#Gale's home is so...well dark academia. How typical.

[recitedemise]

𝗚𝗮𝗹𝗲'𝘀 𝘁𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗰𝗿𝗮𝗱𝗹𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘄𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘀. Nestled along the coast of Waterdeep, it is both sunlight and the insistent cling of salt that Gale's grown to find exceedingly soothing. It is the bastion of his comforts, outfitted with a grand assortment of a thousand enchantments. Charmed, it is far larger on the inside than it appears on the outside, and nestled in its rooms wade about a million secrets. A wizard's tower, after all, should be as much an enigma as the mage themselves.

Entryway.

Upon entering Gale's home, one would be welcomed by a sectioned off room, the house separating its guests from the rest beyond this point. It is nondescript, all deep woods with the warmth of a far away fire, sure, but plainly put, is not what one expects from a wizard's home. There is a mirror by the door, and before it, a little end table with an aging candelabra. There is a thick, fine drape that rests snug at the arch walling off the tower's entryway, and there is a plush, old rug sat in front of the door. Framed, there hangs a painting of a garden by the right-most wall. The decor is dated, speaking of an aesthetic veering on 'dark academia' and here, there is an enhancement Gale placed to thwart those not explicitly welcomed--hold person, in the rug, can hold you still.

But at least the shy smattering of hanging plants can keep you company.

The first floor: Entry way, living room, kitchen, and washroom.

After exiting the entryway, one would at last enter a hall, short, that leads to a cozy and admittedly half-cluttered room. Here, there is a coffee table, some leather seats in a shade of hemlock-green, and a winding staircase--fit with a red stair runner-- that goes, up, up, up (again, enchanted, some time manipulation steeped in the runner to shorten walk-time). In fact, should one look up, one would think Gale has furnished twelve floors at least, the ceiling like a pinprick with rich deep-gold tiles. It's evident this floor's hardly used, however, beyond the kitchen that is sat snug and half-walled off from the adjoining living room. The seats seem seldom used, not a crack or wrinkle in their delicate upholstery, and the cups lines in Gale's kitchen never used beyond the one. There's several books splayed about, a knitted blanket Morena had made him some decades ago--purple, his favorite, shade, of course--thrown about the sofa, and a myriad of paintings lined on the walls. There's a hanging light in the fashion of some brassy armillary. In the built-in shelves in the paneled walls, there rests even more books with some decanters of whiskey. There rests a wide circular window fit with an alcove right at the center wall, too, with a darling view of the waters with some hanging candles.

Beside the living room, the kitchen--again, very frequently used--waits, charmed with a fire that seems always to burn (safely, of course). At all times, something fragrant lingers within it, be it darling, spice-fruit tartlet or a succulent rack of ribs or lamb. Here, the fashion is a touch more rustic in nature, more dark-red bricks and taupe woods. Over his oven--black iron, a simple cast wood stove--rests an overhang of herbs, dried and half-self grown with the pots by his open windowsill, and the other half purchased from the ladies at the markets. He's a sizable coldbox charmed with a suspended chromatic orb of frost (it pulses, giving perpetual cool to the contents inside), beside countertops filled with all manner of jars. Gale makes his own jams, his favorite being a delightful, tart raspberry, and it with its fruity sisters and brothers rests bottled up with delightful cloths. Gale spends much time in here, and it's plain to see he lavishes it with love. Always, there is something delightful set up by the island counter that looks off into the rest of the living room--like a cake stand piled generously with something exquisitely vanilla. With a door nearby, Gale would explain it leads to his little pantry of hundur sauce. There, one will find, too, his notable collection of both red and white wines. An evening with Gale Dekarios is an evening with a five course meal.

The washroom set off by the staircase is humble, a tap of flowing water charmed to flow and stop when you so wish it. There is an ornate mirror, some suspended flowers there for a spot of freshness, and lit candles for ambiance. The small of something earthy and not too overbearing hangs everywhere, steeped in the towels and the wood of the little medicine cabinet.

The second floor: Two bedrooms, with their own personal bathrooms.

Here, you will find Gale's bedroom, and beside it, a spare. To note, no one ever uses that guest room considering, well, one would need guests to start off with. All the same, no would-be over-night stay would find themselves wanting. The guest room, adequately sized, opens up to face a wide, stained glass window-modestly so, just to allow some shades of gold to lick along the floors. A thick curtain dresses it up, its color a burgundy wine that pairs well with the dark woods and surge of white in the bedding. The best itself is a four post one, no veils yet to hang off of them. The large dresser is empty save for some spare things Gale has put in for Tara (spare collars, for example) and a couple of blankets he's never once used. It has its own bathroom as well, its tub charmed to, again, spill water and stopper it whenever you so wish. It's everything you need should you ever stay here, but admittedly, stripped just a bit of any personality.

Gale's room, however, is ride with personality. Here, you will find all manner of trinkets and wide-eyed wonders. It's dark wood again, and lived in, is effectively cluttered. There are books strewn everywhere, laid out on the floors despite two of four whole walls filled completely with tomes. He's a window at the one wall, opening to the scene of the city clamoring just beyond, its windowsill decorated with cups of wine, tea tins, and some pots of terracotta for when he deigns to play gardener. He's a large armillary in a state of perpetual spin, aligned with the real-time turning of the stars. His bed is large, a bed tray usually atop of it with smattering of peeled fruit and his read for the morning, sheets a dark, rich brown with the bedposts taken in dark-green curtains. There's a bed for Tara, too, laid there by one of his growing stacks of ancient reads. His carpet is patterned, a sliver of white to help brighten the space, with some cat toys strewn here and there and an armoire that's charmed much larger on the inside. Beside his bed, there rests Gale's private bathroom. It's impressive, tiled beige with dark woods that border on chestnut black. He's a whole array of bath salts, lotions and creams and shampoos and conditioners, everything combining to capture ascent of sage and jasmine sweetened just a sliver with a persimmon hue. His tub is actually dipped into the floors, a standing shower merely an overhang spout in the space beside the tub. There is incense here, too, that wafts at times with the hot steam of his usual luxurious baths--Gale, let it be known, a sucker for a spot of finery.

The third floor: Dedicated solely to Gale's office and study--dressed up with a terrace. Inside the study, Gale keeps his inheritance and riches.

Going up the stairs this floor has no landing. In fact, it's only a passing door before one continues traveling up towards the rooftops. The door is unassuming, something old and ancient with brass knockers as handles. However, belying its normalcy is the swell of magic and light that glows from crystals within.

This room is what we are most familiar with: it is, as we have seen in game, Gale's study. And yes, it is by and large, Gale's most favored room--kitchen notwithstanding. Here, Gale's study is less a study and more a keep of ancient texts. His walls are littered with them, the copious amount of shelves not enough to cradle their wealth. Stacks of loose tomes can be found crawling up, up, up for the ceiling everywhere, and each one, he'll tell you, is one he's read once before--evidently not faking it like every other bookworm. He knows where each one seems to lay by heart, even the four hundredth manual in an uninspiring shade of brown. He's a crackling hearth, one he's charmed to run forever on and on, with a single chair and a sofa-too-many. He's a statue in a wait-high sizes dedicated to Mystra. He's spent more hours than he'd confess to kneeling before them, a memory he's no rush to indulge in again with any delight, both scrolls and flowers wreathing it like humble offerings. He's a piano he's manipulated to play when he desires, something of a tune that runs very soft and relaxed. At times, Gale himself will even pluck away the keys, the piano chair before it housing some rough compositions.

In this study, one will find a door, locked, to what houses whatever is of Gale's inheritance. Beside that door, one will also find the double doors to his brilliant terrace, outfitted with plants, a rug, and sun-warm sofa. Here, Gale likes to idle away his time, Tara in his lap and some wine on his tongue. In his year in solitude, he would rest here often, looking over the lullabied waters and its quiet ripples... Half mad, half yearning, and entirely wistful.

One can find some empty bottles of wine here with a heavy heart.

The fourth floor: A smaller room, something like an observatory.

Humble but absolutely dazzling, the top floor opens up to a darling observatory of sorts--not a proper room, no, but a mere floor with a railing that looks down to the lower, three-most levels. Here, the ceiling--again, those rich tiles of brown and gold--rest above your head, wide and unobscured of even a hanging light. Instead, there are candelabras set up about this book-littered room (with pillows, too, and a nice rug set up for casually laying) that flicker and whisper with its crackling song. Laid down on this floor, one would look up to that so-bare ceiling...and when Gale so whispers it, says those magical words, the ceiling seems to suddenly disappear, replaced with a ripple of the view of the stars. Here, Gale can trace the course of the twinkling cosmos. Immediately, the shine of the stars come to pale the combined wash of the candles, the atmosphere impossibly drusy and gauzy like silk. Gale likes it up here, relaxing in the majesty of the moon. Sometimes, he will find Tara flapping her wings here, a little trapdoor to the rightmost wall for her to come and go from when she desires. They will cuddle up together as she speaks about her nightly escapades of feline devilry. Gale, in a nest of pillows, will patiently listen.