๐๐ฎ๐น๐ฒ ๐ต๐ฎ๐ ๐ฎ๐ป ๐ฎ๐ณ๐ณ๐ถ๐ป๐ถ๐๐ ๐ณ๐ผ๐ฟ ๐น๐ถ๐ด๐ต๐๐ป๐ถ๐ป๐ด ๐ฎ๐ป๐ฑ ๐ฎ๐ป ๐๐ป๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ป๐ป๐ ๐๐ฎ๐น๐ฒ๐ป๐ ๐ณ๐ผ๐ฟ ๐ป๐ฒ๐ฐ๐ฟ๐ผ๐บ๐ฎ๐ป๐ฐ๐. For him, the feeling of the latterโstriking, palpable, entirely all-bodyโis addictive. It feels the most potent, singing through his body in a manner that thrills, and after calling down lightning in a flash of blue, its the fragrance of a storm that he's proud to wear. It makes his nerves feel alive. His every muscle feels wired. In a way, life's at its brightest when he plays with lightning, and mad in his eyes and wild in his hair, there's no element that comes close to besting it.
That said, however, it is necromancy that he's grown most adept in. Unfortunately, his relationship with it isn't half as kind as it is with lightning. Rotting from the inside, skin cracking nastily, Gale had grown desperate to control the orb. Because he's dying, he thought it best to study dying, poring himself endlessly in necromantic textbooks and experimenting (unsuccessfully) on his blight-gotten wounds. To note, necromancy itself isn't inherently evil. For example, it doesn't mean you support the raising of the dead. Rather, it's a study that's neutral just as any other, and as a study on forces from both death to life, Gale, with urgency, obsessively learned. With his year in solitude, it is feverishly that he took to necromancy. Somatically and verbally, his aptitude for the field is practically bar-none, and after Elminster helped tame the orb, the breadth of his studies comes to fruition. It isn't his favorite field, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't thoroughly enjoy it. It works well, anyway, considering his leaning for lightning; with necromancy chilling him, those violent bolts warm.
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