Mm. Barely any persuasion was needed. He's probably a better man than all of us. Besides that- you'd think the puddle of magma it left behind would be an indicator that the event wasn't hellfire-related.

[He wouldn't like to assume, but Gale likely made that conclusion even without this confession, as well-versed in the arcane as he was. Still. His own eyes follow Gale's gaze to the tent in question, where... well. All damage had been adequately patched with the hide of some kind of monstrosity they had met on the road. The warlock in question sits outside his tent as he tended to most nights, deep in the act of penning his autobiography, glass in hand- articulating past exploits to himself as he scribbles them down.

As charming as the sight before him is (and oh, it is.) it is not quite as coveted as the sight of the wizard of Waterdeep. So. His gaze moves back to Gale accordingly.]

Is that so? I'd considered practicing waist-deep in the river. Yet then I consider the thought of something lightning-related happening.

[A brief laugh comes then, his eyes forming crescents just briefly. Because really. With wild magic? If you can't laugh about it, the only other recourse is crying. His quiet mirth is short-lived, however. He leans in close, his expression curious.]

I promise.