#i want to get the netherese book for gale too but i looked at the guide for it and it sounded stupidly hard so that will wait | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

spookyjuicefiction · 10 months

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Violets & Plums: Astarion/Tav, Part 4

A/N: Look at me updating and not completely abandoning a work! I literally have no plans for this chapter I'm just gonna freeball it and hope it gets where it should go. I read a really sad Ascended Astarion fic last night that I want to flush out of my brain by rambling on and on with fluff

Also Astarion and Shawdowheart are besties and helping each other work through some trauma

Masterlist Part 3

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Astarion emerged from trance sluggishly, feeling unusually well-rested. No nightmares clung to the backs of his eyes, and he was so warm.

He froze, suddenly alert.

He was never warm.

But she was.

His eyes snapped open and he took in the scene. The room looked stark in the morning light that cascaded through the skylight above; the previously flickering candles melted to stubs that dripped over the side of the bed table. And, of course, there was her. She took up most of the bed, her arms akimbo and hair splayed messily across the pillow. Her mouth hung open slightly, and she snored a little with each deep inhale. She was still shirtless; he took inventory of each scar and freckle dotted across the expanse of her skin. His limbs were tangled in hers, and he couldn't ignore the extra heat where his leg split hers open. Fuck.

They were so wound together that she stirred at even his slightest movement; he was trying to angle his morning excitement away from her hip.

"You better not be trying to get out of this bed."

Her voice was thick with sleep, eyes still closed as she yanked the blanket back up over their shoulders.

He chuckled awkwardly, unsure of what to do. He couldn't remember the last time he woke up in bed with someone. At once the warmth was both suffocating and intoxicating; he wanted to nestle back into her so badly, but he felt exposed and vulnerable in the sunlight. He tried to deflect.

"Darling, we have a very busy day today. There are so many goblins to kill! I should think you'd want plenty of time for your breakfast."

"I can have breakfast any day. I likely won't get to share a proper bed with you again until we reach Baldur's Gate, and I intend to enjoy it."

Astarion grinned in spite of himself. "Very bold of you to assume I'd jump into bed with you again. You must think you're quite the cuddle."

Smiling, she finally opened her eyes and looked into his. His stomach flipped at the expression they conveyed, all sweetness and sleepy desire.

"You wound me. And here I thought we had something special." She let out an overly dramatic sigh. "If you'd rather room with Gale in Baldur's Gate, I suppose I can understand. Just give me some time to get over it."

He was too weak to resist her. Her charming playfulness, her nudity, and her gentle hands on his shoulders were a heady mixture that his conscience simply couldn't contend with. He succumbed to the warmth, closing the distance between them with a hungry kiss that left them both a little breathless.

"If my only lodging option is Gale in the future," Astarion told her seriously, "I'm taking a page out of Lae'zel's book and swearing off beds altogether. I refuse to be the first person that dies in a Netherese orb explosion."

Giggling, she stroked his cheek and replied, "I swear to never make you bunk with Gale if you admit that I'm the best cuddle you've ever had."

Astarion rolled his eyes with exaggerated exasperation and she playfully slapped his cheek lightly, still giggling. "You bastard."

"Very well," he sighed, leaning forward and nuzzling his nose to hers in a way so a nauseatingly sweet he would certainly punish himself for it later, "you are the best cuddle I have ever had. And it's not even close." For once in his life, Astarion was telling the complete and entire truth.

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The saccharine mood from the morning cuddle hung over them both as they strapped into their armor, packed, and headed to the dining area to meet the others. Astarion felt he hid the giddiness better than she did by nodding stiffly to the table at large and heading to the corner to sharpen his daggers in solitude. Tav, on the other hand, greeted everyone with unbridled enthusiasm that had the entire table raising their eyebrows. Very subtle, Astarion mentally chastised her. But even he had trouble committing to the thought, warming at the idea that he might be the cause for her smile as she sat down and dug heartily into her breakfast. Mine.

It didn't surprise him when Shadowheart fell back to walk in step with him on the way to the goblin camp once they set out. She seemed determined to dig up gossip on whatever was going on between he and Tav.

"How was your evening?" she asked innocently. Astarion shot her a knowing look, and she chuckled.

"Lady Shar would be ashamed at my lack of subterfuge," she remarked. "Although I'm not nearly as bad as you and Tav."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean." Astarion's tone aimed for dismissive, but even he couldn't hold back a smile when Shadowheart snorted in return.

They walked in companionable silence for a while, and Astarion found that he did not entirely dislike the cleric's company. He wondered if she considered him a sort of friend, the way Tav did.

"Can I ask you something?" he surprised himself by asking her quietly.

"Sure," she answered, sounding a little surprised as well.

"You surrendered your memories to serve Shar. Do you ever..." he wasn't sure how to ask the question that was on the tip of his tongue. "Are there times that you sort of.. clamp up? Like there's something you can't remember, but it... paralyzes you?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he felt Shadowheart regard him. After a beat, she answered, "yes."

He looked to her now. Her fingers were brushing the black spot on the back of her hand that she claimed was an "old injury that acted up from time to time". She continued, "it sort of feels like my brain is resetting. Like I should be able to remember something, but it's blocked. It makes me feel..." she searched for the right word. "Afraid. Outside of myself."

"Hmm," Astarion hummed in reply. He found that he wanted to confide in her further. "It happened to me last night, when Tav and I... I became afraid, quite suddenly." He frowned at the memory. "I feel... ashamed."

"Astarion, if there is anyone who would never judge you, it's Tav," Shadowheart reminded him gently. "But I'm sorry that happened to you. And I'm sorry for whatever memory caused it." He felt her hand touch his wrist, and she gave him a little squeeze. In response, he lightly bumped his shoulder against hers.

"What a mess we all are," he sighed. They were approaching the edge of the goblin encampment now, and the pair dropped to a crouch in unison.

"Well, luckily there are plenty of goblin skulls to crush as therapy."

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"What kind of a name is Priestess Gut, anyway?!" Astarion yanked Tav behind a pillar as a flurry of arrows launched their way.

"That's what we all call you behind your back." She was panting as she chugged a quick healing potion and wiggled her fingers, willing electricity to buzz between them. The grand hall of the old Selunite temple was a mess; the group had managed to schmooze their way in and take out two leaders, but a guard had caught Karlach cracking a scrying eye against the stone wall and alerted the whole camp to their trickery.

"No no, that's what I call you after you pig out on sweetrolls after supper," he shot back through gritted teeth as he yanked arrows out of a dead body nearby. She shot him a wicked grin as the sparks between her fingers began crackling even bigger.

"Hang on, I've just had a thought!" Astarion plucked up a carafe from the ground nearby and flung it around the pillar, covering the ground with water. "Alright, sweetness, light them up."

She happily obliged, sending a current of pure electricity through the line of goblins in a chain reaction. The pair whooped excitedly as they ran forward, trying to catch up with Wyll and Lae'zel ahead.

"Watch out!" Shadowheart's panicked scream hit them too late; an arrow whizzed past Astarion's face. Looking up, he saw they'd missed a guard in the rafters, which he took out with a rapid arrow from his own bow.

"Little shit," he cursed, "come on-" but Tav had dropped to the ground next to him, slipping through his fingers as he tried too late to catch her.

"No, gods damn it, NO!" the rogue arrow was poking out of her shoulder, just above her heart. Her eyes were blinking rapidly as blood soaked her jerkin. Panic seized his heart as he tried to drag her out of the center of the room; the fight between Karlach, Gale and the last leader, Minthara, was spilling dangerously close to where Tav had fallen. Shadowheart was on the other side of the room shooting off shield spells, and Wyll and Lae'zell were rushing forward to join the fray.

What the fuck do I do? Tav was losing consciousness, and he needed to get her out of the way.

Suddenly, he remembered the ring Gale had pressed into his hand a few days before and the conversation that had ensued:

"Gale, what in the hells am I going to do with a Misty Step Ring? I don't even use magic."

"You have fey magic in you, Astarion. You never know when it could come in handy. Just hang onto it."

Astarion threw his arms around Tav and tried with everything in him to channel the power of the ring.

"Come on, fucking faerie magic," he grunted. I have to save her. He let out a scream as a white hot feeling crashed through him - and then they were gone.

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What if she's dead?

The question wouldn't stop ringing in Astarion's ears as he paced outside the door to the room in the temple they had deemed as the hospital ward. He didn't quite know how to feel about the question. Only days ago he swore he wouldn't have cared if Tav had fallen off a cliff, but now... everything had changed. When was the last time he'd lost someone? Someone that mattered?

"It was quick thinking, mate," Wyll said for what must have been the third time. The warlock was cleaning a scrape on his leg on a bench along the wall. "You did everything you could."

Astarion picked up a piece of rubble from the ground and threw it as hard as he could down the hall. He hadn't done enough. She could be dead.

Belatedly, it occurred to him that he hadn't once been distracted by her blood as he tried to stopper the wound. It almost unnerved him that the frenzy of his thirst had been overpowered by his panic over losing her. He wanted to smack his skull against the wall. His confusion over his suddenly strong feelings for her flavored his fear of losing her with extra nausea.

Finally, Shadowheart appeared in the doorway, wiping her bloody hands on a rag. "She's alive," she assured him quickly, assessing the pure panic in his eyes. "She's lost a lot of blood and will need some time to recover, but she'll pull through."

Astarion thought his knees might give out. "Is she awake? Is she in pain?" he tried to peer over the cleric's head to get a look into the ward. "Will it be alright through the night?"

"I promise, Astarion, I've done everything I can." Shadowheart looked exhausted - depleted, even. He wanted to hound her further, but he knew she was telling the truth. He hadn't forgotten their tender conversation from earlier in the day, and he was grateful to her for that and for tending to Tav.

"Can I see her?" he asked in a small voice. Shadowheart nodded, stepping out into the hallway and holding the door open for him. Astarion understood - this was the changing of the guard for the rest of the night.

He moved into the dimly lit room to take up his post and nearly shuddered at the sight. Tav was laid stiffly out on a table in a way that reminded Astarion of a body at the morgue, covered by a loose piece of cloth. Her tangled hair was pushed back over her head, and her forehead and upper lip were glistening with sweat. He hesitated for a moment before stepping back in the hall, asking Wyll to keep an eye on her for a few moments.

He returned to the tableside with a bucket of warm water, his bergamot soap, a sponge, a comb, and a clean set of loose clothing. He spent the next hour gingerly scrubbing the crusted blood and dirt off of her pretty skin and gently working through the tangles in her hair. He sat at the head of the table and worked the strands into an intricate braid pattern that he hadn't realized he even knew how to do. Hair-braiding was an intimate act amongst elves; he briefly wondered whose hair he might have braided before to learn this design. He was glad that he didn't remember; he wanted it to be only hers.

When he had finished cleaning her, he sat and watched her for so long that he lost track of time. It felt as though he was trancing - thoughts seemed to come and go before he could catch them. They were tiny things, inconsequential. A vicious master, a putrid dungeon full of rats, a squirming parasite digging through his skull. An infernal tattoo. An army of cultists marching on the city. It didn't matter now, he knew. As he looked at her, he at last finally, calmly accepted the seismic shift in the cosmos. The center of his universe now lay on the table in front of him, dancing between life and death, the axis of the planet spinning unknowingly around the core of her being. He was but a tiny moon in her atmosphere, helpless to her gravitational pull. Perhaps it was time to stop resisting. With a sigh, he settled into orbit.

A dim light had begun to creep through the dusty windows when she finally stirred. A groan of pain, followed by a thick swallow. Astarion was at her side in an instant with a water skein, tipping it to her cracked lips. She swallowed and coughed lightly, blinking up at him.

"It smells like shit in here."

He chuckled, tucking a stray hair behind her ears. "My apologies, madam. I'm not sure I can wash away, what, months worth of goblin piss in one night? But I can certainly try if it should please you."

She huffed out a laugh that made her wince, tenderly bringing a hand to touch the wound area. "How bad is it?"

"Shadowheart says you'll live," he smiled at her crookedly, "though I had my doubts. You looked quite poorly."

"You must be disappointed she was right," she smirked up at him, although he thought he caught an unguarded flash of uncertainty. If she only knew what he now understood, she would never doubt his devotion to her. But how could he even begin to explain it?

"Not in the least," he all but whispered. Leaning down, he ghosted a kiss against her lips first, and then to her forehead. "Don't scare me like that again, please."

"Then don't forget to check the rafters next time." Tired as she was, her eyes were full of adoration as her hand clasped around his.

#astarion fanfic #astarion angst #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x reader #baldurs gate astarion #astarion fluff #astarion #fic wip

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tabitha42 · 21 days

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The Wizard's Apprentice - Chapter 39

Saffron is just a lowly apprentice with barely a successful firebolt to her name. So what chance does she have with the arch mage she's slowly falling in love with?

Gale x Tav, slow burn, eventual smut

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The mood was varied that evening. Shadowheart was annoyed, and somewhat in denial, about her theory being proven false. She’d muttered about being sure there was something about Malitas they weren’t seeing, even though she knew he’d spoken the truth while under the effects of her spell. Astarion had simply said it would have been useful to have someone in their party who could send 7 people and a tressym to sleep in an instant and had criticised Gale for letting him leave. “If he’s so desperate to protect Saff, let him protect her next time we get into a fight,” he’d said. Shadowheart had then pointed out it would be another person to share their already meagre rations of wine with, and he’d agreed at that point maybe they were better off without him around.

Saff was conflicted. On one hand she was happy to not need to worry about the possibility that Malitas had been conditioning her over the last three years she’d known him, and was glad that he’d apologised for what he’d said and that he and Gale had come to an understanding. But while it meant a lot to her that he’d gone some way to prove he was sorry by finding the book for Gale, she still wasn’t entirely sure if it was enough for her to forgive him for everything he’d said, especially since Gale himself didn’t seem to have forgiven him for it. There was also still part of her left troubled by the unanswered question of why she’d felt the way she had. Gale had told her Malitas made the same assumption as him, and that he’d apologised for making her feel that way… and that even after he’d told him she didn’t believe it was related to her experiences with Aryn, Malitas hadn’t been entirely convinced. Trauma does not always follow its own rules, Malitas had said. Maybe he was right… yet it still left her uneasy.

As she entered Gale’s tent that night she found him reading the book Malitas had given him. He looked up and gave her a smile, lowering the book and resting it against his chest as he beckoned her to sit with him.

“How is it?” she asked, nodding to the book as she sat down next to him and leant into his arms.

“Very interesting. I don’t know if it will provide any answers, but it’s an enjoyable read regardless,” he answered as he put his arm round her shoulders. “I must admit, Malitas’s notes are insightful. He’s clearly well versed in Netherese magic and has made several suggestions for how to remove the orb.”

“Do you think he’d actually be able to help you with it?” she asked.

“Perhaps, though he doesn’t know about the charm Elminster put on it, which could change things.”

“You didn’t tell him?”

“No… I wasn’t quite sure I trusted him with that particular bit of knowledge yet,” he answered. Saff nodded understandingly. Even though they’d come to an agreement, it was certainly still a fragile one.

“Listen, um… I was thinking…” she started, a bit hesitant as she reached into her pocket and took out the sending stone. “You should take this. In case you decide to ask him for help with the orb.”

She held the stone out for him. He took it and looked at it for a moment as he ran his thumb over the engravings. When he’d first met Saff he’d asked her if she knew a master wizard that might be able to help him with his predicament… maybe the answer to that was actually yes, though he would have preferred just about any other wizard in Faerûn.

“Are you sure?” he asked. She nodded confidently.

“Yes. You’ve got more to say to him right now than I have.”

There was something in her voice that told him there was more to it than this. Maybe Malitas was more right than Gale had realised when he’d said he didn’t think she’d want to see him right now… maybe even having the stone on her was too much of a reminder of how she’d felt.

He put it in his pocket, leaving his thoughts unsaid for now and deciding to move to happier subjects.

“Well, I think that’s enough talk about such things for tonight,” he said, putting the book aside and turning his full attention to her. “Tara will be back soon, and I’d hoped to spend a bit of time… alone with you, before that,” he said with a flirty smile as his arm lowered from her shoulders to her waist and he gently lifted her chin with his other hand. A smile came to her lips at his touch.

“Why do you think I came in here?” she said playfully, before leaning in to kiss him.

The next morning was long as the group packed up to head out. After some considerable discussion Halsin managed to convince them to go via the Underdark, and Astarion mentioned noticing a lift down to the Underdark while snooping around the Zhentarim outpost. With the hopes that the lift would still be intact after the Zhents’ plan of destruction, the group began retracing their steps towards Waukeen’s Rest.

The journey back was a lot quicker, though they still didn’t quite manage to make it in a single day. The group set up camp in the forest as afternoon turned to evening. They could have pushed on for longer, but Halsin recommended stopping early. They were going to the Underdark, followed by the Shadow Cursed lands - this would be the last time in a while they were likely to see the sun. He’d advised they take a bit of time to appreciate it while they still could. Karlach was only too happy to follow that advice, and though he didn’t admit it, Astarion was too.

The group shared dinner together in the soft glow of sunset, after which they turned to the task of setting up their tents. As Saff picked her pack up from the pile of bags they’d left at the edge of the clearing, Gale approached her.

“Saff, my love, I have a suggestion I’d like to run past you,” he said, clearly trying to hide an excited smile. She had a feeling she knew where this was going, and tried to subdue the smile that came to her own lips.

“What’s that?” she asked coyly.

“I was thinking, perhaps we could combine our tents? Give ourselves a bit more space.”

“It’s like you read my mind.”

Figuring out the logistics of setting up a larger tent had taken a bit of time, but eventually it was very nearly done. As they were finishing off the last bits, Halsin walked up to them.

“Ahem, Saff, may I have a word?” He asked. She looked over with a big smile and stood up from the peg she was pushing into the ground.

“Of course!” she said happily.

“I was wondering if you were still interested in learning druidic magic?” he asked, and her face lit up.

“Yes! I’d love to, if you’re still up for it?” she replied excitedly.

“Very much so. In fact, I’ve been looking forward to it. Our last lesson made for a pleasant break to reconnect with nature. And this time I’ve bought something from the grove that I hope will help you.” “Really? What is it?” she asked, in both surprise and excitement. “I’ll show you when we start the lesson. For now I’ll leave you to finish this,” he said, gesturing to the tent.

Gale, who had been listening from the other side of the tent, stepped forward.

“Go on Saff, I can finish this,” he offered.

“Are you sure?” she asked, turning back to him.

“Of course! I would certainly never want to get in the way of a curious mind eager to learn,” he said with a grin. “Now go, I will have this finished by the time you’re done.”

She smiled as she walked up to him and took his hand.

“Thank you, Gale,” she said softly, before leaning up and kissing him. He wrapped his arm round her waist and pulled her in, holding the kiss for a long moment, before finally pulling back. The two looked into each other’s eyes, and briefly Saff considered skipping the lesson and just staying with him for the evening… but she managed to pull herself away.

“Have a good lesson,” Gale said to her, giving her hand a squeeze, before finally letting go. She gave him a nod, then turned and headed off with Halsin into the forest.

“It is heartwarming to see the two of you finally able to celebrate your love,” he commented as they wandered through the trees. “I could see how close you were in the goblin camp, then the tieflings’ party. Though I did not realise at the time the effect the orb was having.”

“Neither did I,” she said quietly. “I hate to think about how much it was hurting him… but it makes me really appreciate what we have now.”

“I can imagine,” he said with a warm smile. “There is little so beautiful as new love, one of nature’s greatest bounties.”

They came through to a clearing and Halsin invited her to sit with him as he took off his bag and opened it to present her gift. “The druids in the grove made this for you as a thank you for what you did for us, and to help you learn our ways.”

He took out a dress made of a fine white fabric that draped beautifully in his hands. Wildflowers were sewn to the dress, kept alive and fresh through druidic magic. Her eyes widened as she took it and felt the soft, light fabric in her hands. “Halsin, this is… beautiful…” she whispered in awe, gently running her fingers over the delicate petals of the flowers. He smiled as he watched her admire it, thrilled to see she liked it as he’d hoped.

“Our initiates all wear similar clothes, designed to help them connect with nature and celebrate its gifts. Please, try it on - I think it will help you with tonight’s lesson.”

She looked at him with an excited smile, then quickly stood and hurried behind a tree to get changed. Halsin made sure to keep his gaze away as she slipped out of her clothes and into the dress.

“Ready,” she said as she stepped back out, barefoot on the soft grass.

He turned to face her and found himself almost mesmerised by what he saw. The dress fit beautifully, clinging at her waist and hanging down from her hips to her feet. Four long wisps of fabric hung from her shoulders and floated gently in the breeze. The pastel colours of the flowers looked beautiful against the soft, shimmering white of the fabric.

“How does it look?” she asked, doing a small spin, the dress swishing around her feet.

“Beautiful,” he said sincerely as he stood up.

She looked down at herself, running her hands along the soft fabric.

“I… I’ve never owned anything as beautiful as this…” she said quietly, her voice wavering slightly, and as she looked back up at him he could swear there were tears welling in her eyes. “Thank you… so much.”

“You are more than welcome,” he said with a warm smile. “Remember though, this dress is more than just its beauty. Let me show you how to unlock its magic.”

Back in camp, Gale was eventually finished with the tent. He took some time decorating the inside with the plants and suncatchers that had been in Saff’s tent, wanting her to feel at home in it. He’d initially put them in there for her, but as he sat back and looked around the tent, he found himself appreciating them too.

He emerged and looked around the camp. The sun had long since set now, leaving just the campfire to light the surroundings. Tara was dozing on a cushion under the cover just outside their tent. Karlach and Wyll were both lying in the grass nearby, stargazing together. Astarion and Shadowheart were sharing a bottle of wine by the campfire. Lae’zel was nowhere to be seen, probably off training somewhere. So too were Saff and Halsin nowhere to be seen, and he decided to go see how their lesson was going.

He headed off in the direction they’d left in, hoping they wouldn’t be too hard to find. It didn’t take long before he could feel the charge of magic in the air and hear the deep timbre of Halsin’s voice.

He followed to a small clearing, and when he stepped through the trees his heart skipped a beat at what he saw.

Saff danced in the moonlight, magic shimmering at her fingertips, the long, flowing dress fluttering round her feet. Her hair hung loose, tumbling in waves down her back, decorated with the same blossoms and wildflowers that adorned her dress. The delicate, white fabric seemed to glow with starlight, the four long wisps of silk flowing out behind her as she dipped and spun.

“That’s it, let the energy flow through you, guiding your movements,” Halsin was saying from where he was stood near the edge of the clearing. “Feel the ebb and flow of the world around you. Once you learn to move with it, it will in turn start to move with you, and you will learn to shape it.”

Gale barely registered what Halsin was saying, so transfixed was he in Saff’s dance. She looked so happy, so at peace. She didn’t even realise he was there.

“Now, seek out the four elements of nature,” Halsin said as Saff continued to dance. “Feel the warmth of Sylvanus in your heart, let it spread through you, right to your fingertips, and manifest it into a flame.”

She closed her eyes and the magic that glowed at her hands turned from the moon’s silvery blue to a warm orange. Gale recognised her movements as she began to incorporate the gestures required to cast Firebolt, but the actions were subtly different, a weaving of arcane and druidic magic. The glow sparked into a flame that flickered in her palm, leaving a bright streak behind her as she danced. “Perfect! Now, let that warmth spread down to your feet. Focus on the feel of the grass against your skin, the dirt between your toes. Your connection to the earth around you, the ground that gives us life. Become not a separate being that walks along its surface, but an extension of it. Bring it into your dance, let it blossom as you do.”

Gradually, with each step, the ground beneath her began to bloom with wildflowers in her wake. Just a small smattering at first, until the ground was alive with colour.

“That’s it!” Halsin encouraged, smiling widely as he watched her. “Now feel nature’s pulse around you, gentle, rhythmic, like the breaths you take. Feel the air within your lungs, take in the scents that fill the forest. As the night air caresses your skin, lean into its touch and bring it with you. Let the air around us dance with you.”

Gale felt a gentle breeze tugging at his robe and watched as the flowers swayed with her, like they were watching her, and the leaves in the trees rustled as if in applause.

“Yes! Now finally, hear the distant river. The trickle of water that starts as little more than a stream and flows into mighty rivers and feeds the oceans. The rain that nourishes the ground and quenches our thirst. The quiet serenity of the lake that glistens in the sunlight and sparkles under the moon. Let your movements flow like water, and sparkle as the lake does.”

The flame that danced in her hand turned now to a bubble of water, flowing and swirling as she did, glinting in the moonlight. Finally she raised her arms above herself at the culmination of a spin, lifting her hands high as the bubble of water hovered above them, then threw her arms apart. The bubble burst into a thousand tiny beads of water that fell like droplets of starlight around her, glistening in her hair.

Haslin clapped and congratulated her, though Gale barely heard his words. He was mesmerised. Saff looked absolutely radiant to him, beaming with happiness and pride. She ran up to Halsin and hugged him, squealing in delight as he lifted her off her feet momentarily before placing her back down.

“That was amazing, Saff!” he complimented as he let go of her. “Thank you,” she said with a big smile. “I can’t believe I did it! That was… gods, that felt amazing,” she said, looking down at her hands, still in awe of what she’d been capable of. “Wait til I show Gale!” “I think he’s already seen,” Halsin said with a chuckle. Saff looked at him in confusion for a moment, before following his gaze as he turned to look at Gale.

When she saw him she let out a small gasp, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and excitement as a blush came to her cheeks and a smile came to her lips. Gale couldn’t help but chuckle as he finally approached them.

“Saff, that was…” he started, for a moment unable to find the words. “I have been in the domain of the gods, and that cannot hold a candle to what I just saw.”

Her blush deepened as she giggled and looked away slightly.

“Oh, please…” she chuckled, believing him to just be saying that. He walked up to her and gently lifted his hand to her face, brushing the backs of his fingers along her cheek.

“I mean it,” he said softly as she looked up at him. “You put the stars to shame.”

She nearly melted at those words, and could do nothing but reach up and kiss him. He wrapped his arms round her waist and pulled her in, holding her even after they parted from the kiss. He lifted a hand and gently ran it down the hair that flowed down over her shoulders, smiling as he admired the new look. As his hand reached her waist once more, he touched the light fabric of the dress, and only now seemed to realise he hadn’t seen it before.

“Where did you get this dress?” he asked curiously. “It’s beautiful.’’ “Halsin gave it to me,” she answered, stepping back to look at him. He nodded and took a step forward.

“Indeed, a gift from the grove. I’m thrilled to see it’s helped you so much here, Saff. You’ve certainly picked this up quickly.”

“She’s a quick learner,” Gale said proudly, looking at her with a smile. She looked away slightly again with a smile and a shake of her head, unable to handle all these compliments.

“Very true, not many pick this up so fast. Sylvanus smiles on you, Saff,” Halsin said, looking at her warmly. “Now, I think that’s a good time to finish the lesson for tonight. I’ll leave you to show Gale all you’ve learnt.”

“Thank you, Halsin,” she said sincerely. “For the dress, the lesson… everything.”

“You are very welcome,” he said with a fond smile, before giving them both a nod and turning to head off. “Oh, and Saff,” he said as he reached the edge of the trees, turning back to look at them. “Remember what I said the dress was for.”

With that slightly cryptic message, he disappeared off into the trees.

She frowned slightly, a bit unsure what his meaning was. Gale was similarly confused.

“What did he say the dress was for?” he asked Saff, turning back to her.

“To help connect with nature and learn druidic magic,” she answered, looking down at it. Was he warning her not to use it for anything else? Maybe, but that didn’t seem to fit the smile that was on his lips when he said it.

“Well, it certainly seems to have worked,” Gale said, taking a step closer and running his hands down her sides, partly in appreciation of the dress, but mostly in appreciation of her.

“That’s true,” she said as she looked up at him. “It was such a beautiful feeling. I haven’t felt anything like that since…” she trailed off a bit as she thought about it, til a smile came to her lips as she raised her hands and placed them on his chest. “Since our lesson in the Weave.”

“Ah,” he said with a smile of his own, “that was quite the lesson, wasn’t it? Hmm… how was it I kissed you in that vision?” his voice lowered as his hand raised to cup her cheek, just as he had done in their shared vision just a few days ago. “Ah, yes…” he whispered, before finally leaning in and kissing her once more. Just as she had done in the vision she raised her arms and wrapped them round his neck, pulling him in as the kiss deepend, soon growing from tender to passionate.

Saff had previously had every intention of telling him about her lesson, but now, as his hands wandered her body and she felt his lips against hers, she quickly decided that could wait til later.

It wasn’t long before her hands were reaching for the fastenings of his belt, followed by the clasps of his robe once that was discarded. She helped him shrug the robe off while barely breaking the kiss. His hands wandered up her sides to her chest, where he began to gently caress her breast. As he did he realised something and pulled back slightly.

“Opted to go without a bra for this dress?” he asked with an amused smile.

“Ah… well…” she stuttered, slightly embarrassed. “It was a black bra… it would have shown through the dress.”

“Heh, no complaints from me,” he said with a chuckle, leaning in to resume the kiss. As he continued his caresses of her chest, she returned the favour, running her hands down his front til she found the fastenings of his undershirt and began to remove them. Before long the shirt was discarded and her hands found his bare chest, her fingers running through the hair that seemed to direct her down his body. Her fingers reached the lace of his trousers and began to undo it while she felt his hands reaching down to gather the skirts of her dress and pull it up over her head.

Suddenly she pulled back, her hands quickly lowering to hold his wrists and stop him going any further. He looked at her in concern, worried he’d upset her in some way, but found her smiling.

“I’ve just realised what Halsin was saying,” she said, a slight chuckle in her voice. Gale looked at her curiously. “This dress is to celebrate nature’s gifts… and new love is one of nature’s greatest bounties.”

Slowly he realised what she was getting at, and the hem of the dress fell down to her feet once more as he let go.

It wasn’t long before he was relieved of his trousers and underwear and found himself lying back against the grass. He reached up for Saff as she straddled him, the dress pooling round her legs. As she leant down over him and he felt her press against him, another amused smile came to his lips.

“Black pants, too?” he teased. A flush came to her cheeks.

“I-… underwear didn’t feel… natural…” she stuttered, then decided to turn the tables and looked down at him with a playful smile. “Now stop asking me where my underwear is or I’ll go put it back on.”

“Please don’t,” he said quickly, reaching to put his hands on her hips, as if to hold her there. “I’d be terribly upset. In fact, to convince you, let me show you all the reasons you’re better off without underwear.”

Gale’s reasons had been a flurry of pleasure, leaving her lightheaded as she lay back against the grass, his head underneath the skirts of her dress. Moans escaped her lips at every touch, every lick, every kiss. When he pulled away she was left yearning for him, and as he crawled up over her, she pulled him into a kiss and rolled them over once more. She reached under her skirts and positioned them both, and as she lowered herself down, it was his turn to let out a moan.

The air was alive with the sounds of their love, moans and whispers, silenced only by kisses. Wandering hands explored quivering skin, trembling in pleasure. Saff didn’t even notice as one of the straps of her dress fell down her arm, neary exposing her breast. Gale was only too happy to help the dress along its journey, gently pulling the fabric down, til he could lean up and take her nipple in his mouth. Her head arched back in pleasure at the new sensation as she gripped his hair in her fingers.

She found herself on her back once more as Gale laid her down, his arms tightly wrapped round her. He buried his face in her neck, moaning against her skin, as he sped up his pace. Her moans grew until he felt her whole body clench around him with one last moan of pleasure, and it took only a few more thrusts until he reached his own climax. He lay there for a long moment in her embrace, revelling in the afterglow with her. When he lifted himself up and looked at her below him, flushed and breathless, he could swear there were more flowers in the grass than there had been before.

#gale #bg3 gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale x tav

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blackjackkent · 2 months

Text

Quick trot around camp to talk to everyone.

Rakha's actually having a (comparatively) decent couple days following on from her joy at seeing the curse purged from the Shadow-Cursed Lands. She's still sleeping as badly as ever, the beast still desperately wants her to kill Isobel and Aylin and even sometimes Wyll, and she still sleeps tied up in a corner of camp rather than risk letting it get the upper hand. But for the few days of walking it's taken them to get to the city, she's been, if not at peace, then at least in less pain, and that's more than she's come to expect.

Pity we're about to backhand her with The Horrors again around bedtime.

Let's see how everyone else is doing.

------

Gale missed his chance to follow Mystra's instructions but doesn't seem that broken up about it.

"I was supposed to sacrifice myself to stop the Absolute - yet I don't think I could have gone through with it in truth. And I'm glad that I didn't, given what has come to light."

For some reason, Karlach is hanging around for this conversation. She's not in Rakha's active party and her tent is nowhere nearby, so I have no idea why she's just here listening to Gale ramble. I guess camp entertainment is limited and they all have a vested interest in knowing what Gale is planning for his on-board nuke.

"You seem in a good mood,"(*) Rakha says noncommittally.

"Indeed!" Gale says enthusiastically. "Under other circumstances, I might have been subdued. Or ashamed. But after what we saw? I must admit I'm excited!"

Excited is certainly not the word Rakha would choose for the current situation, but she has long since come to the conclusion that she will never fully understand the way Gale's mind works.

"The elder brain," Gale goes on. "But more importantly - the crown that it wore. Even without seeing it for myself, I could sense it. Netherese magic. So pure, so complete, that I doubted what I was feeling at first. Most Netherese artifacts contain only the faintest amount of their former power - the ghost of an echo of a memory. That crown was different. I can't fathom how such a wonder survived - surely everything of its ilk was destroyed along with Netheril itself."

He catches himself on the beginning of his downward slide into rambling, straightens up a little. "But no matter. It exists, and I must learn more of it."

Rakha nods. This, at least, is something she and Gale share - an appreciation for the sense and appearance of pure magic. And she too felt the intensity of the power contained in that crown before the brain drifted out of view. Also, what he's saying correlates with what the guardian said in her brief appearance after the battle - that the crown is a Netherese artifact, like the orb in Gale's chest.

"What do you suggest?" she asks slowly.

"We need to learn more about what we saw. An artifact as powerful as that crown must have been documented somewhere. As luck would have it - we'll soon find ourselves near one of the finest book collections this side of Candlekeep: Sorcerous Sundries. I need to go there and learn all I can."

Bookstores are another thing Rakha has little familiarity with. Stores in general, really; all her trading experience has been with random people willing to give this-for-that on the road. But she can extrapolate what Gale's describing well enough. A book collection - a room full of answers.

"Sounds like an excellent idea," she says matter-of-factly.

"The only kind I have!" Gale says cheerfully. He's practically bouncing on the balls of his feet with enthusiasm. "Their collection of rare tomes is unparalleled! Netherese texts are hardly commonplace, but I'm certain they'll have one or two stashed away. You'll have to forgive my eagerness, but if my suspicions prove to hold water, this could be the answer to all our problems."

Well. That certainly sounds promising. Rakha has no idea what this store looks like or where in the city it might be, but she makes a mental note to keep an eye out for it.

-----

(*) Slightly shortened line ("You seem in a good mood. I thought you might be more subdued after coming close to blowing up.") to fit Rakha's speech pattern better.

#bjk plays bg3 durge #rakha the dark urge

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foxblood · 13 days

Text

The Threads of Memory: VI Unmasking

1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18/19/20/21/22/23/24/25

Trigger Warnings: Minor self harm and gore, non consensual sedation/drugging, kidnapping/captivity, mentions of emotional and physical abuse by a parental figure, mentions of plague/epidemic illness

Gale slammed the desk drawer, then kicked the leg. Mystra’s statue teetered towards the precipice, and Tara egged it on, squinting at it as though she could will it the last millimeter over the edge. Gale cursed at his stubbed toe, stomping on it to make it stop hurting and limping to the coat rack. He tore his coat down.

“Mr. Dekarios, slow down,” she huffed as she trotted up beside him.

He yanked his boots on. “There’s no time, Tara,” he massaged his chest, the ache of the orb more present than it had ever been. His stomach growled too, but he ignored it and Tara’s insistence that he wait as he hurried out the door.

Tara dogged his steps despite his protests. “Mr. Dekarios it will kill neither you nor Velim to slow down and take care of yourself. Velim would not want you running yourself ragged on their account.”

“They’re a doctor, Tara, they would have to say that,” he lengthened his stride, “Gods, if I had just walked them home when they had asked.”

Tara sprang from the ground. Gale lurched forward with her weight as she landed on his shoulders and added new runs to his coat. She anchored her claws in the fabric and hunkered down, ears pinned back. “They would mean it,” she insisted.

“Tara, please,” Gale considered brushing her off.

“Gale, please,” she hissed back.

“Come with me if you must, but we cannot waste time,” Gale pinched the bridge of his nose and forced a deep breath into his lungs, pushing the orb back.

Tara’s paws kneaded his shoulder. “I’ll make another loop of the Sea Ward. Promise me you’ll eat when you return?”

Gale released the breath in a truncated sigh, it misted in the cold air. “I promise.”

“Very well, Mr. Dekarios.” He winced as Tara launched off his shoulder, her wings ruffling his hair with a gust of wind as she flushed towards the rooftops.

Gale put his head down and ducked into an alley. It was odd, walking this route in the gray light of day. He almost didn’t recognize the stairwell or the worn wooden sign set out on the street reading Lonzok’s Arcane Consignment. He opened the door, the familiar warmth of magic and burning incense greeting him.

Lonzok looked up from the shelf of books he was stocking, his spectacles shining strangely in the combined gray daylight filtering in through small windows high in the walls and the arcane fire. “Surprise to see you in the daylight, wizard,” he grunted, “in for the usual?”

Gale sighed. “Yes, quickly. No time for browsing today, I’m afraid.”

Lonzok presented the tray to Gale. It rattled with its usual selection of odd trinkets. Gale looked at the offerings, each a pittance in the waxing hunger of the orb. Gauze for a broken leg that needs resetting.

“Do you have anything… more?” Gale struggled to find a word that wouldn’t give him away, “something with a greater charge of magic.”

Lonzok smiled knowingly and tucked the tray beneath the counter. “As a matter of fact, I think I do.”

Gale leaned in. “You do?”

“If it’s concentrated magic you need, I can get you a pint or two of ancient black dragon blood. Fresh from the source, it’s potent stuff if you know how to process it for extraction. Good price, too -- I’m willing to cut you a deal,” Lonzok explained, setting a vial of blood on the desk.

The liquid inside moved thickly, concentrated, and the orb lurched for the draconic weave it contained. Gale picked it up and studied it.

“That’s already purified for ease of use,” Lonzok explained, “fresh from the living beast.”

Gale felt the power of it, the weave primed for extraction. The orb lashed for it, ravenous. Gale considered the things in his tower he hadn’t yet sold -- ancient tomes, his statue of Mystra, the Netherese artifacts he couldn’t bear to be rid of. Dragon blood of this potency may silence the orb for weeks, time enough to search for Velim unimpeded.

“Very well,” Gale conceded to the hunger, “let us deal, then.”

The first thing Velim registered was the size of the crate they were in, dim light filtering in through the slats like they were a bug some child had crammed into a paper box. The second thing were splinters where the wood wore their bare skin ragged. With nothing to see, it didn’t matter that their vision was swimming, but they refused to close their eyes lest the sedative overtake them again. They hissed as they willed their leaden limbs to move, leaving patches of scraped off skin on rough edges of wood. Their right arm throbbed numbly where the alchemist stabbed the metal seed beneath the scales while they pretended to be unconscious.

Gods, they put some faith in that thing, Velim thought gratefully as they tested the flimsy hempen binds on their wrists and feet. Their teeth bit down around a cloth gag jammed in their mouth. Magic buzzing discordantly from a thousand sources outside the thin barrier of wood. The moans of another trapped creature echoed forlornly. A large space -- a storehouse or a warehouse, not the cramped basement they’d been in the last time the sedatives wore off.

They reached for the ropes binding their wrists and their fingertips sizzled, acid dripping down from beneath their claws and onto the fiber. Sulfurous smoke billowed up from the ropes. Their scales protected their wrists from the burn as drops fell to the wooden floor and began eroding it, adding to the stinking smoke choking Velim’s senses. They closed their eyes against the sting of it and found themself bundled on the crate floor when they opened them again, waking with a sharp intake of breath that scoured their scorched throat and sent them into a coughing fit.

Their vision slowly resolved, heartbeat loud in their ears. They ran their hands over the rough floor of the crate until their fingertips found the deep erosions the acid left behind. The second dose of sedative from the seed coursed through their body, threatening to take hold and drag them under. Velim focused on the creaking pain in their shoulders and shifted their weight against the side of the crate until it tipped over and they crashed into the floor.

The other thing in the warehouse moaned again, morose at the sound of the padlock on the heavy door clicking open. Velim’s arms buckled under their own weight as they tried to push themself out of the twisted position they’d fallen into. The other thing cried out like an excited bird, it’s roar trilling strangely in response to approaching footsteps. It clicked and howled in indignation as it was bypassed, drowning out the footsteps approaching their crate.

The storehouse was brick and boxy with ventilation windows set high and small beneath the overhangs of the sloped roof. It sat in a row of other identical storehouses set back from the docks on the Sea Ward, invisible in the bustle of sailors and cargo. The service door was small comparatively, but made of steel and locked with a padlock that whirred with magic Gale felt over the hot seething of the orb in his chest. The guard, a gruff and broad man, grunted with the effort of turning the key. A series of locks tripped inside it loudly clicking in the static silence of sleet pattering to the ground.

The broad man hauled the door open, putting his full weight against it to get it moving. The swing of the door passed over four wards carved into the concrete floor, each glowing in turn as they activated.

“Quite the advanced security system you have there,” Gale commented in an effort to fill space, “the circuit goes all the way around the structure of the building?”

“Dunno,” the man grunted, holding the door open.

Gale peered down the long brick side of the building until the man started muttering impatiently and stepped inside. The sleet on the roof filled the building with a soft beating static, quickly lost in the trilling of the Manticore caged on the far wall. It paced, howling at them through the narrow slots between bars and working a single large claw through like a cat pawing at the crack beneath a door.

“Don’t worry ‘bout her,” the guard nodded his head at the manticore, “she’s secure.”

Gale lowered his voice. “What a treasure trove this place must be, have you worked for Lonzok long?”

The man shook his head. “I get a cut of the dragon, that’s how he’s payin’ me. Hired four of us.” He stopped at a wobbly wooden table and simple chair with a heavy leather coat draped over the back and picked up a prybar leaned against it.

Gale stared at the coat. Even in the dimly lit warehouse, it seemed familiar. The wear on the shoulders, the cuffed sleeves, nagged at his mind. He looked at the coat, and at the broad man. “Does that coat belong to one of the other guards, then?”

“That’s mine,” the broad man glared at him, “it killed the other three.”

“Well, it is a dragon regardless of appearances,” the coat still bothered him, and he stared at the oilcloth hood until his guts felt like they were going to drop into the void, “it’s a bit small for you.”

The broad man stood to his full height. “I’m getting it taken out tomorrow, wizard.”

The orb spasmed in Gale’s chest and he doubled over with a wince. The guard took it as surrender. “Come on, ‘fore the thing wakes up.”

The broad guard approached a crate, askew from the others surrounding it as though something inside had struggled enough to knock it out of place. As he wedged the prybar beneath the top, the crate exploded with a thunderous crack and sent the broad man flying into a wooden barrel that split open, spilling a viscous silvery black substance over him. He reached up to claw at the viscid goo eating away at his face, the liquid rolling up over his skin and pulling away at the flesh.

Gale covered his face against the hail of splinters that rained from the shattered crate. He blinked the dust out of his eyes and grabbed what he finally recognized as Velim’s coat from the chair, holding it up like a shield as the dust settled.

Velim toppled out of the crate on numb legs. The concrete floor leached what remained of the warmth from their skin. The sudden brightness radiating from the dropped lantern drove a blade of nausea into their stomach, and they hissed as they leaned heavily on a nail lodged in a shard of wood. The point pierced their right palm, and they yanked it out as they forced themself to their knees. The room spun and their hand throbbed dully, the sedatives blunting the pain. They gripped the wood shard like an anchor, spine curling over and pressing their forehead to the cold concrete.

Velim braced their right arm against the floor. Their vision resolved and they could see the disruption in their scales where the alchemist had injected the seed beneath them. They drove the nail beneath the raised scales. Blood welled up and obscured the site, but they continued levering the nail up until the scales flaked away and exposed the skin underneath. It stung, the sedatives and cold numbing the pain as they clawed for the little metallic seed and ripped it from beneath the skin with frozen fingertips. They shook it off their claw and it made a hard little splat on the floor in the moment before they finally doubled over and vomited stomach acid onto the concrete.

“Gods, Velim!”

The sound of their name pierced through the nausea and they rose on their knees as footsteps approached them, meeting the voice with a clumsy lash and wordless snarl that connected weakly. The familiar voice yelled as Velim doubled over again and a violet woolen coat dropped to the ground, an acid burn eating away at the fabric of the sleeve. They blinked hard against the onslaught of the sedative, but their muscles went weak against the cold. Heavy fabric settled over their bare back, pushing them further into the concrete.

Warm hands pushed them onto their knees and held them steady, their leaden head lolling back. The hands pulled the coat around their shoulders. Their coat, they knew it by the smell of the beeswax they polished the leather with, deadening the sharpness of the sweat clinging to their body. The hands cradled their face, pushing mats of hair out of their eyes.

“Velim, can you hear me?” Gale asked, his voice low so as not to draw more attention than the thunderwave spell already had. The manticore howled at the commotion, rattling its chains.

Velim grimaced at his question, their teeth jagged in their mouth. Gale thought they might try to bite him, but they just lurched forward into his shoulder. He cradled their head against his heart, their body shaking with the effort of fighting the sedatives.

“That’s alright, just listen to the sound of my voice,” Gale held Velim close, heart slamming against his chest. The orb reached out for them, caressing their face with burning filaments of weave. He could have them. Right now, drain them away to nothing and feed the orb a piece of Tiamat so powerful the orb may devour itself outright.

The thought arrived so quickly and so selfishly that a knife twisting between his ribs may have been less painful. He pulled Velim closer.

“I’ve got you,” Gale focused on remembering the number of steps he’d taken around the building, how many steps to the intersection closest to his mother’s house, “just hold on to me, I can get us out of here safely.”

“Please don’t…” Velim stammered, their voice giving out to ragged breathing.

“I won’t -- I-I’m --” Gale checked his calculations one more time, “you’re safe now. Just hold on, I’m getting us out of here.” He adjusted his grip, hooking his arm around their waist and adjusting their arms over his shoulders. They held onto his neck, the tips of their filed claws grazing his shoulders.

“Complicare viam,” he spoke, the words becoming truth in a gust of cold wind and sensation of vertigo.

Sleet dripped down the back of his shirt and melted on Velim’s hair. He held them until the dizzy sensation of traversing dimensions subsided, then hauled them to their feet. They stumbled, knees buckling beneath the weight of their own body. Gale propped them against the wall of the alley to button their coat and pulled up their hood. He thanked the gods that the black scales on Velim’s legs and feet just looked like boots in the dark.

Velim blinked up at the cloudy sky, letting Gale ease their arms through the sleeves of their coat. He took their weight again, stooping so Velim could rest his arm across his shoulders. They struggled to lift their legs, each step half-dragging through the mud until they found a sort of stumbling rhythm with Gale pushing them forward.

“Almost there,” Gale panted as they turned the corner into a sleepy neighborhood. The gas streetlamps flickered eerily off the sleet melting into the gutters.

Velim’s knees buckled as they lost consciousness, and Gale nearly lost his grip on them. They both knelt in the cold street, ice soaking into their skin. Velim blinked back awake with a low groan. Gale glanced down the street at his mother’s house, just a half block away now. The orb throbbed in his chest, still reaching for the dragon struggling to remain conscious in his arms.

“Not far now,” Gale pushed wet hair out of Velim’s eyes, “I’m going to carry you.”

Velim nodded and mouthed “okay”, letting Gale sweep his arm beneath their knees and stagger back to his feet. He shifted their weight against his chest, each step falling forward harder than the last until he reached the short staircase leading to his mother’s stoop. He braced himself for the final exertion, breath wheezing through his teeth, and surged to the top of the stairs where he let Velim down gently, holding them until they found their feet again. Once he was sure they wouldn’t fall, he reached for the knocker and slammed it against the door until someone answered.

“What?” Charrel’s anger dropped away as she took in the scene on the front step. Her dirty blonde hair fell in her face, long ears slack in surprise as the frustration that had rocketed her out of bed dissipated in a cloud of inert steam. “By the Gods, Mr. Dekarios,” was all she could manage in a small voice.

“Prepare a room and wake my mother, it’s an emergency.” Gale mustered his most authoritative voice, but Charrel was already in motion helping him drag Velim across the threshold and lower them down on a bench in the foyer.

Velim traced the designs carved in the velvet upholstery, watching Charrel and Gale bicker with one another. Gale locked the front door, then warded it, and stormed up the stairs past Charrel yelling for his mother. The commotion faded into footsteps on the floor above them. Their chilled body slowly warmed, the feeling coming back to their toes with a prickling sensation. Their arm and hand throbbed without pain, threatening a rude awakening come morning.

Gale and Charrel rushed back down the stairs, and Velim’s stomach churned as they were hoisted to their feet and carried up into a lit hallway. The patterns in the wallpaper morphed in their vision, birds stretching their feathers and turning to watch Velim pass by. They were carried into a bedroom lit with the low glow of an oil lamp on the desk.

“Get out,” Charrel demanded of Gale.

“Get out? What do you mean ‘get out’?” Gale’s voice didn’t rise above a harsh whisper, but his grip on Velim tightened.

“I mean what I say, Mr. Dekarios, now get out and let your friend some modesty,” she hissed, but her hands were gentle prying Velim away.

Velim noticed the callouses on her fingertips as she eased them onto the bed, and thought dimly that she must play the lute. Gale’s vigor dissipated as he released them, holding their hand. They left a smudge of blood behind on his palm as they finally slipped free of his grasp.

“Gale,” Morena lingered in the door in her housecoat. Beside her, Delores and Dorothea blinked sleepily through curtains of curly brown hair mussed from sleep.

Gale hurried out of the room and closed the door behind him so Del and Dot couldn’t see inside.

Dot blinked up at him, her stormy gray eyes narrowed suspiciously as she pulled her curls back into a messy bun. “Who’s that?”

“Is that who the matchmaker set him up with?” Del asked through a yawn. She wiped the tears out of her cloudy eyes.

“Go back to your rooms,” Morena said through her teeth.

Her daughters looked at her skeptically, but both turned back on Gale in their own time.

“Go back to bed, it’s none of your concern,” Gale snapped.

Del blinked, suddenly full awake. She ran her hand through her hair, but it fell back into place. “What’s none of my concern? Don’t you have your own tower to bring your dates back to, or would you rather spend the night in your childhood bedroom?”

“Delores,” Morena snarled.

Del matched Gale’s confrontational stare. Dot grabbed her sister’s arm and dragged her back to her bedroom. She waved to Gale as she slipped back into her own bedroom across the hall and closed the door. Morena walked past Gale, gesturing him towards the living room. She pinched the bridge of her nose. Gale followed, shoulders slumping under the scrutiny of his mother.

Morena sat herself in her rocking chair and folded her hands in her lap. Gale sat on the long sofa across from her, avoiding her stern gaze.

“Gale, would you like to tell me what happened?” She asked, her voice soft and measured.

Gale shrunk, his body responding to a tone of voice he had known before his feet reached the floor from the couch he was sitting on. He gripped the brocade upholstery and blinked back the tears. When the onslaught didn’t stop, he buried his eyes in his hands. His mother waited.

When Gale looked back into his mother’s stone eyes, the words spilled from him in an unstoppable tide. He stared at the blood smear on his hand as he told his mother what he had intended to do when he learned of the dragon. He covered the aching black scars beside his eye when he explained why he thought he needed to take such drastic measures. He sobbed outright when he begged her forgiveness for all the time he’d been gone. He was still crying when Morena picked herself up and sat down beside her son. She rubbed his back and leaned against his shoulder, humming a soft lullaby beside him until he stopped trembling.

The throbbing in Velim’s arm woke them. They rolled over and covered it with their palm, pressing down on the flimsy bandage until the scab slipped beneath it. Daylight streamed through the gaps in the curtains. Velim squeezed their eyes shut against the light until the stinging pain in their arm and hand drove them out of bed. They leaned on the wall, picking up their coat from the back of the desk chair on their way to the bathroom, and closed the door behind them.

The water inside the tub was still steaming, the basin full of clean water. Some kind soul whose face they couldn’t recall had left fresh clothes and towels on the table beside the bathtub. They dug for the bag of holding sewn into the lining of their coat and removed their surgery kit and a roll of gauze from the space, dropped it on the table, and peeled away the stained bandages. They dunked their wounded hand and forearm into the clean water basin and scrubbed with soap until both injuries were red and raw, then studied them.

One all the way through puncture and one gash too open to stitch up. They turned their hand over and flexed it where the nail had pierced their palm, matching the two red holes dorsal and palmar. They tested the movement, touching each fingertip to their thumb in turn. It ached when they moved, but not badly enough to matter. When they turned their forearm over, some of the scales were set crooked and tugging on the skin beneath. They opened their surgery kit on the table and picked out a set of forceps and one of the clean towels, then leaned their forearm on the table and plucked off the loose or damaged scales. They blotted at the blood welling up from the base and imagined what the scar would look like once it scaled over again.

They stripped the night dress and clambered into the tub. Their frozen legs ached in the hot water, and they dropped their head below and let the world go quiet and thick for as long as they could stand. When they came back to the surface, their fingers were wrinkled. They combed out their hair and washed the blood and sweat from it, soap clouding the water. When the water cooled, they stepped out and scrubbed their skin until their scales shone with the towel they’d used to blot the blood away from their arm.

They reveled in the feel of clean clothes and properly tightened bandages, the shirt supple from years of wear but missing the tie so it sat wide over their collarbones and left the scars down their chest plainly visible. They held the collar closed as they approached the bedroom door and paused to listen for strangers in the hallway.

“Oh, good! You’re awake,” Tara exclaimed, emerging halfway through a small door above the wardrobe.

Velim startled back into the bed, knocking their already aching legs on the bedpost.

“Oh, my apologies,” Tara sat primly on top of the wardrobe, “I should have announced myself. In any case, no need to listen for danger. Morena sent the girls away this morning, and Gale received his scolding last night. It’s only myself, Mrs. Dekarios, and Charrel. Mrs. Dekarios sent me up to check on you.”

“Where is Gale?” Velim asked, rubbing their aching shin.

“Taking urgent meetings with old trade contacts,” Tara explained, “he’s been out making calls since before dawn, I expect he should return past lunchtime.”

“I see,” Velim fussed with the fresh bandages on their arm.

“Fear not, doctor, I’ve been keeping vigil since I heard. No ruffian is getting through that window without a good deal of scorching,” she flicked her tail at the closed curtains, “Mrs. Dekarios is expecting breakfast downstairs. I would appreciate it if you joined us.”

Tara disappeared back through the porthole and Velim heard her soft landing on the hallway carpet. Velim followed Tara’s flagging tail down the hall until she vanished around the curve of the main staircase and left them alone on the landing. Velim hesitated, tracing the carpet runner down the sun dappled stairway. Much like the stairway in the Hazelight home, glass windows set into the eaves letting the sun in. The stairs Everon had chased them up with a kitchen knife. They were whipped for it when they got the knife from him and chased him back down and into the arms of his waiting mother, Ulana. The chill of her hateful glare waited just around the corner.

Velim ignored the way their stomach clenched and took it one stair at a time until their hand passed into a sunbeam on the railing. Their scales flashed a luminous green beneath the ink that drank away the light. They pulled their hand away as though the gentle warmth burned and crossed their arms tight across their chest as they turned on their heel and walked quickly back to the bedroom.

The door clicked closed. Velim sucked in deep, hungry breaths while their heart slammed against their ribcage. They blinked back tears, and repeated against the tight wall of their throat, “I’m safe. No one is going to hurt me here. This is not Baldur’s Gate.”

The panicked animal at the back of their mind railed against them with worst-case scenarios. They looked for a place to hide, some dark and tight corner of the room, and found the nook between the bed and the far wall. Their head swam, body swamped by the hyperventilation and aching twitch in their fingers threatening to throw open the windows and jump out.

Velim staggered into the corner and curled up, digging their claws into their knees and focusing on the pinpoint pressure on the joints. Panic hammered at their defenses, tremors climbing up their spine. Hot tears ran down their face, tracing odd patterns between the scales on their cheekbones. They sucked in deliberately slow, stuttering breaths through their clenched teeth.

“Oh dear,” Tara mewed from her perch on the wardrobe. She sighed and shook out her wings with a soft rustle, then left again. She landed softly in the hallway.

Velim’s heart was just beginning to slow when Tara returned, gliding off the dresser and trotting up to rub against Velim’s knees. Velim peeled their claws off their legs and scratched behind her ears.

“Doctor, I’ve arranged for breakfast to come to you,” she explained.

A knock came at the door.

“Come in, Mrs. Dekarios,” Tara called.

Velim’s hand stilled, their body freezing tight.

Tara pushed her head up into their hand. “You’re okay, Doctor. Morena already knows, and I’m afraid this conversation must occur while Mr. Dekarios is still out making his calls. And besides that, we really must get some food in you.”

Morena set the serving tray down on the desk, the smell of hot coffee mixing with her rose perfume. She pulled out the chair and sat across from Velim, taking her own cup of tea from the tray and sipping it.

“Gale tells me you prefer coffee, Charrel brewed it with cloves and ginger for their warming properties,” Morena said, studying the tea leaves drifting to the bottom of her cup, “she insisted I tell you that.”

Velim pressed their thumb into their injured palm, still stiff and cold despite the hot bath and now clammy with panic. They swallowed the fear in their throat. “That’s kind of her.”

Morena waited. Velim felt her eyes on them, studying their neatly plaited hair and the pattern of scales on their arms. The scrutiny sent their heart hammering again. The frigid hatred of Ulana Hazelight haunted the chair Morena currently occupied, as though she was hanging over Morena’s shoulder with her chestnut hair pulled back in a tight weave of braids and whispering all their horrid actions into her ear.

Tara leaned against their knees, but they made no move to pet her. The shade of Ulana Hazelight froze them in place, but she dissipated as Morena got up from the chair and took a seat on the unmade bed beside Velim. She leaned down and offered Velim a handkerchief.

Velim flinched at the movement, but relaxed when they realized what was being offered. They wiped their eyes and blew their nose, then balled the handkerchief up in their palm. “Thank you.”

“No point in tears now.” Morena said gently, picking herself up off the bed and settling herself on the bench at the foot of the bed, adjusting her skirts and pulling her embroidery project from her pocket. She hummed quietly as she worked the needle through.

Velim’s heart began to calm, and they unwound themself from the corner and raised themself from the ground on legs that felt more appropriate for a newborn fawn. They leaned against the wall until they found their balance, then relocated to the desk chair and picked up the coffee, warming their hands on the mug. The warm drink settled their stomach enough for them to realize how ravenous they were. Morena continued her embroidery.

“I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused you.” Velim balanced the fork on the empty plate of pancakes.

Tara jumped into their lap with a huff and balanced herself in an indignant loaf on their knees. “Far more trouble had you died, Doctor. Do you have any idea what kind of state Gale was in when you didn’t arrive for dinner?”

“I’m sorry for that, too, then,” Velim sighed.

“Are you done?” Morena asked without looking up.

Velim watched out the crack between the curtains at the empty courtyard below. “Yes.”

“Come sit, please.” Morena moved to one side of the bench and patted the empty seat beside her.

Velim sat, crossing their arms across their chest as though they would stop being a dragon if they just hid enough of the scales from sight. Tara had enough of that, though, and followed them from the desk chair to the bench. She settled in Velim’s lap, pushing under their folded arms until they reluctantly extracted a hand to pet her.

“Thank you for bringing Gale back,” Morena said, her stern face drawn, “last night I saw my son for the first time in more than a year. I am grateful to you, and glad to finally meet you, although I wish the conditions were within your control.”

Velim began tracing back the timeline in their mind. One year previous Gale had done something, crossed Mystra, caused his ailment, and then vanished from public life. They wondered if his case was progressive, or if he’d had to take desperate measures to control the parasite from the beginning.

When Morena noticed that Velim was too lost in thought to respond, she continued with a small smile, “Gale is working to secure your secret and another option for disguise. Until then, we will keep the blinds drawn. You may stay here for as long as you like, but I believe it would be best for both of you to leave the city while the investigation runs its course.”

“He hoped he would return in time for breakfast,” Tara sighed, “I always tell him that bureaucracy takes time. When Mr. Dekarios hurried out the door this morning, he was so hopeful that he would return and prepare breakfast before you woke.”

Velim smiled at that. “He knows he doesn’t owe me for dinner, doesn’t he?”

“Oh please,” Tara scoffed, “he talks about repaying the favor all the time.”

“Has Gale told you much about us?” Morena asked.

Velim began to relax, the tension easing out of their shoulders and leaving a throbbing ache in its place. “Some, mostly stories from his sisters’ childhood. I understand he’s much older than the three of them?”

Morena nodded, working her needle through the eye of the crane in her embroidery hoop. “By ten years for Noelle and fourteen for Dorothea and Delores. He helped raise them after his stepfather died.”

“Stepfather?” Velim echoed.

“Yes, stepfather,” Morena confirmed, “I met Gale’s father when I was still very young. He fled his familial responsibilities in the Silver Marches, but when Gale was barely a year old he had to return,” Morena trailed off, studied the stitches of her embroidery, “ten years later, I received his will as the only surviving inheritor for the family, never having heard from him again.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Velim watched her work the thread back through, pulling a downy gray feather into the bird’s body, “he never mentioned that.”

“He was young when we lost his father, I don’t imagine he remembered much to tell you,” Morena pulled another feather into place, “I’m sure you’ve had more than your fair share of losses.”

“Yes, haven’t we all?” Velim tried to shake the oppressive memory of their years at the Hazelight home from their mind, a shadow cast over Ortheon Hazelight’s proud expression at their first amputation. Instead, the hurt pinged against the memory of Luz’s body in the mass grave at Ulivin during an outbreak of smallpox five years ago. They settled on the grief of that memory instead.

Morena waited for Velim to elaborate, but they stared down at the tortoiseshell patterns in Tara’s fur and said nothing. She set her embroidery in her lap. “I have a proposition for you, and I would like to put it to you before Gale returns so that when he brings it up to you, you already have your answer.”

Velim nodded at her to continue.

“I’ve staffed his father’s ancestral home in the Silver Marches with a skeleton crew for years to keep the place functional. Willow Valley Manor, it’s been in the Devin family for ten generations, and Gale is the last of the line. It rightfully belongs to him, but I’ve never extended it to him simply because of its remote location. Now, it seems a blessing,” Morena laid a hand on Velim’s shoulder, “I would send you both out there while the ruckus dies down and rumors of Tiamat’s Spawn running rampant among the townsfolk dissipate.”

“Does anyone else know about Willow Valley?” Velim asked, anxiety churning in their chest.

“No, just myself and Gale, as the home is his birthright,” Morena assured them, “if you decide to go, we must make the arrangements quickly before the roads become impassable.”

Velim considered their options, glancing at the curtains and imagining the city beyond boiling with talk of another sacking on their doorstep at the hands of Tiamat’s own black dragon. It wouldn’t be long until a mob with torches and pitchforks made their way to Morena’s door intent on tearing them limb from limb. A desolate swamp sounded like paradise in comparison, but perhaps that was the dragon talking.

Morena gathered her embroidery and stood up to leave. “Take your time and consider my offer,” then a small smile crossed her face, “Delores and Dorothea will not be held off for long, so while you may remain in here until supper, I must insist that you join us for the meal. I would rather introduce you in a controlled environment than allow them to discover you on their own.”

“They sound like a handful,” Velim noted.

Morena rolled her eyes. “They are grown women, but I suppose myself or Gale must have spoiled them. They’re both very fond of their brother, I can’t keep them away from you for long.”

“Then I thank you for the warning,” Velim smiled, and felt a buzz of warmth as Morena returned it on her way out the door, “Tara, would you be joining us at Willow Valley?”

Tara hopped off their lap. “No, Doctor, someone must care for the tower while Mr. Dekarios is away. I’ll keep an eye on your flat, as well, but it would just be the two of you.”

“And the staff,” Velim clarified.

“Yes, and the staff,” Tara echoed, flitting up to the top of the wardrobe, “get some rest, Doctor, I’ll send Gale up once he’s home. Is there anything you’d like me to retrieve from your flat?”

“There’s a book and a journal on my desk, if you can carry those,” Velim requested, thinking of the magical circuits scratched into the paper, “do you know where it is?”

“I absolutely can, and I do,” Tara purred, then was gone through the porthole.

Velim wondered how long Tara had been watching and how much she had known. They had never heard of a familiar keeping secrets from their wizard before, but as they sat in Gale’s childhood bedroom wearing his sister’s old clothes, they figured there was a first time for everything.

#bg3 fanfiction #gale bg3 #bg3 gale #tav bg3 #bg3 tav #gale x tav #galemance #gale x oc #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios

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lairofsentinel · 4 years

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Talking about the smidgens we saw of Gale, the wizard of Waterdeep.

[Baldur’s Gate 3 Early Access Spoilers]

Updated, AGAIN, because the hell of new aspects we saw when some bugs were sorted out. Warning: all this analysis was done for game versions 4.1.83 and 4.1.84

Well, I had to rewrite all this because the explorations of dialogue options and the bugs being, somehow, solved, allowed me to see small details from Gale that stand out or end up being more than curious to me. I'll list his main features to make things short (hopefully), and useful for... eventual fics:

Gale is a char who approves any good treatment to animals (and creatures in general). He has a cat, a Library, and writes poetry sometimes.

He doesn't like gratuitous murdering which is implied in the anecdote he told us about how he stopped a massacre in a Waterdeep city inn just by buying a round to everyone. It is also implied in his approval in most situations; even in the one with the ogres having sex.

He gives you disapproval most of the time if you use violence and intimidation as your first approach in solving a situation. He prefers eloquence, diplomacy, and negotiation. However, he is flexible enough to approve a performance-intimidation in front of goblins to avoid bloodshed. Point (2) is primary. So... he truly is a pragmatic char. It's not white and black: “never use intimidation/lie” or that kind of over-simplistic view.

He likes logical and reasonable conversations. An action that earned his disapproval can be undone if the main char (MC) talks to him and explains their reasons. You can disagree with him without having approval penalties most of the time. You can question many situations and, as long as it remains a mental exercise, there are no penalties. That surprised me a lot. Most characters disapprove you if you wonder about a potential situation, but Gale no. He is the scholar, he will allow a safe space to think around things without being too judgemental. We will see if this attitude lasts in the full game. No wonder some players see in him “the Teacher” archetype. Quite so.

He was an Arch wizard while being Mystra's Chosen One, and fell from grace when she put him aside. What is hard for me to grasp is if he remained Chosen One and therefore able to cast silver-fire during that intermediate period when he stopped having Mystra's whispers and his folly with the netherese taint. We know that in that moment Mystra removed herself from his life completely. But before, she has only stopped whispering and sleeping with him. So far I understand, being her Chosen One doesn't imply sleeping with her, most of the time.

He was a teacher (not surprising, since his over-explanation vices and details such as the pronunciation of “Trashj” make us suspect it), and had some students that he could not keep longer since their ineptitudes irked him.

Unlike the stereotypical “scholar” type, he knows how to cook, since he has been doing stews for the party in the camp. He also loves baths. A bit siding with the stereotypical “scholar” type, but a nice change for a “standard adventurer” type, in which most of the time it is implied that they are stinky with “animalistic” scents and uglier descriptors. No, Gale likes his lavender-scented baths. Good.

He is an over-thinker strategist. And also a char who takes responsibility for his own mistakes to the point that, when he dies for the first time, a programmed image is activated to help anyone to revive him. Despite the fact that he is dead and can give a shit about that, he is still responsible of the catastrophe that may happen if that weird magic orb stuck in his chest erupts.

He is also forcing me to check the dictionary like no other game has done in a while... the fucker uses uncommon words a lot of the time. Smidges? really? Gale is a hard char for a non native English speaker.

We can assume that during his teenage time, he was a pretty prideful peacock to the point to be blind at the reality (well, yeah, he romanced a goddess; if that doesn't give you a hell of a ego boost...) He remembers his young self's pride with a thick level of regret. He is now a mature scholar that, for a change, does not patronise you or thinks of himself better than anyone. Sure, he over-explains a lot, but that's something that most scholars/teachers do when they are worried that, maybe, they won't be understood.

He is confident in his years of study (for that reason he is a capable wizard despite having lost Mystra's favours), but he acknowledges his limits. Which is a nice change to see in the “scholar” archetype, the typical know-it-all. He knows a lot, he knows that he knows (it would be ridiculous to hide his knowledge), but he is human, and like he says: “humans are fallible”. However, it’s more than obvious that he has a big ego for everything he does, which makes sense since he follows a motto in his life: “try to excel at everything”. High accomplished scholar lifestyle, indeed.

If you don't share the Weave with him, he will state that nights are lonesome. It seems he truly is looking for some connection with a keen fellow mind. Probably it's this loneliness which triggers his urge to see Mystra's face during the night. We also know he, in general, lives in constant fear due to the Netherese taint in his chest. So, very lonely, and very scared.

I don't know if this is his poet side unable to be switched-off or it's another implication of how he sees sexual encounters: he never says sex (at least in my many runs, he never did it). He always gets around the word: love-making, art of the body, intimacy. For a scholar who is so prone to use the technical word for everything, and has already stated he is not coy at all, the use of these metaphors make me wonder if it's because he always conceives sex as something more than mere physical pleasure. For him, it seems to come with a more emotional connection (which makes sense if we think he will only sleep with those who connected to him through the Weave). Another small detail that may confirm this is when he asks the MC if the “other night” was wonderful. If MC claims it was “fun”, Gale shows a certain degree of uneasiness by that word choice, making us infer that he certainly doesn’t see sex as “fun” but as something else, deeper.

His tadpole dreams are about Mystra (rather obvious). His most desperate desire is forgiveness. Mystra's forgiveness.

Mystra was his first love. The affair did not last long. And since soon after her abandonment he looked for the Primal Weave book and was infested by it; one could assume he has been focused on solving his problem for the rest of his life than putting some energy in romance, especially if we think about (13). It's hard to say with certainty (especially with banters like these), but since he is a char that you can only sleep with if you share a mind-connection through the Weave, it seems less plausible that he could encourage into casual relationships during all this period of his life looking for a solution to the Netherese orb. If he got previous relationships, they may have been meaningful, but clearly not enough to win over the goddess’ and his urges to see her, lol.

He did not mind Mystra having many other lovers besides him. It seems to be the same with the MC, since he will insist in sleeping with them even after the party and even after the MC slept with someone else (however, that only occurs if the romantic connection through the Weave happened.) This fact combined with (13) and (15) make me wonder if he certainly wants to be with the MC too badly, even in an open relationship. We need to see the rest of his romance to be sure.

Since he looks for forgiveness so desperately, he is a char who will forgive most mistakes made by the MC if they acknowledge them.

He is a char who knows how grey and complex situations can be. This is inferred by the way he speaks of the tiefling girl who tried to steal the idol in the Grove: “She is not innocent, but that doesn't mean she is guilty.” (of course there is a lot of self projection there). This is also implied in his (surprising) approval of raising Mayrina's husband and giving her the control wand to search for a solution in Neverwinter. That shows that he can accept the fuckest weirdest situations, recognising that “sometimes we can’t choose situations but we can try to do our best, not always having the best results”. Also self-projection.

He appreciates his privacy to the point to leave the MC if the abuse of the tadpole power continues. However, and honouring (4), you can abuse of these powers and convince him with reasons: if you don't lie to him and explain that you have a responsibility with the group to know what happens with his secret, he will understand, and despite disapproving the MC actions, will remain without major troubles.

Certainly, as long as you give him reasons and logical concepts, he can almost understand everything with no disapproval or at least little one.

Consent and negotiation are vital to him, apparently. However, this aspect reaches a flaw. He was too angry with Nettie when she almost killed the MC, and he made a short speech about how nobody has the right to decide your options for you. Yet, in his romance scene, we see that he deliberately hid his true relationship with Mystra and his bomb-condition in order to sleep with the MC. In fact, during the party, if the MC tells him that doubts if he is the one they want, Gale will drop a curious argument: “That’s because you’ve yet to find out what your’re missing” (implying that he himself is what you need), followed by his most curious “Doubt is a spoilsport. Cast it aside”. That coming from a scholar is rotten, lol. He tries every convincing argument to sleep with the MC (if they shared the moment of the Weave, of course)

This happens in every variation of the path: whether the MC sleeps with him in the party, or afterwards, Gale will always wait for sharing a night with the MC before speaking the truth. It's hard to read this aspect since, he is a char who, apparently, needs a mind-connection with his partner for intimacy (see (12) and (13)); so this terrible strategy is like his way of trying to guarantee that the MC will not abandon him. I guess there is something along those line, specially if we keep in mind the book he explained: a book which is not only about the art of the body and the night and sex, but of other things such as conversation, exploration, and acceptance of oneself and the other. He is expecting with this night to reach the MC to a certain degree of intimacy in which, despite the raw truth, the acceptance will prevail. Remembering (16), he truly wants to sleep with the MC, baaaadly. And somehow everything feels like he wants to push things in a subtle way to a certain degree of commitment. Following the concept in (12), I think he has been alone for too long, and desperately needs someone in his lonesome nights and in helping him to deal with his burden. Finding someone who connected to him through the Weave (such a personal experience for him as it is) made him a bit desperate or eager. We know his emotion for the MC may have grown over those days since the connection with the Weave. In two occasions he or the MC can ask if both of them think about that moment. Gale says yes with such enthusiasm, that it may imply...that maybe, he has been thinking about that more times than he truly wants to tell the MC. The Weave moment had such a strong effect on Gale that, if the MC spent the night with another companion and rejects Gale’s proposition later, he will trail off a sentence that implies he was convinced that the MC and he were heading into something serious and deep.

Of course, once he sleeps with the MC, he confesses the truth right afterwards, accepting--without approval penalties--the harshest responses that the MC can give. He clearly knows that such manoeuvre was truly disloyal, especially contrasting it with all his speech of consent and rights to know about the true situation one is in. In the next morning, he acknowledges it was a rotten thing to do and apologies. But this shows that his principles can be bend and even be broken when it comes to emotions. I'm still a bit wary of his emotional stability, what can I say.

Mystra is more than an ex-lover for him, it’s magic. And Magic is everything for him, even more than life. I wonder if, given the opportunity, Mystra forgives him and asks him to return to her side, would he accept it without second thoughts leaving the romanced MC? It's true he also acknowledges that all that fascination he had with the goddess was a product of his youth; he knows he was a plaything in her hands. But I don't see he got over with it. He still idealises her, as such a good poet does. Idealisation, especially when a Goddess is involved, is a terrible thing to fight against for the next partner. No matter what speech of loyalties and consent he states during the whole game, the MC knows that magic and Mystra are Gale's Achilles’ heel, and factors in which they can’t predict his behaviour.

We also know that, because his bomb-condition, he tries to take all the opportunities to enjoy the little things of life that make him human.

Gale is a straightforward and honest (mostly, let's say) char. But we can see that he prefers to be honest in most situations, except in his Achille’s heel. Even when he wanted to hide all the stuff about the bomb in his chest, he did it by explicitly warning us that he was hiding something he did not want to talk about. Which is an honest approach considering the hardcore burden he carries and the immediate rejection it can mean if the truth unfolds too quickly among strangers.

When it comes to concepts, Gale has the symbol of the storm attached to him. So far, we see he talks comparing things with storms or storm elements: his lack of knowledge to explain why they are not Mind Flayers yet: the silence before the storm; the fear that rushes into his body when the Weave orb asks him for magic to consume: the thunder of a storm reverberating in his soul, the day it will erupt: the lightning striking, the consumption of magic: water running through a sore throat, Life itself: a tempest. When he asked the player if they were a wizard, he explains that he needs an Arch wizard and compares them with a Tempest. If we see the main image of Baldur's gate 3, it's clear that his main element is electricity/storm... so... full witch-bolt-guy here.

[updated later] The Weave moment is important to romance Gale. Leaving the moment in ambiguity will give the MC another opportunity to make their intentions clear during the scene of the Loss. However, remaining vague will lock Gale into a friendship path. What happens during this scene may suggest that the ambiguity in the Weave was enough to keep Gale thinking about the romantic possibility, but he will not engage into it by his own, which confirms (15). Unless the opportunity presents itself clearly before him, he will not pursue the MC. Further details [here].

Last moment detail: Gale says “I cherish you” when he explains he will await death alone if the Netherese orb goes out of control. I was not sure if that meant something more or less than love or like (I can’t not overlook the subtle meaning of the words coming from Gale’s mouth, he is a poet and his word choices matter). Checking the dictionary I found that “cherish” (in a relationship) is defined as to hold or to treat as dear, to feel love for and to care for someone deeply and tenderly. This man went straight into a commitment relationship without thinking it twice, and without (I believe) the MC knowing it either xD.

Let's see how these characteristics shift or develop deeper once the full game is out there. Now we have to wait a lot :(

To see videos where all this stuff is inferred or explicitly said, you can check [here]

More videos added later [here] and [here]