[He sounds quite pleased to confirm that, closing the door behind them before he moves to join her— though with her back turned, he can't help but notice that her sweater isn't quite as modest as it had appeared from the front. Not inappropriate by any stretch, but certainly surprising, given what he's seen her wear up until now.
He clears his throat softly, coming to stand beside her near the doors to the balcony.]
Just a bit of home, even if it's only an illusion. Much of this space is modeled after my tower's sitting room— the balcony there is my favorite place in the entire world.
Her admiration for the scenery grows. The view from her window at home is a corner in the neighborhood surrounded by trees and her well-cared-for flower garden. Cozy, intimate, and private. The bit of home that Gale has with him here is also cozy but it implies a bigger world outside of that window, more than just the City of Splendors itself.
Unaware that she's caused any reaction with her casual outfit, Amelia looks up at Gale.]
How long have you been away from home since then, not counting the time we've been here? You and Astarion had been traveling for a while, yes?
He takes a moment to consider, folding his arms across his chest as he tallies up the time.]
By now, we've been here longer than we were on the road, though I don't mean to diminish the time we spent traveling. So much happened during that time, it seems like it must have been far longer than it was— but dire circumstances do bring people together quite quickly, no matter what world they're in.
[Circumstances had demanded that they come to know one another quickly, trust one another, and time was of the essence in everything they did. Their experiences had already changed each and every one of those involved fundamentally.]
I do admit to feeling a bit homesick at times, but even back in Faerun, I have much to do before I can return to Waterdeep.
... I think for myself, this has been the longest I've ever been away from home since I settled in Blackgale. I didn't travel too much even if I had the capability and means to.
[And here's Amelia and the last thing she remembers was getting ready to deep dive into the middle of the first semester and get her students ready for their district writing assessments. It was also around the time she should have been feeding the Blue Moon Belly, but she knows there are other people who can take care of that.
But she suddenly misses home.
She moves from the balcony and looks for a table to set her box down.]
I can start making the tea. I have two types of black tea, and several herbal blends if that's more of your taste for this time of day.
[Interesting— though it would seem that they both preferred to stay home as opposed to travel. He'd done plenty of the latter before his little jaunt to Avernus had demanded it, of course, but it had been quite awhile since wizarding business had taken him from Waterdeep for any significant length of time. He smiles a little, glad for the opportunity to learn another little something new about her, but her mention of the tea immediately draws him back to the present moment.]
Of course! My apologies— here we are.
[He turns towards the room proper, waving a hand so that the nearby table is suddenly set with a tablecloth, two cups, saucers and a silver teapot. In addition, a plate of turnovers has appeared, and he proceeds to pull one of the chairs out to offer her a seat.]
Black tea sounds perfect. No doubt I'll be up late into the night regardless, but feel free to surprise me. I'm sure both are splendid.
[She must admit, their magic is rather similar which is why she won't remark on it. When you're a witch, this sort of trick is child's play, and no doubt even for Gale in his current state, it's the same.
Amelia takes a seat but takes the silver teapot and gets to work to engrave a few runes. One to summon water and another to start heating it up. Soon, steam starts to puff from the spout and she opens the lid to add the teabag.]
There. It should steep for about a minute and it'll be ready.
[He takes his seat opposite her, and despite the serious nature of the topic that had brought her here, his high spirits seem to be quite genuine. He's always been a personable sort who has enjoyed the company of others, but now that he's aware of the fact that he enjoys hers especially, he can't help but feel a bit lighter, even considering the weight of what he'll be sharing with her in a few moments.
He plucks one of the pastries from the plate beside the teapot, neatly pulling off a corner.]
So. Naturally, you have question. For the most part, I'm an open book. I've been meaning to share much of this with you regardless— since before our venturing into the Vale some weeks back, when your own magic caused that reaction.
[She'll take a turnover then! A small bite is taken and... It's good just like the cupcakes had been.
("He'd be a hit at bake sales. Both the baked goods and him," thinks Amelia, already envisioning a crowd of suburban mothers swarming a table being run by Gale.)
oops, her mind wandered for a second but it's a good thing she keeps a drywall face
The tea is properly steeped so she'll pour it into both cups for the both of them.]
Yes... Of course, I was wondering about that.
If it's alright with you, I wanted to know what being "Mystra's Chosen" was about and how it relates to your current condition.
[He waits until she's done pouring the tea to give her a nod of thanks, carefully drawing his cup a bit closer to himself. The first question is simple enough to answer; he's hardly the only Chosen to walk the face of Toril, and the rest of what he has to share really does stem from his time in service.]
Of course. Many gods and goddesses select a "Chosen," a mortal who will serve as their agent. Some will take several in succession, some one at a time— some, none at all. I drew Mystra's attention at a young age— I was a prodigy, you see.
[For all his confidence and occasional theatrics, there doesn't seem to be an ounce of conceit in that statement; he simply speaks as though it were fact.]
Favored by Mystra, I was able to develop my natural talent with the goddess of magic herself to serve as my muse, with a Chosen of ages past to serve as my mentor— the greatest wizard our world has ever seen. As Chosen, I was her hand among mortals. I sought out and destroyed forbidden magic, helped to preserve the balance, did my part to ensure her Weave was not used for wicked deeds. I was her blade— and in turn, she was everything to me. Goddess, teacher— lover.
[His voice falters slightly, though only just; a note of disappointment as he reflects on his past self, how much of himself he had been willing to give to someone who now demanded he sacrifice himself for a chance at forgiveness.]
[Her gaze is focused on Gale as she listens to his explanation. It's easy enough to understand and there are more deities than just Mystra herself. But if she was the goddess of magic, the essence of it herself, she must be on another tier altogether. His duties as her Chosen weren't unlike what the witches and warlocks of her world were meant for. The preservation of balance and the strongest line of defense against outer forces who would invade the world; they were his creations, creatures of the highest caliber.
But they did not love him back. And it's hard to say if he actually "loved." From the sound of it, Mystra had a degree of affection for those who followed her, comprehensible even and Gale was involved with her in that manner.]
... So what happened? For you to fall out of favor with her, I mean.
[His expression has become somber now, though it's not quite anger, not quite resentment. Regret, certainly. He knows full well that he was responsible for his own fall from grace. Though time has begun to shift his perspective regarding the circumstances surrounding it, that much has not changed.]
I was too ambitious. In some ways, it can be a person's greatest strength. To never be satisfied with what you've accomplished, never be content with all you've managed to learn— surely, that is to be commended, yes? A desire to push forward, to become a better version of yourself.
[He shakes his head, pausing for a sip of his tea before setting the cup down.]
I had all anyone could want. I was revered among my fellow wizards, celebrated among academics. I had power that rivaled even that of my own mentor— Elminster Aumar, the greatest wizard who ever lived. I had the favor of the goddess of magic herself, shared her bed, and still I wanted more. I reached too far.
[He frowns slightly, his brow furrowing.]
I failed to learn from history itself, and thought that where my predecessors failed, surely I would succeed. I defied Mystra's wishes and used forbidden magic to retrieve a piece of her power, one that had been stolen from her previous incarnation, wishing to return it to her. It was meant to be a way to prove myself, that I was capable of yet more— a labor of love. As I'm sure you can guess, things did not go to plan.
Amelia sees a regretful Gale in front of her as he lists off all of what he had before. The admiration of his peers, mentoring from one of the greatest wizards, and the love of a goddess herself, never mind how messy that relationship sounded in her modern point of view. What surprises her the most out of all of that is how Gale readily admits how he wanted more, how those accolades weren't enough. His greed is similar to witches in her world.
What Amelia has learned over the years is that witches are greedy, helpful, yearning, and wanting. They wanted to grasp difficult and intangible things and it's such a strong, unreasonable drive that contributes to their unnatural lifespan.
But Gale's hubris circled back to something much more basic; he called it a labor of love and what could be more human than that?
She sips her tea, letting the heat and malty taste clarify her senses before she replies.]
It sounds as if you were well-intentioned.
[Though as they say, the road of good intentions leads to hell.]
How come you couldn't return that power to her? Were you mistaken about it somewhere along the way?
[He nods in agreement— yes, he certainly had been well-intentioned, even considering the pouting and pleading he had done with Mystra beforehand, practically begging to be allowed to cross the boundaries she had set for mortals, to see what wonders the Weave could yet offer. Well-intentioned. Certainly, in part... but he knows in his heart that part of his motive had been selfish. So it was, to be human.]
It was a display of raw power, presented as a romantic gesture. Between the two, I was certain she would at last deem me worthy to explore the Weave beyond what other mortals had been allowed to achieve, rather than continuing to tell me to be contented. I was terribly mistaken. When I obtained that shard of her power...
[He pauses, frowning slightly as he shakes his head, and he puts his hand over his own heart.]
You remember how this glowed, reacting to the touch of your own magic? That fragment of the Weave itself made its home in me— perhaps should have killed me outright, but it did not. It made me its vessel and hungered for more, demanding to be fed by potent magic, traces of the Weave itself. In my attempts to return a jewel to my goddess' crown, I instead found myself blighted by ancient magic so powerful that if it were ever to fully destabilize, it would level the entirety of Waterdeep itself, perhaps more. The result would be devastating.
[He sighs, his expression uncharacteristically grim. For the most part, Amelia has seen him to be someone who is usually in good spirits, optimistic, but it's safe to say that this is never far from his mind. It weighs on him, day in and day out.]
All this, even before the 'condition' I had mentioned to you before. At least that, should it progress, will only be my end. This... this is a problem I must solve before that time comes, if it does. I can grieve what I lost, but it was my own folly that cost me. What I will not abide is others paying the price for my foolishness.
[This wizard's burden was metaphorical and literal. When he puts his hand over his heart and explains the fragment of the Weave that lies within, her green eyes widen in realization at the enormity of it all. He's a ticking timebomb and there's his other condition... It's all so much, too much. Gale Dekarios is marked for death no matter where he turns.
A creeping uncertainty trickles into the back of her mind, an anxiety that she hadn't felt in quite some time.
(Someone's going to leave again, they'll be gone no matter what I do, it's not worth trying to hold on if it's going to make me...)
Amelia swallows it down and sets her teacup aside.]
Do you think when I cast that rune back then, that fragment within absorbed it? Or was it just a reaction?
[He shakes his head again in response, though her concern is certainly a reasonable one.]
I don't believe so, no— simply a reaction, as you said. The feeling when it does absorb something is very... unique, shall we say.
[Which is a gentle way of saying that it's incredibly painful, but he isn't telling her any of this tale to mine for sympathy. It is to be transparent, to be honest about who he really is. His mistakes, and their consequences. They are, first and foremost, friends. Even if he's become acutely aware of the fact that he would like to be more—
It would be unfair, to pursue any such thing without telling her the truth, bordering on unethical. It's a lot to ask anyone to bear, even a friend.]
I was granted one boon, not so long before coming here. Elminster found me at Mystra's behest, and made use of a charm to offer the orb stability, while charging me with a particular task. The orb will no longer erupt without my say so, as long as I still live. What may happen after, I cannot say. It is imperative to me to find a way to diffuse or remove it before my time comes.
[He glances at her, his gaze carefully guarded— unusual, for him— and curls both hands around his teacup. His turnover, for the moment, is forgotten.]
I'm sure you can see why I've fallen out of Mystra's favor, having defied her so. For a time, finding a way to redeem myself and earn a way back into her good graces was all I could think of— apart from keeping myself alive.
[The abruptness of her response is almost enough to startle him; he flinches, only slightly, but fixes his gaze on her instead of averting it. Clearly, it brings him no joy to continue on with this part.]
The Heart of the Absolute. It is the power at the very core of the crisis the Sword Coast is currently facing— the power that is responsible for the condition Astarion and I both suffer, along with our companions. Should the Absolute be allowed to continue to carry out its nefarious plans, the Sword Coast and beyond will be overrun with an Illithid army. It will change Faerun as we know it. The task I was given by Mystra, through my mentor, was to destroy it. It would mean sacrificing myself.
[He knows, of course, how that sounds, and he puts up a hand to stay any potential interruption.]
For some time, I was convinced I would do exactly that. It would save countless lives— and if I was dying anyway, better that it have meaning, serve a greater purpose. I was prepared to use the orb to bring an end to the Absolute itself, only when we found the heart, we discovered that it was being controlled by mortals through the use of a powerful ancient artifact. In that moment, I realized there could be another way— a better way. And—
[He pauses again, exhaling steadily.]
For the first time in a very long time, I would like to live.
[What is she supposed to do with this information? It's a flood full of devastating implications that flash across her face and eyes breaking down her levelheadedness. This shouldn't have to be her concern as it's literally worlds away where Gale and his companions have to face these series of personal trials. For the wizard the fact that his beloved goddess was telling him to give his very life for... It's nothing short of awful.
But it's been almost over a month since they've ended up in Hotel Caelum. Almost a month since she started to get to know these people and slowly started to open up her heart whether she was aware of it or not and...
I'm sorry. I realize this is a lot to lay on anyone.
[He doesn't expect her to say much. What is there to be said? He's hardly looking for sympathy, for pity, for someone to tell him that none of this was his own fault after all— he'd come to terms with that long ago.
But it was important to be honest. This was too much a part of him not to share, and Amelia had glimpsed more of who he was in his own world than most others had the opportunity to here.]
Your friendship has come to mean a great deal to me. I would certainly understand if you were to think less of me because of my foolishness, but I promise you, you are in no danger. As it stands, I am in control of the situation— as much as one can be.
I don't—Gale, I don't think lesser of you for any of that.
[Amelia lets out a frustrated sigh and runs one hand through her hair as she tries to process everything that he's revealed to her. More importantly, she's having to do the unwanted work of understanding why this is upsetting her so specifically even when he tries to reassure her.
Friendship. Yes, that's what this was between them (if there's more, the witch is still too reluctant to see it as such), a seed that was sown since the first day that they met and why Amelia eased into Gale's company more easily than others. And now she finally forces herself to confess internally that their friendship is why all of this is upsetting. Something new but good in her life had a looming chance of ending all too soon.
When she speaks up there's an attempt for a measured tone but there's a tenseness that holds back how she truly feels.]
Are you sure? Is there anything anyone could... Could I do something?
[Reckless? Yes, it is, especially since Amelia was the one who suggested different magic streams shouldn't be crossed so thoughtlessly.
She stands up, too riled up to sit still, and paces back and forth.]
Extraction, forced dormancy, pour that corruption into something else... Anything?
[It stirs something in him to see that she cares so much, that her usual calm and collected manner has been set aside in favor of pacing, listing off possible options. That she offers at all— it means a great deal, even if he fears it may amount to nothing.]
I admit that if anyone here could, it would likely be you, given your experience, but...
[He, too, gets to his feet, and when she paces back towards the table, he gently catches her by the wrist in hopes of getting her to stand still, just for a moment.]
Amelia. This is not your burden to bear. Extraction... that would be too great a risk to you, to everyone here. If you were to come to harm trying to help me, I wouldn't be able to bear it.
[The other options may have merit, but the sentiment remains the same. He doesn't want anyone else to come to harm.]
[When it comes down to it, Amelia, the Emerald Witch, cannot bear to suffer another loss in her life. To do so means failure, and failure of that magnitude weighs on her so much as a witch whose entire being meant to make the impossible, possible. What use is magic when it causes them so much misery?
Just as she's about to sink further into the dark rabbit hole of her thoughts and past experiences, Gale's hand upon her wrist stops her. She can't bear to look at him, not with the pain behind her eyes.]
... You can't just say that after you told me so much.
[There would have been more bite in her voice if not for the tiredness that colors it instead. Her hand is limp in his grasp but she doesn't pull away.]
... Gale? Maybe it's not so surprising but I don't have many friends. [Amelia swallows.]
Circumstances aside, I'm obstinate and ornery, and many things bother me, including other people and—
[She's not sure where she's going for this. Perhaps the underlying question she wants to ask him is "Why me?"]
—And when there's a problem in front of me, I have a bad habit of being unable to ignore it.
[For a moment, he only listens. When she's through, he nods, his careful hold on her wrist remaining.
She is, admittedly, all of the things she's listed. They're all qualities he's come to find endearing, even admirable, but as he's glimpsed bits and pieces of who she is beneath that careful, professional way she presents herself, he's reminded of what he'd said to her that first morning over breakfast.
It sounds like a very lonely way to live.
Though he may not know all of her reasoning, he knows her well enough to know by now that she's very cautious about who she lets in, who she calls friend.]
You're right. It's not my decision, however much I would hate to see you come to harm. It's yours. And if you're being kind enough to offer your aid—
[He catches himself, and gives another shake of his head as his voice falters slightly, tired. The affable wizard he's shown their fellow guests day in and day out almost seems a stranger in this moment, feels almost like a past life, an echo of who he was before all of this.]
It would be foolish of me to refuse it. I should consider myself so lucky to have so devoted a friend. But before you may any further decisions— you should know what you're dealing with in full. I will not blame you in the least if you change your mind, though I know you are not the kind to do so easily.
[Still holding her wrist, he goes down on one knee, guiding her hand towards his chest.]
[Amelia whips her head around to look at Gale as he guides her hand to him. For a moment it looks and feels like she's about to pull away but at the last second, it doesn't happen. Instead, she leans down so she's more at face-level with Gale. Her other hand grips her thigh as she Envisions a series of protection runes around her body.
Aside from that first time when her single magic rune caused a reaction, she doesn’t know what’s going to happen. Her hand makes contact with his chest. Now that they’re so close, the pulse in her wrist is more noticeable as is the trembling in her fingers. She makes it stop and then nods at Gale.]
Show me.
[What more could be said? They’re both in too deep to back out now.]
[He nods firmly, feeling the brief quickening of her pulse beneath his fingers before she wills it to steady.
There is nothing further to be said. He closes his eyes and focuses inward, on the power that has been eating away at his insides for the last year. Even now, stabilized by Elminster through Mystra's own grace, it is clear that its power is only barely contained, trapped in a delicate cage and threatening to tear through its very bars. The orb marking on his chest glows bright once more, much as it had in the corridor that day weeks earlier, snaking its way up the tendrils that curl along his neck— then glows brighter still, almost blindingly so, a light that seems a stark contrast to what lies within.
The feeling pulls at her, recognizing a life outside of its own host, and it is a gnawing, black, hungry thing. A gaping void that longs for more, refuses to be sated, beating against the inside of his chest as it longs to escape. It is starved, aching to consume, unquestionably destructive. Beneath the warmth of his chest there's the faint chill of something otherworldly, a necrotic energy that threatens to chill any who touch it down to their very bones, but there is one sensation that persists stronger than all others. That longing for more, that hunger, that wanting.
His eyes remain closed, but Gale grits his teeth as he feels the pain of his burden grow more pronounced, his shoulders and grip tense as he steels himself, forces himself to remain upright. It's felt worse in the past— but for awhile, this place has allowed him to feel almost normal again, despite the dull, gnawing ache that continually haunts him.]
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[He sounds quite pleased to confirm that, closing the door behind them before he moves to join her— though with her back turned, he can't help but notice that her sweater isn't quite as modest as it had appeared from the front. Not inappropriate by any stretch, but certainly surprising, given what he's seen her wear up until now.
He clears his throat softly, coming to stand beside her near the doors to the balcony.]
Just a bit of home, even if it's only an illusion. Much of this space is modeled after my tower's sitting room— the balcony there is my favorite place in the entire world.
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sorry her bare back broke DW for a bit thereHer admiration for the scenery grows. The view from her window at home is a corner in the neighborhood surrounded by trees and her well-cared-for flower garden. Cozy, intimate, and private. The bit of home that Gale has with him here is also cozy but it implies a bigger world outside of that window, more than just the City of Splendors itself.
Unaware that she's caused any reaction with her casual outfit, Amelia looks up at Gale.]
How long have you been away from home since then, not counting the time we've been here? You and Astarion had been traveling for a while, yes?
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it was too lewdHe takes a moment to consider, folding his arms across his chest as he tallies up the time.]
By now, we've been here longer than we were on the road, though I don't mean to diminish the time we spent traveling. So much happened during that time, it seems like it must have been far longer than it was— but dire circumstances do bring people together quite quickly, no matter what world they're in.
[Circumstances had demanded that they come to know one another quickly, trust one another, and time was of the essence in everything they did. Their experiences had already changed each and every one of those involved fundamentally.]
I do admit to feeling a bit homesick at times, but even back in Faerun, I have much to do before I can return to Waterdeep.
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[And here's Amelia and the last thing she remembers was getting ready to deep dive into the middle of the first semester and get her students ready for their district writing assessments. It was also around the time she should have been feeding the Blue Moon Belly, but she knows there are other people who can take care of that.
But she suddenly misses home.
She moves from the balcony and looks for a table to set her box down.]
I can start making the tea. I have two types of black tea, and several herbal blends if that's more of your taste for this time of day.
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Of course! My apologies— here we are.
[He turns towards the room proper, waving a hand so that the nearby table is suddenly set with a tablecloth, two cups, saucers and a silver teapot. In addition, a plate of turnovers has appeared, and he proceeds to pull one of the chairs out to offer her a seat.]
Black tea sounds perfect. No doubt I'll be up late into the night regardless, but feel free to surprise me. I'm sure both are splendid.
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Amelia takes a seat but takes the silver teapot and gets to work to engrave a few runes. One to summon water and another to start heating it up. Soon, steam starts to puff from the spout and she opens the lid to add the teabag.]
There. It should steep for about a minute and it'll be ready.
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[He takes his seat opposite her, and despite the serious nature of the topic that had brought her here, his high spirits seem to be quite genuine. He's always been a personable sort who has enjoyed the company of others, but now that he's aware of the fact that he enjoys hers especially, he can't help but feel a bit lighter, even considering the weight of what he'll be sharing with her in a few moments.
He plucks one of the pastries from the plate beside the teapot, neatly pulling off a corner.]
So. Naturally, you have question. For the most part, I'm an open book. I've been meaning to share much of this with you regardless— since before our venturing into the Vale some weeks back, when your own magic caused that reaction.
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("He'd be a hit at bake sales. Both the baked goods and him," thinks Amelia, already envisioning a crowd of suburban mothers swarming a table being run by Gale.)
oops, her mind wandered for a second but it's a good thing she keeps a drywall face
The tea is properly steeped so she'll pour it into both cups for the both of them.]
Yes... Of course, I was wondering about that.
If it's alright with you, I wanted to know what being "Mystra's Chosen" was about and how it relates to your current condition.
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Of course. Many gods and goddesses select a "Chosen," a mortal who will serve as their agent. Some will take several in succession, some one at a time— some, none at all. I drew Mystra's attention at a young age— I was a prodigy, you see.
[For all his confidence and occasional theatrics, there doesn't seem to be an ounce of conceit in that statement; he simply speaks as though it were fact.]
Favored by Mystra, I was able to develop my natural talent with the goddess of magic herself to serve as my muse, with a Chosen of ages past to serve as my mentor— the greatest wizard our world has ever seen. As Chosen, I was her hand among mortals. I sought out and destroyed forbidden magic, helped to preserve the balance, did my part to ensure her Weave was not used for wicked deeds. I was her blade— and in turn, she was everything to me. Goddess, teacher— lover.
[His voice falters slightly, though only just; a note of disappointment as he reflects on his past self, how much of himself he had been willing to give to someone who now demanded he sacrifice himself for a chance at forgiveness.]
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But they did not love him back. And it's hard to say if he actually "loved." From the sound of it, Mystra had a degree of affection for those who followed her, comprehensible even and Gale was involved with her in that manner.]
... So what happened? For you to fall out of favor with her, I mean.
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I was too ambitious. In some ways, it can be a person's greatest strength. To never be satisfied with what you've accomplished, never be content with all you've managed to learn— surely, that is to be commended, yes? A desire to push forward, to become a better version of yourself.
[He shakes his head, pausing for a sip of his tea before setting the cup down.]
I had all anyone could want. I was revered among my fellow wizards, celebrated among academics. I had power that rivaled even that of my own mentor— Elminster Aumar, the greatest wizard who ever lived. I had the favor of the goddess of magic herself, shared her bed, and still I wanted more. I reached too far.
[He frowns slightly, his brow furrowing.]
I failed to learn from history itself, and thought that where my predecessors failed, surely I would succeed. I defied Mystra's wishes and used forbidden magic to retrieve a piece of her power, one that had been stolen from her previous incarnation, wishing to return it to her. It was meant to be a way to prove myself, that I was capable of yet more— a labor of love. As I'm sure you can guess, things did not go to plan.
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Amelia sees a regretful Gale in front of her as he lists off all of what he had before. The admiration of his peers, mentoring from one of the greatest wizards, and the love of a goddess herself, never mind how messy that relationship sounded in her modern point of view. What surprises her the most out of all of that is how Gale readily admits how he wanted more, how those accolades weren't enough. His greed is similar to witches in her world.
What Amelia has learned over the years is that witches are greedy, helpful, yearning, and wanting. They wanted to grasp difficult and intangible things and it's such a strong, unreasonable drive that contributes to their unnatural lifespan.
But Gale's hubris circled back to something much more basic; he called it a labor of love and what could be more human than that?
She sips her tea, letting the heat and malty taste clarify her senses before she replies.]
It sounds as if you were well-intentioned.
[Though as they say, the road of good intentions leads to hell.]
How come you couldn't return that power to her? Were you mistaken about it somewhere along the way?
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It was a display of raw power, presented as a romantic gesture. Between the two, I was certain she would at last deem me worthy to explore the Weave beyond what other mortals had been allowed to achieve, rather than continuing to tell me to be contented. I was terribly mistaken. When I obtained that shard of her power...
[He pauses, frowning slightly as he shakes his head, and he puts his hand over his own heart.]
You remember how this glowed, reacting to the touch of your own magic? That fragment of the Weave itself made its home in me— perhaps should have killed me outright, but it did not. It made me its vessel and hungered for more, demanding to be fed by potent magic, traces of the Weave itself. In my attempts to return a jewel to my goddess' crown, I instead found myself blighted by ancient magic so powerful that if it were ever to fully destabilize, it would level the entirety of Waterdeep itself, perhaps more. The result would be devastating.
[He sighs, his expression uncharacteristically grim. For the most part, Amelia has seen him to be someone who is usually in good spirits, optimistic, but it's safe to say that this is never far from his mind. It weighs on him, day in and day out.]
All this, even before the 'condition' I had mentioned to you before. At least that, should it progress, will only be my end. This... this is a problem I must solve before that time comes, if it does. I can grieve what I lost, but it was my own folly that cost me. What I will not abide is others paying the price for my foolishness.
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A creeping uncertainty trickles into the back of her mind, an anxiety that she hadn't felt in quite some time.
(Someone's going to leave again, they'll be gone no matter what I do, it's not worth trying to hold on if it's going to make me...)
Amelia swallows it down and sets her teacup aside.]
Do you think when I cast that rune back then, that fragment within absorbed it? Or was it just a reaction?
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I don't believe so, no— simply a reaction, as you said. The feeling when it does absorb something is very... unique, shall we say.
[Which is a gentle way of saying that it's incredibly painful, but he isn't telling her any of this tale to mine for sympathy. It is to be transparent, to be honest about who he really is. His mistakes, and their consequences. They are, first and foremost, friends. Even if he's become acutely aware of the fact that he would like to be more—
It would be unfair, to pursue any such thing without telling her the truth, bordering on unethical. It's a lot to ask anyone to bear, even a friend.]
I was granted one boon, not so long before coming here. Elminster found me at Mystra's behest, and made use of a charm to offer the orb stability, while charging me with a particular task. The orb will no longer erupt without my say so, as long as I still live. What may happen after, I cannot say. It is imperative to me to find a way to diffuse or remove it before my time comes.
[He glances at her, his gaze carefully guarded— unusual, for him— and curls both hands around his teacup. His turnover, for the moment, is forgotten.]
I'm sure you can see why I've fallen out of Mystra's favor, having defied her so. For a time, finding a way to redeem myself and earn a way back into her good graces was all I could think of— apart from keeping myself alive.
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Amelia abruptly stands up from her seat with her hands lying flat on the table.]
Gale, is there a reason why you would want to even make that thing blow up?
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The Heart of the Absolute. It is the power at the very core of the crisis the Sword Coast is currently facing— the power that is responsible for the condition Astarion and I both suffer, along with our companions. Should the Absolute be allowed to continue to carry out its nefarious plans, the Sword Coast and beyond will be overrun with an Illithid army. It will change Faerun as we know it. The task I was given by Mystra, through my mentor, was to destroy it. It would mean sacrificing myself.
[He knows, of course, how that sounds, and he puts up a hand to stay any potential interruption.]
For some time, I was convinced I would do exactly that. It would save countless lives— and if I was dying anyway, better that it have meaning, serve a greater purpose. I was prepared to use the orb to bring an end to the Absolute itself, only when we found the heart, we discovered that it was being controlled by mortals through the use of a powerful ancient artifact. In that moment, I realized there could be another way— a better way. And—
[He pauses again, exhaling steadily.]
For the first time in a very long time, I would like to live.
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But it's been almost over a month since they've ended up in Hotel Caelum. Almost a month since she started to get to know these people and slowly started to open up her heart whether she was aware of it or not and...
Was any of this worth it?
The witch sits back down, stunned.]
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[He doesn't expect her to say much. What is there to be said? He's hardly looking for sympathy, for pity, for someone to tell him that none of this was his own fault after all— he'd come to terms with that long ago.
But it was important to be honest. This was too much a part of him not to share, and Amelia had glimpsed more of who he was in his own world than most others had the opportunity to here.]
Your friendship has come to mean a great deal to me. I would certainly understand if you were to think less of me because of my foolishness, but I promise you, you are in no danger. As it stands, I am in control of the situation— as much as one can be.
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[Amelia lets out a frustrated sigh and runs one hand through her hair as she tries to process everything that he's revealed to her. More importantly, she's having to do the unwanted work of understanding why this is upsetting her so specifically even when he tries to reassure her.
Friendship. Yes, that's what this was between them (if there's more, the witch is still too reluctant to see it as such), a seed that was sown since the first day that they met and why Amelia eased into Gale's company more easily than others. And now she finally forces herself to confess internally that their friendship is why all of this is upsetting. Something new but good in her life had a looming chance of ending all too soon.
When she speaks up there's an attempt for a measured tone but there's a tenseness that holds back how she truly feels.]
Are you sure? Is there anything anyone could... Could I do something?
[Reckless? Yes, it is, especially since Amelia was the one who suggested different magic streams shouldn't be crossed so thoughtlessly.
She stands up, too riled up to sit still, and paces back and forth.]
Extraction, forced dormancy, pour that corruption into something else... Anything?
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I admit that if anyone here could, it would likely be you, given your experience, but...
[He, too, gets to his feet, and when she paces back towards the table, he gently catches her by the wrist in hopes of getting her to stand still, just for a moment.]
Amelia. This is not your burden to bear. Extraction... that would be too great a risk to you, to everyone here. If you were to come to harm trying to help me, I wouldn't be able to bear it.
[The other options may have merit, but the sentiment remains the same. He doesn't want anyone else to come to harm.]
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Just as she's about to sink further into the dark rabbit hole of her thoughts and past experiences, Gale's hand upon her wrist stops her. She can't bear to look at him, not with the pain behind her eyes.]
... You can't just say that after you told me so much.
[There would have been more bite in her voice if not for the tiredness that colors it instead. Her hand is limp in his grasp but she doesn't pull away.]
... Gale? Maybe it's not so surprising but I don't have many friends. [Amelia swallows.]
Circumstances aside, I'm obstinate and ornery, and many things bother me, including other people and—
[She's not sure where she's going for this. Perhaps the underlying question she wants to ask him is "Why me?"]
—And when there's a problem in front of me, I have a bad habit of being unable to ignore it.
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She is, admittedly, all of the things she's listed. They're all qualities he's come to find endearing, even admirable, but as he's glimpsed bits and pieces of who she is beneath that careful, professional way she presents herself, he's reminded of what he'd said to her that first morning over breakfast.
It sounds like a very lonely way to live.
Though he may not know all of her reasoning, he knows her well enough to know by now that she's very cautious about who she lets in, who she calls friend.]
You're right. It's not my decision, however much I would hate to see you come to harm. It's yours. And if you're being kind enough to offer your aid—
[He catches himself, and gives another shake of his head as his voice falters slightly, tired. The affable wizard he's shown their fellow guests day in and day out almost seems a stranger in this moment, feels almost like a past life, an echo of who he was before all of this.]
It would be foolish of me to refuse it. I should consider myself so lucky to have so devoted a friend. But before you may any further decisions— you should know what you're dealing with in full. I will not blame you in the least if you change your mind, though I know you are not the kind to do so easily.
[Still holding her wrist, he goes down on one knee, guiding her hand towards his chest.]
Place your hand over my heart.
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second, it doesn't happen. Instead, she leans down so she's more at face-level with Gale. Her other hand grips her thigh as she Envisions a series of protection runes around her body.
Aside from that first time when her single magic rune caused a reaction, she doesn’t know what’s going to happen. Her hand makes contact with his chest. Now that they’re so close, the pulse in her wrist is more noticeable as is the trembling in her fingers. She makes it stop and then nods at Gale.]
Show me.
[What more could be said? They’re both in too deep to back out now.]
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There is nothing further to be said. He closes his eyes and focuses inward, on the power that has been eating away at his insides for the last year. Even now, stabilized by Elminster through Mystra's own grace, it is clear that its power is only barely contained, trapped in a delicate cage and threatening to tear through its very bars. The orb marking on his chest glows bright once more, much as it had in the corridor that day weeks earlier, snaking its way up the tendrils that curl along his neck— then glows brighter still, almost blindingly so, a light that seems a stark contrast to what lies within.
The feeling pulls at her, recognizing a life outside of its own host, and it is a gnawing, black, hungry thing. A gaping void that longs for more, refuses to be sated, beating against the inside of his chest as it longs to escape. It is starved, aching to consume, unquestionably destructive. Beneath the warmth of his chest there's the faint chill of something otherworldly, a necrotic energy that threatens to chill any who touch it down to their very bones, but there is one sensation that persists stronger than all others. That longing for more, that hunger, that wanting.
His eyes remain closed, but Gale grits his teeth as he feels the pain of his burden grow more pronounced, his shoulders and grip tense as he steels himself, forces himself to remain upright. It's felt worse in the past— but for awhile, this place has allowed him to feel almost normal again, despite the dull, gnawing ache that continually haunts him.]
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