#Still. “I trust you.” Oh Gale. Ohhhhhhh Gale. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh Gale.

[recitedemise]

ooh wax poetic please!! ♡

Send ‘wax poetic’ for Gale to work some poetry; his muse is you: still accepting.

There is something about him that goes beyond age, isn't there? Watching how the cracking of dawn scorches him golden, silhouette blazed and amber-torched, Daemos looms like those palaces of old. He's its bailey by the sunset; he's its view to the east.

You're the wonders of a kingdom at its mightiest of heights, unwithering in the face of time's vast scourges. He is tall and stony, magical in skill, and you have only preserved in spite of it.

Yes. Gale, abandoning his tent, starts, by the gods, I would brave your parapets. I trust you, he thinks. His past is a mystery, mind stone-archways that would fold to a maze, but Gale knows luster; he hales from Waterdeep. And neither cowed by greatness nor bottomless riddles, where this man will guide him, he will follow.

(Even should his halls take him to a chapel.) "Morning." (There's a corpse at the altar and the dead at his feet.) "Slept well, I hope?"