๐๐ฎ๐น๐ฒ ๐ถ๐ ๐๐ฒ๐บ๐ฝ๐๐ฒ๐ฑ ๐๐ผ ๐ฑ๐ฎ๐ฏ๐ฏ๐น๐ฒ ๐ถ๐ป ๐ฎ๐น๐น ๐ณ๐ถ๐ฒ๐น๐ฑ๐ ๐ผ๐ณ ๐บ๐ฎ๐ด๐ถ๐ฐ, ๐ฑ๐ฎ๐ฟ๐ธ, ๐ฝ๐ฟ๐ผ๐ณ๐ฎ๐ป๐ฒ, ๐ฎ๐ป๐ฑ ๐ณ๐ฟ๐ถ๐ด๐ต๐๐ฒ๐ป๐ถ๐ป๐ด ๐ผ๐ฟ ๐ผ๐๐ต๐ฒ๐ฟ๐๐ถ๐๐ฒ. Still, chalk it up to his thirst for knowledge, not so much for any thirst for power. Gale, a scholarโinquisitive, curious, and infinitely probingโboasts an insatiable desire to learn all that he can. However, as a follower of Mystra, he's from her sole Weave that he's encouraged to pull from; yet, despite this urging, this unspoken rule, the chasms of the Shadow Weave yet bubble in his thoughts. It's powerful magic, of course, warped under Shar like bones or metal, but still, the arcane is mystery, and the arcane delights him, and even clouded by corruption, it still harbors its worth. Put simply, Gale believes that all magic is essentially fair game. After all, it exists on their plane, sits waiting there a touch like a well for your thirst, and so long as you're careful, what's the harm in sampling? In the Shadow Cursed lands, he'd felt the itch to indulge himself, to whet his need, and when he fashioned that lantern without his goddess' permission, there sprung a devilish delight that timidly gripped him. It was like, well, being a boy again, to be honest, with his hand in a jar of biscuits he'd been told to not touch. It was an act of rebellion, spurred a quiver by Mystra's spite, sure, but far more than that, it came from a weakness to feel its power, and to feel the heft of it and to taste its tang. If it's one thing about Gale, it's that he so thoroughly loves magic. And even if said magic is cursed and bedeviled, it'll always have a draw for him, tamable or otherwise. To be sure, there is some hubris at play here as well: he'll be careful, he tells himself. He can manage.
For better or for worse, Gale, though more morally aligned than not, can still find himself weak to temptation.
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