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Gale shuffled the cards, as was his habit. Then he drew, laying them as Fate willed and stopping when it bid. He flipped the cards one by one, reading them first as individuals and then as part of a greater whole.
"A journey, unsurprising," Gale muttered. "Hardship, danger… A change of fortunes," he considered the reversed card, "for the worse, of course, and yet," he lingered over the final few cards, "companionship and opportunity." The fortune the cards hinted at was hardly surprising, Gale had planned to depart his tower that very day to journey north and seek out the remnants of Netheril in search of anything that could help with his burden.
Divination was like that; the daily readings were more a way to meditate and connect with the Weave and the strands of Fate than a true attempt to learn the future. But maintaining a steady connection was essential so that one could sense those moments when a small change was possible and know exactly which threads to pull.
—
Gale sat before the campfire, shuffling his cards. It had been a tumultuous day, between falling out of a nautiloid, being rescued from a malfunctioning portal, and raiding a long-forgotten tomb, there had been more action than Gale had seen in well over a year. The steady pass of the paper between his hands was rhythmic and soothing.
As Gale began to lay out the cards, Astarion lay a cool hand on his shoulder and leaned over, far closer than necessary, to look at what Gale was doing.
"Ooh, fancy a game, darling?" Astarion cooed. "Perhaps we can even make a small wager — really liven things up around here."
That was as clear a sign as any that he was done with the spread.
"No," Gale replied. "I'm practicing divination."
"Fortune telling seems far below the talents of an archmage," Astarion pointed out. "Or are you hiding something from us? You wouldn't be the first man I've known to exaggerate his gifts."
Gale didn't turn away from the cards. "I'm no charlatan, and divination is not the same as seeing." He was careful to stress the two words. He flipped the cards over — danger, unsurprising; a journey, obvious; companionship, and a liar. Gale glanced over his shoulder at the pale elf practically draped over his back, then turned to look at where Shadowheart knelt in prayer.
That night he dreamt of a beautiful woman armored in gold who claimed to be his guardian.
—
It took several days before any of his companions asked him to read their fortunes. It started with Karlach, their newest addition. Gale couldn't have her shuffle the cards without risking them burning to ashes. Instead he'd had Karlach light a candle in a spare bowl and told her to try to meditate until it burned down.
"Focus on the days ahead," he told her, "what you seek and what you fear."
Karlach did her best, though clearly sitting still and thinking silently were not things that came naturally to her. That didn't matter; it was about the divination tool aligning with her energy, not how well the querent could meditate.
Once the candle melted down to a pool of liquid wax, Gale had Karlach dump it into a pot full of water from the river, making the wax suddenly cool and solidify. Gale considered the shapes the wax took on.
"Freedom," he said, "but also a looming danger." He looked at her, the regretful bearer of bad news.
Karlach shrugged. "We're all living on borrowed time unless we get these tadpoles sorted, eh? What else?"
"Companionship, travel," Gale continued, quickly listing off the obvious ones. "Justice?" He tilted his head, observing the shape of the wax blob from another angle. "No, revenge. You'll have an opportunity to get revenge against someone who wronged you."
Karlach's eyes widened, then her expression darkened. "Gortash," she growled, "that fucking traitor."
Gale finished the reading, but that night opened the floodgates.
—
Shadowheart shuffled the cards, then laid them out as directed. Beyond the parts that were universal to all of them, there were two that stood out.
"You're approaching a crossroads," Gale explained. "You'll soon reach a point where you have to make a choice, and that decision will dramatically affect your life." He paused a moment to allow Shadowheart to consider that before moving on to the other part that stood out. "Some sort of secret or hidden truth is going to come out. Not," —he held out a hand, urging her to hear him out to the end— "not a secret you yourself a keeping, but something that has been kept from you."
Shadowheart pursed her lips, her brow furrowing. She looked at him, then looked back at the cards. Suddenly, a gasp of pain tore itself from her mouth.
"Shadowheart?" Gale leaned forward, ready to help.
Shadowheart pulled back, turning away, one hand clutched close to her chest. "It's nothing." She scrambled to her feet and hurried back to her tent, muttering a prayer to Shar under her breath.
—
"You can see the future," Lae'zel said, settling on the log beside Gale.
"Divination," he began, careful as always to stress the school of magic, "is not the same as seeing."
"I fail to see how," Lae'zel sneered. "You use your cards to learn things yet to come, and then you use that knowledge to shift the tide of battle in our favor." That day she had watched him change what would have been a nasty blow to a near miss.
"I don't see specifics," Gale replied. "By meditating, by studying the cards, by drawing myself into alignment with the Weave I am able to perceive the fabric of Fate as it flows forth. I am not able to change the tapestry that is being shaped, merely pull loose some threads."
Lae'zel frowned. "Why not? Why content yourself with mere scraps?"
Gale couldn't keep from pressing a regretful hand to the mark on his chest. "Because if I did that the entire tapestry would unravel. I have not the talent for prophecy, it's one of the few areas of magic where I'm lacking, but divination is still a useful tool. After all, forewarned is forearmed."
"Hmm."
"The other issue with prophecy is that often there is nothing to be done to avoid it, or you manage to avert a crisis and no one realizes how close everything came to disaster. It seems like a miserable trade if you're not living disconnected from your own time," Gale explained. "My use of divination is very practical. The easiest way to alter your future is to change your present."
Lae'zel considered this for a moment. "Wise words, istik. Together we shall alter our futures away from ceremorphosis and becoming ghaik."
Gale smiled. "To brighter futures."
—
"So how does this all work?" Astarion asked, idly flipping through the cards he'd managed to steal from Gale's bag. "Do I draw a random card and you tell me the initial of my true love?"
Gale rolled his eyes even as he tried to snatch back his cards — Astarion easily dodged his clumsy attack, dancing out of reach.
"That's a child's game played with apple peels," Gale grumbled. "I perform actual magic."
"Of course you do, darling," Astarion replied. "You know, the last person who told my fortune said I'd live a long life and have a large family." He snorted. "Imagine, predicting an elf would have a long life and being wrong. I'd almost like to find the old bat and rub it in her face, if she weren't over a hundred years dead."
Gale's attention was on Astarion's hands, more specifically the cards held in them and the way the vampire's tension was threatening to crease them. "If you would just—"
"You never answered me," Astarion cut him off, stepping once again out of reach. "Do you make it all up, darling?" —Astarion's voice went nasal in imitation of Gale's— "'I foresee a perilous journey, my tadpoled companion.' Or does Mystra herself whisper secrets in your ear?"
Gale could feel himself blush in both anger and embarrassment. "Give me my cards back, Astarion, and I'll be more than happy to explain." He held out his hand expectantly.
Astarion considered this for a moment, clearly enjoying Gale's annoyance. "Fine," he surrendered, placing the cards in Gale's hand with an unnecessary amount of force.
"Thank you, Astarion," Gale replied, with some amount of sarcasm coloring his tone. He took a moment to check over his cards for any damage from their rough handling and was relieved to see they were fine. He shot the vampire a glare before he began to explain how divination worked. "The daily readings are a way for me to connect with the Weave and see the strands of Fate, that way I am able to perceive when a string might be pulled for a more favorable outcome."
Astarion rolled his eyes. "Gods, you almost make me regret asking."
"Do you recall a moment in battle where it seemed certain you were about to be hit, only for the blow to miss at the last moment? Those are the sort of manipulations I manage — minor, missable things, easily dismissed as a shifting of luck, and yet life-changing for those affected."
Astarion scoffed. "Of course," he muttered. "The easiest scam in the world."
Gale frowned, displeased at being so dismissed. "It's not a scam, Astarion. I am a trained wizard."
"Well, at least there's that," Astarion retorted before storming off.
—
"So why divination?" Wyll asked, watching Gale shuffle the cards for a nightly reading.
"Oh, well, Simril was my favorite holiday when I was a boy," Gale explained. "I suppose it began there, with the stars."
Wyll looked at the telescope that sat outside Gale's tent and smiled, amused.
"And then I went from merely observing them to seeking to understand," Gale continued, his eyes on his cards. "I've sampled all sorts of other methods since, but the cards are my favorite, though the stars will always hold a fond place in my heart." He looked up at the clear sky above them, admiration plain on his face.
"What drew you to the cards?" Wyll asked as Gale began to lay out his spread.
"In the end? I'm afraid convenience won out over romanticism. The stars can only be seen at night, and reading tea leaves requires a handy cup of tea." Gale gestured to the cards laid out before him. "All I need is a deck of cards."
—
After several days in the Underdark, Gale dearly missed the sky. He'd loved the stars nearly as long as he'd loved magic, and their light had been a reassuring presence during the chaos of the the last tenday.
He found a quiet place where he could look out over the myconid settlement they'd camped within. It wasn't the stars, but it was still beautiful. And fascinating.
Gale wasn't alone for long befire Halsin joined him, the large bear of an elf lowering himself to the ground with far more grace than Gale's creaking knees had managed.
"Wonderful, isn't it," Halsin asked, "how life comes from death."
"I wish I had time to study them properly," Gale confessed. "I spoke with Omeluum and Blurg, hopefully they'll send me a copy of their findings when they're done."
Gale could feel Halsin's gaze upon him, studying him.
"You're not like the few I've met before who could see the future," Halsin finally stated. "You're much more…present."
Gale nodded. It was the sort of thing he'd heard countless times before. "Those who spend all their time gazing ahead, often forget the very ground beneath their feet. Young wizards who show an inclination towards divination are warned of this, but not all heed the warning."
"You take a more grounded approach," Halsin replied thoughtfully.
"Oh yes. After all, what's the point in predicting the future if you don't live to see it come to pass?"
—
Gale retreated to their beach camp after another day of trekking through the Shadow-Cursed Lands. He craved quiet, and the Last Light Inn —filled with tieflings and harpers as it was— could not currently offer that. Even from the beach, Gale could hear a furor of excitement, which could only signal the successful return of the group that had gone to Moonrise Towers in search of any captives.
Gale quickly tossed a meal together before settling down and shuffling his cards. He'd just finished laying out the spread when a shadow fell over him.
The drow, Minthara, stood staring imperiously down at him. "Wizard," she growled, "I'm told you're the one who chose to leave me unconscious rather than kill me."
"I did, yes," Gale replied, raising an eyebrow. "Are you complaining?"
Minthara scoffed. "A foolish decision, to leave your enemy alive when she was vulnerable. Typical surfacer weakness."
Gale smirked in the face of her derision. "I'm hardly an untested milksop hesitating over his first kill," he retorted, taking some small pleasure at the way annoyance made her brow crease. "And you're no zealot or true believer; you were implanted with a parasite." Gale gestured around the campsite. "We were only protected by a quirk of fate, chosen for our usefulness to another's goals. Why not spare a victim of the same plot?"
Minthara knelt, allowing Gale to better see the displeasure on her face. She glanced down at the spread of cards between them. "Ah," she sneered. "You saw it. An obsequious servant of Fate, bowing to her fickle whims."
Gale glanced down at the cards, taking in their broad message: an upcoming choice, possibly disappointing a powerful female figure, discovering a secret or hidden truth, danger, death. He flicked his eyes back up to meet Minthara's gaze with a determined look of his own. "I see possibilities," he replied, "and I decide whether or not to act on them."
—
It was these conversations that Gale's mind went back to when he stood beneath Moonrise, conjured dagger in his hand, and turned away from the fate that Mystra had willed for him. Whatever the future held, Gale knew better than most that it was not written in stone.