#Gale foremer archmage: Hahaa.a..a.a.a..a...

[recitedemise]

Gale is a man of endless love. He is a well of it, a drinking and plummeting chasm of it, and when he gazes unto magic and just-cast spells, he can feel his devotions deepen greater. After all, there's no force like the Weave, no miracle half as wondrous! It'd filled his twinkling eyes with stars as a babe, yes, and as a man with his age nearing forty summers, it's no longer just the stars, but the blossoming cosmos.

His eyes burn bright, and his hunger wells infinite. He adores all magic, seeks it wherever it lurks, and now, by the river, it calls him here.

Regulus. "Not for the first time, you would have my thoughts turn," Gale says with humor, catching the tail-end of whatever spell he'd just cast. In the air, his orb sings away, electrified, perhaps, by the faint ripples of Weave. "The way you work and bend the arcane—even in my years as an archmage of Waterdeep, I haven't seen anything quite like it." Oh, what is he really? What does he do? That and more gnaws Gale as their party chatters over supper beyond. "Though, let me be the first to say that I would very much like to see it again."

@proditeur.