They've been through the Blightlands and while the path wasn't very straight, they've finally crossed into the edges of the Goblin Camp.
Gale's skin stings from their run around in the spider's den. He's been poisoned enough for a lifetime, but more is sure to come, he knows. His Tav had never found that den and when the githyanki decided she would march directly into the mouth of an ominous-looking -and smelling- cave, Gale nearly pulled her back by the wrist and demanded they refocus.
But, with their coin pouches a little heavier and a new set of armor for Astarion, Gale can't say it was an entire waste. He did manage to gather a few ingredients for some alchemy as well. Since he's the only one who really knows the recipes or cares to keep track of the ingredients as they adventure, it has been placed on Gale to mix them any potion he can.
It won't be until the Underdark that Gale can really make something powerful, but they certainly aren't ready for that just yet.
They move closer to the camp entrance in a low crawl. With so many Goblins about, it would be ill-advised to simply walk in. From here, they can see Volo standing in front of the group, reciting poems and whatever else he can to keep them entertained. Tav did warn him of the dangers before he set out, but at least the man is alive. Gale didn't care for him at first, but the man is one of literature. Putting his odd quirks aside, Gale can appriciate someone like Volo.
Volo wouldn't be the first person he's had to do that for.
"While that all looks good and fun," speaking of the vampire- "I believe it best if we set up camp for the night. I'd rather be well rested before a proper bloodbath."
Tav stares at Astarion, then turns to the others. "How much of your magic have you expended?"
Shadowheart grimaces. "I'm not fairing too well. I have perhaps a couple more before I'll be left with my lowest spells."
"Sadly, I am much the same. While I may be a great and powerful wizard, even Mystra's best has his limits."
A nod as Tav looks back to the camp, almost in...longing? Disappointment, more likely. "Agreed. Let us find a place to set up for the night."
With that, they venture a mile or so back into the forest and set up for their first night. Wyll meets with them again, his head still free of horns. Wherever he was, the man didn't find Karlach.
It's been a rising concern as they go on. They are planning on attacking the goblins early tomorrow; yet, they still haven't found Karlach. She's likely out bleeding by the waterfalls still, her engine heart roaring hotter than ever. She's alone and without their company.
Gale knows Karlach to be strong and beyond capable. She's a most excellent companion in every way, but she's not infallible. Wyll isn't the only one who wants her head on a pike. If they wait long enough, will she be overpowered by those paladins sent to drag her back down to Avernus? Will Zariel reclaim her weapon?
He doesn't know, and although the thought of breaking off to find Karlach himself is a tempting one, Gale remains where he is. Less out of self-preservation and more because he trusts Tav will find her before fate does. And if Tav doesn't push them in Karlach's direction, Wyll most definitely will. He's a good man but not the most patient when it comes to these things. His aim is Karlach and his pact with Mizora. Even the tadpoles come second for him.
Having gotten used to the routine of things, Gale sets up his tent quickly, so he can then work on their evening meal. He sorts through their pack of rummaged perishables, clever fingers running over each item to test their freshness and uses. Once he's gathered a good blend -no mushrooms for Shadowheart and a little extra spice for Lae'zel's bowl- Gale prepares a pot of water to be sanitized.
They've gathered some meats as well. A good find in such barren lands. Without much thought, Gale extracts the blood from them, setting it aside in another container for Astarion. Then, he starts the meat cooking for the rest of them. While it would take away from his collections for alchemy, Gale does use some of the balsam and mergrass for the stew. It'll give that edge of healing they need and rumor has it that mergrass sharpens the mind -both things they will need for the upcoming day.
"My, my. Magic and cooking? What can't you do?" Astarion's voice pulls Gale from his thoughts.
Without thinking, Gale offers the jar of blood. "Well, it certainly comes in thanks to my mother. She was less a wizard and more an inventor, I'd say. An inventor of tastes and talents. I remember, when I was young, she would- What?" Gale stops, his line of thinking stopped at Astarion's expression.
The man's eyes have narrowed and a sneer twists his lips. Gone is the playful act. "...You're offering me a jar of blood?" There's a threat in his tone. It gives away the secret Gale forgot he had to keep. He tries to retract the gesture, but it's too late. Even if he lies and says it has nutritional value and he too drinks a jar of blood every day, no one will be fooled.
A quick glance around shows that the rest of their party is still setting up, but they will be finished soon. Scratch has already started to sniff in their direction, likely hungry for a scrap of their dinner.
"I don't plan on telling anyone," Gale says, straight to the point but hopefully not as tense as he feels. "I've read many books on creatures of your...nature. Undead and creatures of the dark. Lycan used to be a special interest of mine when I was young, you know."
Astarion's glare doesn't let up. "So, you won't run me out, then? Aren't scared a vampire will come and suck you dry while you aren't looking?"
He...could make a comment, but Gale refrains. He doesn't have time for those sorts of jokes, especially knowing the few pieces he does about the way Cazador treated him. "I can't speak for the others, but I find no reason to fault you for your secrets. It's not as if I didn't attempt to hide my own. I only suggest you consider asking others before taking their blood. You may be surprised with how agreeable this lot can be."
If things go the way they did last time, Astarion should have at least one person willing to let him drink when he needs.
"Besides," Gale continues, a smile cracking over his lips. "My blood would not be to your tastes. Believe me. I've been told I taste of bile."
At last, Astarion's guard lowers. The sauve expression returns and the pale elf takes his offered jar. "Bile, you say? And how would you know that? Have you a habit of befriending vampires?"
"Not in the least." Gale smiles, glad to be done with the worst of that conversation. "Vampires aren't the only creatures looking to taste blood. They are simply infamed for it. Like river leeches."
A scoff, then Astarion frowns again. "You're lucky I can't gut you here and now for that comment." His tone balances dangerously between a real threat and teasing
Gale laughs awkwardly. "Ah, I didn't mean anything by it. I simply drew the connection between your dietary-"
"Do shut up." Astarion sighs like the conversation has drained him more than any combat so far. He starts to leave, the jar held tightly in both hands, but then he stops. "You...didn't get this from a thinking creature...did you?"
Gale forces a smile. "No, I did not; and the very thought that I may have done such a thing is quite the misjudgement of my character." They crossed a number of dead bodies on their way here already, but never once has he thought to mutilate them for their blood! Astarion may have no standards when it comes to handling the deceased, but that doesn't mean Gale is the same!
"Yes, yes. Tell them I'm washing up or whatever." Astarion waves his hand as he goes. He stops for a third time. "Oh, and Gale? If you tell anyone about this, I'll make sure you regret it dearly."
He doesn't get the chance to properly respond before Wyll starts in their direction. So, he swallows annoyance and responds with a smile. "Wouldn't dream of it."
Astarion walks into the forest just as Wyll sits down, his face lit up in an orange hue from the roaring fire. "Gale, you never mentioned you could cook! This smells amazing!"
Gale tries to shake himself out of the odd feeling that remains with him, but it lingers in his chest. This is why he never initiated conversations with Astarion. "Well, it certainly comes in thanks to my mother. She had an affinity for it and it seemed to have passed along."
"I would be inclined to agree." Wyll smiles. He grabs a bowl stacked to Gale's left, then reaches over to pour himself some. The man must really be hungry because he doesn't think until it's already half full. "Oh, I'm sorry! May I?"
It would be ridiculous to refuse him a meal, even if it weren't for him. "Be my guest." Wyll sits again, relieved. "After the day we've all had, I believe you've well earned some thoughtlessness. Though, you must tell me how it compares to the cooks at the tiefling camps." A little boost to his ego can't hurt.
Wyll eats a spoonful, then he dives back in for another. Only after the third, does the man get a word out. "Good! It's very, very good. Everything tastes well-balanced and the spice has a kick that I quite enjoy. The meat is tender too." He takes another spoonful. "And you said your mother invented this recipe?"
"Oh, no. I've more or less thrown it together myself, but the know-how is all hers. She wanted to ensure I knew how to not only survive with my cooking, but how to thrive with it. Of course, I didn't appreciate the skill at the time. It was never as fulfilling as manipulating the Weave or reading about endless adventures, but I've come to enjoy it now." He only really does when it's for his companions. It takes effort to cook after a long day, especially when he's been the one out fighting for their lives, but the reward is worth it. Full bellies and bright smiles from each of them.
It makes Gale feel important, like he has a real place among them besides his use of the Weave. It's another reason for them to let him stay.
Maybe if he cooked for Mystra...no. A stupid thought. No Goddess would be impressed with a mortal's meal. If his power with her domain was not enough, then nothing else he could possibly do would be either.
Other than obeying her word and destroying the Absolute with the orb in his chest.
"If I may ask," Wyll pulls Gale back to the present. Shadowheart has now gotten herself a bow too, but she takes it back to her tent, away from everyone else. "What was your conversation with Astarion about? I haven't had much of a chance to meet him and he seemed...well, unhappy."
While Gale doesn't take Astarion's threat seriously, he does understand and respect the vampire's wishes for privacy. He knows better than anyone how that feels. "Ah, his clothes, you see. They got stained and he was concerned they would be ruined. I suggested a mending spell, but he said he would rather try his own hand at it. It's no bother to me."
Now, he has to hope that Wyll doesn't ask Astarion the same question.
"Oh. Well, then I'll save him a bowl. We can't let him go hungry simply because he's concerned for his armor."
"I have one saved already." Gale lies. "He's ensured I did."
Conversation dies down after that. Even with Lae'zel and Tav joining them, there's little to say for tomorrow. They don't know enough to properly strategize and even if they did, Tav has never been the type to do that. They would rather go in with a blaze and kick ass however they can.
Of course, Gale isn't sure what this Tav will do.
He tries not to stare as he watches her spoon out a few chunks of meat for Scratch. The dog accepts them happily and it puts a sweet smile on Tav's face. It's like the one Gale knows, where their lips press up until their cheeks wrinkle at the edges. Even with githyanki features, it's endearing. He can see the kindness within. Where Lae'zel is stern and fierce, this Tav is caring at her core. She shows it in an odd way, but it doesn't go unnoticed by Gale.
Tav meets his eyes and he quickly tries to appear as if his weren't already locked on her. She shifts, her smile disappearing as she gets back to business. The moment is gone too soon.
"Gale, I would prefer if you remained here tomorrow."
Gale blinks. He opens his mouth to protest, then stops. "I question the wisdom of that decision, but it is your call to make."
"Good. I need a steady blade for this mission and I can't afford to part with the others. Rest here while you can."
That bit stings. Quite a lot, actually. It makes his eyes ache but Gale is nothing if not stubborn. He stands, his own bowl of stew no longer appealing in the slightest. "I'll be sure to. The best of luck to you- and Lae'zel. Both of you. Big day tomorrow." He waits for a long few seconds, then he turns to retreat to his tent. Once inside, Gale closes the flaps and tries to forget what he can. Just as he did for that year in his tower, after Mystra cast him out, Gale distracts himself from the aching in his chest with his books. And if not his books, then the Weave at his fingertips.
It isn't personal, he tells himself. A good leader must make difficult calls and this may be one of them.
But the words haunt him late into the night. They keep his eyes from closing, and his heart from steadying enough to sleep.
It's a cruel thought, but Gale almost wishes his fate could come sooner.
Gale reads in his tent, the quiet of the evening washing over the whole party like an aura of serene Weave. He's lost in the pages of his book, old spells he could once cast before he fell from Mystra's grace, return to him in perfect knowledge. He's a far cry from who he once was, but at least this has stayed the same. Learning at any opportunity he finds and absorbing each word like a bloodthirsty vampire.
The tranquil moment ends when a soggy, leather ball bounces off his shoulder, then rolls a few feet away. It starts Gale out of his own mind and back into the present. He looks up to see Scratch run toward the ball, his tongue hanging out in pure bliss. Once the dog has retrieved his ball, he trots back to Tav, who takes the ball again without so much as a bink. They throw it into the distance, then turn to walk toward Gale, a smile on their face.
It's been a very long month since they all met, but the connection Gale feels with this odd tiefling is almost immediate. They think he's smart and funny and, as he'll quote, 'the best fuck they've had in a good while'.
It's done quite a number on his already inflated ego.
"I'm usually better at aiming for the face," Tav says, their smile leaning on teasing. "Perhaps some practice is in order."
Gale welcomely accepts their company as the tiefling sits by his side. "While I would usually encourage the need to keep one's skill acute, I'd prefer if it didn't involve slobber-filled balls." They give him a look and Gale lets out a flushered laugh. "That is not what I meant; though, the offer doesn't sound unpleasant."
They roll their eyes and sit back on their hands. Red, firey eyes stare out at the rest of camp, seeming to not really take in information and rather just to...look. Without looking at him, they ask, "What are you reading?"
"A book of old tomes." Gale holds it up proudly. He flips a few pages back to show some of his favorite spells. "I once had the ability to cast them all, when I was by Mystra's side. She helped me to manipulate the Weave's strands as if it were nothing more than a loom. I held the very threads of magic in my fingers. To have power like that is unspeakable-"
"-I've been thinking lately." They interrupt.
Gale lowers the book, only slightly disheartened at the intrusion. "Ah. Quite a dangerous feat. Once your mind gets up to something, there's no telling what havoc you'll bring down upon us." He tries for teasing again. It doesn't land well and the tension builds.
Now, those eyes are on him and him alone. Gale can't quite figure out what to do with them as they look into the deepest parts of his soul, like Mystra's judgment. He almost fears what they may see.
"We'll be at the Moonrise Towers soon. We'll find the heart of this whole mess and you'll...do what you do best." They try for a smile but it doesn't stay long. "What I'm saying is...I'm scared. I'm scared about the Absolute and the Nightsong and everything in between. What if you blowing it all sky-high isn't enough? What if it kills us before then?"
"Ah, the heart of the matter. Well, I can't say you're the only one with such fears. All of us worry for what the future will bring. It's the nature of things, it seems, to be at the whims of another as we search to achieve a goal far above what we think possible. But weaker heroes have done more than what we plan to do. Surely, with all of our efforts put together, we'll get the outcome we want."
His words of comfort do little to ease Tav's expression. So, Gale moves closer. He wraps his arms around their shoulders and lets them hold him tightly. It knocks his book to the dusty floor.
"I promise you that whatever happens, I will ensure I take the Absolute with me." Gale breathes. "I've made peace with my end. Trust that I will make good use of it."
He hasn't, but they don't need to know that. They don't need to see how the very thought terrifies him; how he wakes in a sweat from dreams of doing exactly what Mystra has asked of him. What Tav asks of him.
This won't be about him. It's about what will save everyone else.
"Thank you," Tav whispers back, their head leaning against his. "Thank you for this."
Without a thought, Gale answers, "Anything for you."
When Gale wakes from the two or so hours of sleep he's gotten, Tav and the rest are already gone.
After a quick meal of stale bread and last night's leftovers, Gale joins Wyll where he stands guard. It's the only real way they can be useful in this fight. Bringing all six of them would make stealth impossible and adding Halsin's rescue on top of it all would bring far too much risk than it's worth. Besides, Tav made herself clear. She doesn't need them for this.
So, they sit on the outskirts of the Goblin Camp's entrance. The hill they've crawled up gives them a high view of it all, allowing them to catch any ambushers or reinforcements before they can become a real problem.
The lack of sleep weighs on Gale's shoulders. Maybe it's for the best he didn't go, if the ache in his muscles is anything to go by. He really would've been useless.
"You don't think they'll spend the whole day in there, do you?" Wyll asks. His eyes are focused but his tone gives way to his apprehension. He too looks tired despite having been awake before Gale. Maybe it's Karlach that weighs on his mind, or perhaps something else. Gale might've spent an entire previous life with the man, but he's never been good at reading the others. Tav was the only one who made complete sense to him. The rest fell into place along the way, Asatrion being the least understood among them.
He blames their innumerable differences for that fact.
"In an ideal world, they wouldn't, but there's no way to tell for sure. Not without knowing the future, anyway." Gale answers after a long yawn. He does know the future, so he can guess it'll take close to five hours. "If they reach Halsin quickly, then it won't be long after that, I'm sure. He's quite a skilled druid and invaluable to their goal. Honestly, I would feel sorry for those meddling Goblins, if this wasn't exactly what they deserve for allying themselves with unknown forces so much larger than they."
Gale realizes his slip only after Wyll has given him a surprised look. "You know Halsin? I thought you said you were in Waterdeep before the nautiloid took you."
Shit!
"Ah, not personally, of course." Gale quickly smiles in reassurance. "Though, the tieflings certainly told enough stories to paint a clear picture. He's the leader of a large group of druids- and even more so, he's a fabled healer among their own kind! No, one doesn't need to meet a man like Halsin to know exactly how useful he is."
For some reason, Wyll remains surprised.
"What?" Gale rethinks everything he just said, worried he might've just hammered the metaphorical nail into his literal coffin.
Wyll looks away, flustered. "N-Nothing. I just...I suppose I judged you too quickly." The warlock shifts to turn his body toward Gale instead of the camp. It feels much more intimate than it should. "When we first met, I assumed you were nothing but a prideful, self-righteous wizard. I've known many like that when I lived in Baldur's Gate. They were more concerned with their own image and knowledge than those around them.
"But you've shown that you're different from that. You listened to the tieflings and took all of their words into account. I misjudged you and I apologize for it."
What Wyll obviously meant as a compliment makes Gale's stomach sink. He's suddenly nauseous and it takes a moment of concentration to will the feeling away. "I appreciate it." The words are choked out as he gets to his feet. "I, uh...will be back. It seems this morning's coffee has run its course faster than I anticipated."
Gale leaves before he can get much of a response. He walks through the forest until he's made it to a mossy river that runs lazily downstream. The nausea worsens as he moves to sit on a nearby rock, both hands rubbing at his eyes until he sees stars. They shake slightly, like he's just used a too-powerful spell.
Wyll thinks he's kind. More than that, he thinks Gale cares. In the other man's eyes, they are the same. They help those in need simply because it's the right thing to do. He thinks Gale crafted an image of Halsin's greatness purely off of the awe in the tiefling's eyes and the worship of their mouths.
Wyll thinks that Gale is a good person, but he couldn't be further from the truth.
Gale Dekarios is selfish to his very core. He was given a place by Mystra's side and it still wasn't enough for him. He took from his own Goddess before he could be satisfied with himself. He spent a year in isolation from his dear, lonely mother because he would rather be consumed by self-pity than allow her to help. He spent every moment in the nautiloid thankful that someone else was being infected instead of him. Until it was him.
He didn't let the orb take them because he wanted the Absolute gone. Not really. No, he wanted to win back Mystra's favor. He wanted to honor her command in desperate hopes that things would return to how they were before he was an inconsequential fool. He killed his Tav for the love of someone else.
And he'll do it again. Gale knows that once he reaches that point for the second time, nothing will change. He will activate the orb, his gods damned fear ignored, and it will mean nothing to his Mystra. He will mean nothing.
Through the cloud of disgust in himself and worry for what Wyll may say upon realizing exactly how wrong he is, a thought pulls to the front of Gale's mind.
He used the orb before and he landed back on the nautiloid, alive. Who's to say that won't happen again? And again and again?
Who brought him back here and why?
Was it Mystra? Did he fail her single command somehow and has now been sent backward to try again? Gale doesn't know of a strand of the Weave that has such a power, but he isn't the deity that controls the Weave. Surely Mystra has ways a mere mortal could never understand.
But if that is the case, then why hasn't she told him so by now? She was very quick to command he use the orb once they learned of the Absolute's origin.
Perhaps the answer lies within the question. If Mystra is already sending Elminster his way for one message, who's to say she can't send two this time over? Yes, that sounds the most likely. It avoids her having to address him directly, at least. Not that Mystra is the type that would be afraid to address a mortal, no matter their history.
He'll wait, then. Once Elminster delivers her message, Gale will know for certain what he's done to deserve this and hopefully, how to fix it.
Until then, he has more to focus on than himself. If Wyll thinks him so good, then he might as well act the part and stand guard as he should.
With a deep breath, Gale stands again. His stomach has settled, more or less, and the overwhelming emotions have calmed enough for his mind to function as it should. He makes the short trek back to Wyll's side in silence; and when he returns, the other man doesn't say a word. Perhaps the awkward excuse Gale used has shushed any sentimental thoughts that might've come up. Or maybe Wyll is simply tired of words. He's one of the few of Gale's companions who doesn't mind silence.
They spend the next few hours in a mixture of silence and polite conversation. Gale receives a magical item to absorb, then Wyll opens up more about his father and his life as the Balde of the Frontiers. He has many stories to tell, but most follow the same path Gale already knows. Mizora orders him to kill a demon and he does it; though, Wyll has yet to mention his horrible patron just yet.
At some point, Shadowheart runs out from a side exit of the camp. Gale immediately assumes the worst and jumps up to help in any way he can, but she instead turns her attention to Wyll.
"We found Haslin but Tav wants you beside her for their meeting. She believes you may be a welcoming face."
"It would be my pleasure." Wyll nods, then he rushes down the very path Shadowheart took to come here.
Gale doesn't speak until he's out of earshot. "Tell me, was that a clever excuse you pulled to spare yourself from the fight? I wouldn't fault you if that were the case."
Shadowheart doesn't catch onto the fact he's joking. Mostly. "Of course, not." She frowns. "I value my place in this party. Tav may be a good cleric, but I'm a better healer. We all know it."
That piques Gale's curiosity. "Then why send you instead of, say, Astarion? Surely she needs a skillful healer over one rogue? In fact, I would assume that a rouge would be of little use in a camp like that. There's little to hide behind when a swarm of Goblins are on all sides."
"I don't know." Shadowheart shrugs, unbothered. "Perhaps she would prefer the two of you didn't kill each other while we were busy saving lives." Then, a sly look crosses the woman's face. "Or maybe she just likes him better. He is pretty, if you're into that sort of thing. Pale skin, white hair, a look that could make a weaker woman faint."
Gale resists the urge to roll his eyes. He worries they may never return after something so ridiculous. "While I admit Astarion has a certain...charm, he most definitely isn't irresistible. A pretty face only goes so far if one's personality is purely false. And for the case of our rouge, that couldn't be more true."
"If you say so." Shadowheart looks bored as she watches the front entrance for activity. "I will say, it was entertaining. There was a cultist there who got off on pain. Tav was kind enough to indulge."
Ah. A masochist, then. It's not Gale's preference and the thought of engaging in it makes him squirm, but he will if she wants. Just as long as she lets him stay with her. Being so far drives him mad and the loneliness has already started to creep back in.
Gods, it's only been a day and a half since he died. A day and a half and he's already desperate to feel someone else's touch and love again. No wonder Mystra discarded him.
"Wow." Shadowheart's voice pulls him back before Gale can spiral any further. He turns to see her staring with a mirthful smile. "You must really be thinking if you've lost your words."
"I do enjoy silence when the time comes for it, thank you." Gale isn't really offended, but he plays it up for humor's sake. He's gotten worse insults from Shadowheart alone. And recently. "In fact, I may show you just that by remaining silent until they return. Unless, of course, there's another need for speaking. I can't well put us in danger's way by nothing more than a stubborn streak."
The cleric turns away; amused, clearly. "You've done a wonderful job so far."
Gale pointedly doesn't respond. Silence passes over them until, as he said, the party returns with Halsin in tow.
