.  He  recognizes  this  man,  from  all  those  years  ago  in  the  Underdark.  The  dunamancy  wizard. 

The  drow's  eyes  snap  open  as  he  sits  up  abruptly,  startling  Gale.  Nonetheless,  then  he  extends  a  polite  hand  towards  him,  saying  with  a  hint  of  familiarity  in  his  voice,  "Seems  we  meet  again  after  all  these  years."

[wizofwaterdeep]

@seldariine | cont.

Gale's heart races with anticipation as he walks through the surrounding forest, where Ehrendil has requested to meet him that evening. The sky is a stunning canvas of deep purples and navy blues, dotted with countless stars which seem to twinkle and dance in the darkness. A cool breeze rustles through the leaves above, carrying the scent of leaves and dirt. A beautiful evening for a chat, one in which he could have never predicted the electrifying sensation of their lips meeting.

It feels as though time itself has stopped, merely the softness of lips to his, and over far too soon. The corners of Gale's brown eyes crinkle, as eyebrows raise in genuine surprise. Lips part slightly, his cheeks flush with warm, rosy hue. "I... I was not expecting—" once a man of eloquent speech and confident expression, now reduced to bumbling stammers and awkward silences. Usual charisma and charm seem to have deserted him in this moment of vulnerability. "The sentiment is mutual, Ren, incredibly so."

A surprise, certainly, but a welcome one nonetheless.

He composes himself, leaning in eagerly to return the kiss before Gale allows this moment to slip between his fingers. It has been quite some time since he last indulged in such a passionate act, his lack of practice evident in hesitant movements and uncertain touch. Where inexperience shines through, he is determined to make up for lost time.

[wizofwaterdeep]

The wizard appears... confused, to say the very least. What in the blazing hells is Astarion possibly going on about? For a man as smart as he, Gale is certainly struggling to understand the branch in which this conversation has gone amiss. Courtship? Busing himself for the evening? How does any of this nonsense relate to—

Oh. Oh my.

His expression melds into something quite obfuscate, pinching the bridge of his nose in utmost frustration, "Oh, for the love of— I am not seducing you, Astarion. Were you even listening to a single word I said?" And after he was the one to demand answers on Gale's state of affairs, unbelievable. A heavy sigh escapes his lips as the wizard hauls himself off the ground, brushing away the dirt upon his knees. "I was merely attempting to show you the reality of my condition. One in which, might I remind, you were so adamant in understanding."

How they have possibly managed to end up here is beyond him, however, it hardly important. “To put it rather plainly, balled within my chest is a fragment of Netherese blight, an orb, for lack of a better term. The moment I absorbed the fragment was not enough to kill me outright, though it is destructive nonetheless, it hungers to be fed. I have allowed it to absorb traces of the Weave from potent magical sources, such as your pendent, to keep it temporarily dormant. Were it to fully destabilizing, however, I would erupt and the magnitude would be utterly disastrous.”

To think they have been concerned with illithid tadpoles, when Gale himself has been the biggest danger to his companion’s lives of all. But he will do everything in his power to ensure the orb stays dormant, if not well, then Gale will ensure he alone pays the consequence. “I must be overly cautious, any undue… excitement could result in losing such control over the orb.”

Where Astarion thought there was indulgence to be found in all of the grittier details of Gale's nights spent by his Mystra's side, he was instead cursed with a sob-story of bad romance gone worse and the naivety of a young magician to boot.

"Hm?" The pale elf had already lost track of himself by the time his curiosity was waved off and replaced by whatever it was that Gale wanted to share with him instead. His eyes dipped to the hand in wait and a brow hitched in turn.

Was it merely a labour of imagination gone wild and distant musings distracted with what's for dinner tonight, or did Gale just offer to show him how wizard sex worked?

"You can't be serious." Astarion flatlined with a snort. Disbelief took root in the quirk of his brows and the way his his stare swung between Gale's hand and the wizard's deep brown eyes. That would have been laughable had Astarion not been so taken aback by it all. "So much courtship and lore flowing in the rivers that brought us here, but all of them clearly run dry by the time they reach camp."

As well as the wine and flowers, obviously.

Astarion couldn't tell if the wizard was making a pass at him, or if he was merely exotic that way by default.

"Or am I wrong in my assumption that this," the pale elf gestured towards Gale's hand. "Is your way to busy yourself for the night? I mean, I'd rather think courtship's more of a sweetener, really. Not entirely a necessity, but it does feel nice from time to time?"

Lurking beneath the pale elf's derisively satirical banter there just might have been the subtlest of hints of curiosity. Clearly not enough of it, however, to urge him to take the hand and dive headlong into the unknown without knowing exactly what it entailed. As per Cazador's very own words, one of Astarion's few virtues was that he trusted no one.

At least not entirely.

[wizofwaterdeep]

@pactclawed asked: "so that did happen. it wasn’t a dream." // howl's moving castle starters;; open

"It would appear so," the wizard chides, "the night brings counsel, or so the saying goes, but last night had quite a bit more in store, wouldn't you agree?" And Gale, well, he seems hardly quite so perturbed as the rest of his companions. "A dream visitor, one shared by all nonetheless. If I didn't know any better, I would estimate our rather unique tadpoles have something to do with it. Fascinating."

[wizofwaterdeep]

plotted starter for @sageofthestrange

The Underdark has a strange menacing beauty. Perhaps not the wisest of settings to pursue a dangerous quest with merely a party of two, however, given the circumstances, Gale can scarcely think of a more fitting pair than two wizards to survey an abandoned tower. A mage's tower is sacred ground, but this one is long since empty, Gale feels little guilt poking his curious nose around dust and ruin. Tongue of Madness and Tinmask spores. The retrieval list assigned to them is quite short, though easy to grow distracted. If only books were weightless, he would happily carry an arms full back to camp.

"It would appear this Lenore dedicated much of her life's work to research, a cleric after my own heart, if I do say so myself." And careful fingers caress the edges of each page with an almost reverent respect for her writings. "Oh, I could certainly get lost down here."

[wizofwaterdeep]

@myristicisms asked: "I feel for you. This sounds like an impossible situation;; From Miriam!" // howl's moving castle starters;; closed

An impossible situation, perhaps so. A blight of Netherese magic—this orb—ever ravenous and ever hungry. The impact of which is apparent to all who lay eyes upon him, no need for the wizard to prattle on further. An eccentric scar etched, branded into his chest. Over time Gale has learned to tolerate the discomfort, occasionally agony, even. But the orb is ever craving, the deterioration of his greater magical ability seems the lesser of two evils, when the other alternative is his (and everyone in a considerable radius') complete annihilation. "Perhaps, but an impossible situation of my own creation. I, dug my own grave, as one might say. Rather crass, but honest nonetheless."

[wizofwaterdeep]

A singular brunette eyebrow raises high, a soft hum upon the wizard’s lips. “How could I, when you have seemingly taken all the wine for yourself?” There is a slight vexation to his tone—clearly in response to his companion’s inebriated state—overshadowed instead by amusement and curiosity.

“If you would be so kind as to share. Perhaps this evening’s festivities have gotten the better of me.” In Waterdeep, the wizard would find himself much more finicky to the wine which graces (or assaults) his tastebuds. Here, however, there is little choice to enjoy something with a more refined palette. “A beautiful night, don’t you think?”

&. starter call! ; @wizofwaterdeep

"Is that the great wizard of Waterdeep I see, tragically empty handed?" Erys slurred playfully, the wine having cast a liberating spell over her movements and words as she approached Gale in front of his tent. While the drow typically veiled her interactions with a veneer of detachment, using wry words and cool glances as her armor, tonight's celebratory atmosphere had led to a more relaxed and carefree demeanor. "Don't tell me you're too good to indulge in a little bit of stolen goblin wine? I'm sure you can look in your little pack of scrolls for something to make it taste more bearable."

[wizofwaterdeep]

The wizard's brown eyes narrow as they settle upon his companion, expression betraying a hint of confusion with his line of thinking. He remains silent but willing to comply with his request nonetheless. The elder woman from the grove exudes an aura of calmness and serenity, her polite smile and gentle voice reminiscent of Tara, Gale's dearest tressym. Relatively harmless, or so she seems.

"Indeed I can," a brief nod, "if there are any magical illusions at play here, my magic can detect them quite easily."

With a hushed whisper, he speaks a familiar incantation, calls forth the arcane energy of the Weave. The very air which surrounds them shimmers and shifts, charged with magic as Gale focuses his thoughts. As his gaze falls upon his companion, he suddenly understands his paranoid plight.

What was once a picturesque landscape filled with vibrant flowers now transforms into a dark, foreboding swamp. It is an illusion, masterfully crafted to deceive and ensnare them, and at its center stands Ethel, the source of this treacherous trickery. Not an innocent woman, but a hag. A fey creature.

"Well, well, it would you were right, my friend."

// @wizofwaterdeep liked for a starter

Everything, if Raserei was being completely honest, felt unreal and like a blur. His feet were moving and his was speaking, going through the motions one might say; yet everything felt like a play. There was a wiggle behind his bad eye and he scowled. He refused on some level to get used to that.

It was why he was having such a difficult time. Cut off from the whispers of Dagon and the Abyss, Raserei couldn't even be glad about that silver lining. The woods they were walking into looked so inviting, almost too inviting, but his paranoia was disrupted when voices of people arguing carried in the air. And one of them he recognized as the old woman from the grove.

As they came down a small path two men were indeed arguing with Ethel and seemed to have weapons, well farm tools, drawn on her.

The barbarian looked over at Gale, "It would seem the kind old woman from the grove could use our help." Though Raserei didn't sound overly sencire.

"Gale, can you use your magic to detect all glamor? Like the ability hags have to hide their appearance, for example?"

[wizofwaterdeep]

“None I would forcibly insist you answer.” The wizard prides himself greatly in the pursuit of knowledge, the knowledge of people can prove just as beneficial for survival. Especially when one finds themselves in the company of strangers who happen to share an illithid tadpole. Astarion is a mystery he has yet to fully unravel, though forcing the vampiric elf to speak with him hardly seems the avenue to best earn his trust.

“We all have our demons.” He notes with a soft hum. “Do we not?” The orb within his chest a constant reminder of the demons which follow Gale everyday, a heavy, crushing weight he fears he may never rid of. If he can withhold such a secret from their party—one which arguably endangers his companions—it is difficult to blame Astarion for holding his own cards close to his heart.

Whatever this nightmare contained, it has left his elf companion visibly perturbed. No longer the suave, almost apathetic man he has come to know but rather someone else entirely. The cracks have begin to form. The chink in his armor, a vulnerability… a humanity. There is a softer side to Astarion and the wizard wonders just how long it’s been since the vampire has allowed anyone to witness it. “Would you like to talk about it?”

ASTARION WAS RELIEVED THAT NOBODY ELSE had been woken up by his scream- he really didn't need to see the pity from Shadowheart and Karlach, or the disappointment from Lae'zel and sympathy from Tav and Wyll. Frankly, seeing it from Gale alone was already too much for him.

The last thing he had expected was for Gale to offer his company, and his initial reaction was to turn him down. He had already seen him vulnerable, he really didn't need to see anything else tonight. Still, he had a feeling that the wizard wouldn't accept a simple NO so willingly.

"... I suppose you could tag along." He murmurs, a hand placed against a tree to help himself with his balance. He hated this, feeling weak all because of his own mind. It was pathetic. Releasing a sigh, he gestures vaguely towards a direction and slowly began to walk.

He kept quiet at first, not uttering a sound until the two of them were far enough from camp that Astarion felt comfortable nobody else could find them and listen in. Not that he exactly planned on divulging his entire tragic back story to Gale, but he imagined that the wizard had questions that he wouldn't let be left unanswered. Always on the pursuit of knowledge, after all.

He breathes in a deep breath, glancing to the sky in the hopes he'd see the start of daybreak. Something he used to dread he now yearned for, wanting to spend every waking moment basked under the sun's rays before it was potentially snatched away again. Unfortunately it looked as if the darkness would remain for a while yet, and so he sighed and slowly sat cross legged on the ground.

"I assume you have questions. Ask away."

[wizofwaterdeep]

Gale laughs a genuine, hearty chuckle. "Hm, well, last I checked a spellcaster merely refers to one who casts spells. Magic is a gift to all life, and you're hardly calling yourself a wizard." Though the paladin's raw strength to, as he says, 'hit shit' does serve them quite well in battle. As does his tremendous healing capabilities. Not a spellcaster, what an utter load of bullock.

"Are you feeling alright? You look a bit flushed." A bit jittery as well. Concerning, they have little time for illness. A soft hum, and the wizard presses the back of his hand to Paerin’s forehead. “I may not be a cleric, but I do have the most restorative home remedy for a common head cold. Courtesy of my mother, of course. I’m certainly I could collect the ingredients for before nightfall.”

He  doesn’t  really  quite  know  when  the  wizard  started  getting  under  his  skin  — in  the  best  of  ways,  of  course,  but  even  so  in  ways  that  he  hasn’t  felt  in  a  long,  long  while.  At  first,  he  thought  it  purely  physical  — he’s  pretty,  and  his  wit  makes  some  rusty  part  of  him  loosen  just  a  little  — but  he’s  slowly  coming  to  realize  it’s  more  than  that.

He  feels  warm.

The  half-elven  rubs  the  back  of  his  neck  as  he  passes  over  the  bag,  trying  to  seem  entirely  nonchalant  about  the  whole  thing.  "  Aye  —— I  mean,  wasn’t  so  bad.  I’ve  carried  heavier  packs.  "  He  usually  travels  incredibly  light,  really.  He  clears  his  throat,  gesturing  loosely.  "  I  mean,  I  figured  out  of  all  of  us,  you’d  be  th’best  bet  for  all  of  these.  I’m  no  spellcaster,  I  just  ——  hit  shit.  I,  uh.  "  Gods,  he’s  smooth.  "  Aye.  There.  Sure.  Glad  ye  like.  "

[wizofwaterdeep]

There is more filth upon the wizard’s weary body than one could ever desire—dried blood caked upon his cheeks, his clothes, and do not even get the man started on the muddy state of his pristine boots. Footwear which cost him a bloody fortune back in Waterdeep. Oh, how Gale yearns for home; the warm comfort of his bed, his favorite reading spot overlooking the vast Waterdhavian sea. Even Tara, by Mystra’s mantle, he misses Tara most of all. The City of Splendors is a stark contrast to a place such as this. The Underdark, Gale has decided, is not a place for humans. It is miserably cold, strangely humid, and his lack of darkvision ensures this is quite the unpleasant experience, as opposed to his elven companion.

“I believe we have more than earned our rest for the evening.” The quiet grumble of the wizard’s empty stomach is clearly agreeable to the suggestion. They have plenty of camping supplies, perhaps he could cook up a nice stew this evening for camp, his mother’s old recipe. "Would you like to accompany me back to our camp? I assure you these tasks will still remain come morning, no sense moseying around on an empty stomach."

@wizofwaterdeep | Gale Dekarios sent;;

🌙 - our muses are exhausted and hopelessly lost

;; for miriam's bg3 verse

Wander, battle, wander, battle, the stench of viscera and whatever other questionable items within the surrounding area being more than enough to bring even the most patient of people to the brink of pure irritation. Time is limited amongst the group after all and it certainly doesn't help the dull tingling that stings within Miriam's flesh, the overwhelming urge to claw at the unwelcome itch only heightening the raven haired woman's annoyance; Though her companions likely aren't doing much better either, especially not the wizard at her side. “ I'm sorry. ” She mumbles softly, voice quivering.

The underdark, beautiful as it is, only reminds the elf of far more troubling of times, she can't imagine Gale is particularly enjoying the area as much either, though she'd never speak for another person, even if he looked as exhausted as she felt. “ ... Do you want to sit and have a rest for a moment Gale? I think I'm nearing my wits end here and perhaps it might benefit us both, clear our minds a bit and maybe have something to eat before we try to find the others. ” Perhaps with a full belly, Miriam would be able to focus well enough on where she's already been and where they're headed to, “ I can continue onwards though if need be, it's up to you. ”

[wizofwaterdeep]

A single brunette eyebrow arches upwards, rather strait-laced in nature, “Mere words of prayer? Oh no, I laid with the Mother of Magic herself. What we had was transcendent, euphoric, and entirely not the point of this conversation, Astarion.”

Chosen one, she once called him. Oh, how the mighty have fallen so far. “From quite the young age, I was what one might call a wizarding prodigy. Such was my talent to attract the attention of Mystra herself, who named me her Chosen, and much, much more.” So young, and so, so naive as well. Mystra was his goddess, his muse, the embodiment of the very Weave itself. How could a young wizard believe such attention to be anything other than love?

The benefit of hindsight leaves the wizard reeling in devastating regret, only guilt remains as Gale ponders the destructive orb in his chest. However, there is something else, as he reflects upon all the years lost, how desperate and eager he was to please his Goddess. Never quite powerful enough, never good enough to be deemed an equal. This feeling, it stirs uncomfortably deep within his stomach. Anger, and well, Gale had never been one to dwell in anger.

This is the story of his folly, after all.

"To turn a rather arduous story brief, I disregarded the flowers and chocolate approach, instead pursuing a far more grand gesture of my romantic affection." A raw piece of fractured magic, of the Weave itself. What if he could return this lost part of herself back to the goddess? If only Gale had known what that cursed tome truly contained. "Perhaps it is better for me to show you, should you be so inclined."

Never knowing Astarion as one to stray from his rather morbid curiosity, the wizard kneels down before his vampiric companion. "Please your hand over my heart," he offers, an outstretched hand waiting to be taken.

Dishonesty in turn for self-preservation was speaking in the proper tongue with the rogue. But with this much familiarity also came his proficiency at picking lies from hidden truths. Many of which were the teller's to keep-- so long as said teller didn't get him ensnared in their own personal dilemma of tangles in the process.

Now to tangle with a goddess?

Astarion would have had better chances at not breaking into laughter had Cazador been impaled in a trench of his own making rather than this.

"Haha! Oh, Gale you don't honestly think I'll–" All smiles and laughter from one hell of a crack melted into heavy-lidded skepticism across the pale elf's chiselled features as he took himself a moment to study the highs and lows of Gale's sullen brow.

He was actually not pulling a fast one on the rogue, was he?

"Oh shit. You're serious." Colour him impressed. Leaning back a touch, Astarion almost half-expected the wizard to go up in flames there and then. Good thing he'd eaten the damn pendant... though the rogue would have been happier it if hadn't been one of his effects. "Well, that explains a thing or two as to why your blood is more vile than some backalley swill. You've successfully managed to spit in the ambrosia of a goddess? Hm..."

Astarion almost sounded surprised-- appreciative, even, eyeing the wizard from his boots to his hair as if trying to spot whatever it was that this petty deity did. As in assuming these less than important details involved what he thought they did.

"Didn't think you had it in you."

That crackerjack smile with two centuries' worth of practised seduction poured into it curled at a single corner of the vampire's lips as his tongue visibly toyed with the pointy end of one of his fangs.

"You see, Gale, I'm something of a devil for these less than important details you've mentioned." Astarion stepped a little closer now, his soprano several notes softer into secrecy. "So, what was it like? I mean, I'm assuming you and this goddess of yours have done more than to exchange words of prayer or– whatever it is you do."

Hopefully, Astarion wouldn't need to draw what he meant with that.