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The first time wakes him up in the middle of the night.
It is not because it arrives suddenly, it is not the point of view of the unassuming prey being jumped by the hungry wolf. It has been creeping up for hours into the day, malicious like any other type of deprivation one can feel, but Gale wanted to think it was nothing more than a collateral effect.
When he wakes up in his bed, after his body surging up with the same power and hunger as a complex spell being cast, Gale’s logic doesn’t rush to understand but to sate this famished ticking inside his chest. It moves in his body with the same rhythm and cadence of a clock waiting to hit the right time, like the sea caressing the shore waiting for the storm, like the first time a fireball at full speed rained from his fingers and the exhilarating feeling of having done it.
He truly has done it, now.
He isn’t sure what to do, what this beating, living, powerful thing wants from him. It almost makes him fall to his knees when he tries to stand up from the bed, as the arms of this running clock move in his flesh. It leaves a void with every inch it takes from him, and it feels like it is coming close to the end of its cycle.
A foot after the other, Gale moves his fingers into a quick somatic pattern, whispers the few words needed, and the smallest of flames takes hold of the candles by his bed. The minimal surge of magic that comes from this action makes the hunger ache, ache deep within his entire upper body.
It burns. And he feels like it has to come out, it has to end and take, take, take. The worst sensation, physically at least, he has ever felt and he has no idea how to deal with it properly.
What does it seek? Does he have it?
He looks around, before the inevitable arrives. His eyes dart around, into that same room that has seen him closed off for days and days. Ashamed. And this punishment, this ache inside of him, makes that shame even more prominent.
Here, where all his magical items are stored.
Powerful magical items, too.
He feels attracted to them, in this moment. His logical thinking would want him to linger on that odd sensation, but there is an irrational pull towards anything that is most instinctive to get out of this growing ache. At times, the most logical solution is following one’s primal instinct.
That’s how he became one of the best wizards in Waterdeep. Chosen by Mystra herself. Before everything that happened.
So he approaches one of the magical items. A little ring, not much to think about, but a gift from a young wizard who run up to him one day and gifted it to him, lauding him as a hero and an inspiration. Citing him as the reason they were starting to study magic and that, that small ring, was the first object they could enchant.
It does nothing much other than store some fire to then launch, but Gale holds it dear to him for the emotional connection. It reminds him who he is, what he can be, and even now he is fond of it.
He takes it into his fingers, observes it. Then, a sudden surge of energy.
The arms of the clock morph into hands, crawling up his body and all around him. He bends over himself, this energy too big for him to contain and the burning expands, engulfs. This hand overtakes his, wraps around him like a second body, takes hold of that so dear ring of his.
And then it’s gone. Everything is gone, and he is fine. Tired, but sated, and fine.
And the ring, no trace of magic left in it.
Gale thinks. He backs up until his knees touch the bed and he sits down, and he thinks as he observes this ring between his fingers. He thinks how it’s too small for him, how it’s not precious at all, and how now it’s just a normal ring with no magical power.
He will have to think more, when his brains isn’t sluggish. But he still can’t sleep.
So, he may as well think more.
And pray, somewhat.
“May you have mercy upon me, Mystra.”