Work Text:
Gale regards the half-elf with a studious expression, his face turned slightly away in an attempt to keep his observations unseen. They had calmed the sigil on the waypoint with focused ease, like uttering a lullaby to soothe a growing squall.
There had been something familiar in their method; a caress of magic that made the passenger in his chest thrum with hunger. He felt he had a fairly good idea of the source of their magic, but something still pulled at the back of Gale’s mind like a thought half-realized.
Now Raniel stood amidst the group’s half-settled camp, a lilac-colored tent erected before them as they lay out a deep blue rug before its entrance. Her next movement has Gale’s interest further piqued and his head on a swivel as she retrieves such a staggering amount of books he was surprised even a bag of holding could contain them.
The precious cargo carefully balanced in her arms, Raniel disappears inside the tent only to re-emerge having traded her burden for what appeared to be a bowl.
It was a fancy bowl, to be sure, one that matched the finery of their possessions with embellished engravings visible even from where he stood. For all their attempts to appear unassuming, the half-elf’s status was betrayed by their poise and obvious discomfort with “roughing it.”
Not that Gale could claim any advantage over them in that sphere; camping outdoors after having spent most of his life in the wondrous city of Waterdeep and the past several months holed up in his tower…Well. In his circumstance there was no such thing as a smooth transition.
Turning his thoughts back to Raniel, he again begins to ponder her background. Though her camp attire was humble, a lavender robe with a simple but elegant overdress underneath it, she seemed to at least be someone of means, judging by the quality of the supplies she carried and the clothing she wore.
Something about their name as well, gnawed at the back of his mind with the irritating insistence of something half-forgotten: they had introduced themself as ‘Raniel Tavares,’ and something about the name pulled at Gale the same way they did.
He fully intended to keep his distance from the other party members, at least for now. A good host he might be, cooking dinner and making sure everyone was fed, but that didn’t make his “condition” any less volatile, let alone their circumstances any less dire, or these “companions” any less unknown.
Still, Gale would readily admit he had an insatiable curiosity to satisfy, and Raniel had responded to his previous day’s musings about what they’d all been through, including the tadpole, with not only patience and grace, but a voracious appetite for knowledge all her own.
Her compassion towards others was promising, and their kindness started to impose a very dangerous affliction upon Gale, one almost as perilous as what lay nestled in his chest: hope .
It couldn’t hurt to at least learn more about the people he would be traveling alongside on their quest for a cure, especially with the threat of ceremorphosis hanging over him like a specter of doom; promising the release of his catastrophic burden all too soon.
Having finished hanging her talismans from the entry-frame of her tent, Raniel busied herself arranging scrying materials on the small table beside the entrance when Gale arrives.
He stood a polite distance away, but was undoubtedly there to speak to them. Dark brown eyes surveying their books with unbridled interest before landing on Raniel themself, gaze alight with curiosity, but veiled by wariness even as he offers a friendly observation.
“Settling in for the night, I see. I was hoping you’d indulge my curiosity for a moment, before turning in for the evening. But, if you do not want your evening to disturbed I will retreat and leave you be with only well wishes for your rest. I wouldn’t wish to be a bother.”
Lilac eyes hold Gale in place for a brief moment as she considers him, and there’s a split-second of something peculiar; as though she could see right through him. But Raniel doesn’t turn him away, simply extending an amicable greeting.
“I could never turn away curiosity, it would make me quite the hypocrite. What do you wish to know?”
Gale pauses, checking again to be sure, before smiling at the rush of self-satisfaction in hopes not yet crushed, and the potential of an ally he could be on better terms with, perhaps even eventually trust.
“You have a familiar twinkle in your touch…you’re a wizard, aren’t you?” Gale glances at the objects on her table: the obsidian mirror, then at the bowl of water beside it, and finally to the crystal ball. “Divination? Illusion?”
Raniel offers a wry smile, reaching out to run her finger along the mirror’s edge, sending a ripple of silver light through it at her touch. “What gave it away? Yes, two out of three. I also studied most extensively in the schools of enchantment and conjuration alongside divination and illusion. But one might say divination is my specialty...”
They seem lost in thought for a moment before that lavendar gaze turns from the mirror’s surface to Gale’s face again, as if in search of something, just as he'd done moments before.
“You’re a wizard as well, of course. Though I could’ve easily mistaken you for a sorcerer.”
He grins, waving the sly comment away with a flourish of his hand. “I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you. Simply a consequence of my impressive prowess with the Weave, no doubt.”
Raniel arches their brows slightly, looking decidedly un-impressed, but not entirely unamused. “Doubtless, indeed. Is that the extent of your curiosity?”
Gale scoffs; “Hardly. I can tell you’re a wizard, but there’s something else there too…a crackle of power that suggests a tempestuous inclination you seem to be decidedly lacking in.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you.” She echoes his words from earlier and he has the grace to look a bit abashed, but only a bit.
“That is to say that, I would almost have said simply sorcerer for you as well, given evidence of a draconic bloodline, if not for the…shall we say: missing air of pomposity, and the lack of insufferable irreverence for magical research.”
He inclines his head towards her stacks of books, an air of approval in his voice as he continues. “I can see you hold no such disdain for study. Would you consider yourself particularly well-read? The aid of someone learned would be of great use to me.”
Raniel’s expression shifted from shuttered to amused as he spoke, a knowing smile playing on her lips at the discussion of sorcerers’ arrogance. Undoubtedly anyone could offer up a comment about the pretentiousness of wizards, but it was unlikely that such a comment would be brought up by two such wizards.
“I studied in Evereska and Waterdeep before spending several years doing research at Candlekeep. I must have been reading at least a book a day before the abduction, and researching to boot.”
“Evereska? Really…I’ve read many a history book about the Hidden Realm but I’ve never had the pleasure…and Waterdeep you said? The City of Splendors! That’s where I hail from, my home city, alive with knowledge and beauty as far as the eye can see. All my books and research are back there…the limited time for reading that undergoing ceremorphosis leaves pains me so.”
Her smile widens, head shaking slightly at the mix of sincerity and frivolity in Gale’s tone as he continues.
“If you’ve studied at Candlekeep you must have made the acquaintance of a few elder wizards, yes? If you come across any more, or know a way to contact them, do let me know. There’s a matter I’d like to seek advice on from a master.”
Albeit an odd request, it was essentially a harmless one, and he’d framed it vaguely enough so as not to prompt suspicion. Gale felt rather satisfied with himself, and even more curious about the hidden depths of this companion before him.
“Alright…will you indulge my curiosity in turn, Gale?” He blinks in surprise, hesitates, then nods quickly, offering his consent.
“Yes, of course. As you said, hypocrisy is hardly a befitting trait for a wizard. What would you have of me? I’ve had all the benefits of a wizard’s education, you see. And of course my considerable talent doesn’t hurt either.” To their arched brow he smiles, scratching his chin. “Well…that depends on who you ask, I suppose.”
“Really…‘considerable talent’ you say. Are you always this…self-assured?”
Gale’s smile widened to a grin at the noticeable pause, and the twinkle in their eye that showed the reassuring promise of good humor. “Only when the occasion suits” He leans forward conspiratorially. “That’s mostly a synonym for ‘yes,’ by the by.”
His cheekiness is rewarded with laughter, and Raniel seems to relax for a moment. There’s a beat of silence before they speak again, tone measured as though they were choosing each word with the utmost care. It almost reminded Gale of how he himself had spoken when seeking advice about his condition on the few occasions he’d almost broached the subject…but his musings are cut short by the blood-chilling dread her question incites as Raniel continues.
“Sage though I may be, I recently encountered a type of magic I had read about but never chanced upon before. I…the circumstances are unrelated to our parasites, but I find myself curious. Do you know much about Netherese magic? Have you come across it in your studies?”
Gale can feel the blood drain from his face as his fingertips turn cold, palms clammy with sweat as he wills his mouth to cooperate and his mind to work quickly.
Did she sense something in him? Those particularly attuned to the Weave could no doubt identify that something in the current of magic around him was unusual, perhaps even ascertain the nature of his condition if not the details of it.
But if this person, this stranger , had even the slightest suspicion, after only a few days in his company—
“I, yes, I do believe—” He stops, takes a breath, tries to recover, and proceeds carefully. She may know nothing, or this could be a test. Either way all I have to do is continue to carry this burden as surreptitiously as always, let no one be the wiser. “I have come across Netherese magic in my studies, yes. The magocracy of Netheril and its spectacular failure are infamous, after all. As was Karsus, and all the devastating consequences of his folly.”
He can hear the hollowness in his own voice, that familiar sense of dread and anxiety seeping into his chest, as though the orb planned to consume Gale until he became a husk; nothing but a vessel of devastating unease.
Gale’s eyes dart to Raniel’s face, struggling to read her expression through his own nauseating apprehension, then faltering when he sees a desperation that almost mirrors his own. It’s gone as soon as he notices its presence, leaving her face as calm and unreadable as the dormant scrying mirror on the table beside her.
“I see…I would very much like to discuss our studies more if possible, assuming we survive the tadpole. I have a…personal interest in Netherese magic, you see. Albeit a temporary one.”
Now that was…bewildering. Unsettling, even. And yet…if her interest truly was personal, and unrelated to Gale…that was good for him. Very good.
He had guarded his secret closely, fiercely, and miserably for over a year. It wouldn’t do for him to be exposed now, let alone in such a precarious situation. With so much uncertainty over his own survival and the trustworthiness of his allies, he could ill afford to be outed as a ticking time bomb.
As though on cue, the passenger in his chest quivers, tendrils of hunger snaking out to grip him and bleed tension into his limbs, a single stab of pain arcing through his head like a lance of warning.
Well. If that wasn’t a sigh it was time to end the conversation, he didn’t know what was.
“I would enjoy that immensely. There’s always knowledge to be gleaned, even in the most unlikely of places in the most unexpected company. But such discussions are better saved for the morrow. Best that we rest our weary bodies and minds for now, to be sharp and ready to face whatever lies ahead come morning.”
Hoping he hadn’t been too brusque, Gale lingers for a moment, hesitating before offering a few words of cautious sincerity. “Thank you for speaking with me. Rest well, I will see you on the morrow.”
It seems as though Raniel had been lost in her own thoughts, appearing almost startled by his voice and blinking slowly before coming back to herself. Apparently unperturbed by the conversation’s somewhat abrupt end she offers a quiet smile, nodding her head in an echo of thanks, her murmured response soothing aside from the orb’s threat of hunger in his chest.
“Good night, Gale. Until the morrow.”
Carefully pacing his steps on the return to his own tent, he tries not to appear as though he’s running away. As he does so, Gale also tries to believe he will see tomorrow. The orb hadn’t killed him yet, and the symptoms of ceremorphosis seemed blissfully absent for now.
‘Yet.’ ‘For now.’ There blazed again the cruel siren-call of hope.
Gods, he missed Tara. What he wouldn’t give to listen to her scoldings as he prepared for bed. Trying to find comfort in the darkness of his tent and the warmth of his bedroll, Gale pushed aside thoughts of the passengers in his own body determined to end his life, and the lives of countless others.
What’s one more parasite? As the droll thought passes through his mind, Gale remembers his own words from only a few days ago; ‘ A parasite shared is a parasite halved, or something to that effect. ’ Raniel’s bemused smile and response of ‘I believe it would be doubled, but perhaps so would our chances of survival. I’ve seen it, and I prefer our prospects together.’
Now that he knew them to be a divination wizard, he settled on their words again: ‘I’ve seen it.’ What exactly had they seen? What exactly could they see? He would have to remember to ask them more about their divination practices tomorrow. Their portents would certainly prove useful, and…
Mind abuzz with the familiar thoughts of magic and knowledge, Gale slowly begins to drift into sleep. The thought of divination sparks the word ‘oracle’ in his mind, that familiar tugging of something half-remembered back again–but it fades with his consciousness; the memory slipping away as he falls into a blissfully dreamless slumber.