Chapter Text
From the moment that damned elf had slapped his hand, then pulled him from that rock, Gale had wanted to know him. The de-facto leader of their strange band was equal parts surly and sultry, smarmy grins hiding a pain that Gale wished to unearth.
Of course, he had his own… Issues. His own secrets. He imagined they all did. Shadowheart held her cards close to her chest, and Lae’Zel’s sharp tongue was often belied by her softer eyes. They all intrigued him, naturally.
But that damned elf had him genuinely curious. He flirted wantonly, but seemed to have little interest in pursuing anyone. Every comment was dripped with poison or honey, sometimes a little of each. He looked out for himself, sometimes in ways Gale might consider cruel. And yet… They all had a tadpole in their head. A ticking time bomb, waiting for release. At any moment they could lose themselves, become Illithid, become… Well. Become. It was difficult to blame him for misliking helping others while their own fates hung so precariously.
He’d slapped his hand that reached from that portal he’d entrapped himself in. He’d known the orb had drained him. He had not realised it had progressed quite so.
“Ah, I should clarify. A helping hand?” His tone just about remained light, did not belay his terror. Not only did he have a damned tadpole in his head, but he was stuck. Trapped in a rock. Within a few days, unfed and tumultuous, he might… Well, explode. And he would be nothing but a footnote in history. Another of Mystra’s toys, lost to time. No one would even know, if he exploded, trapped in that rock. In a way, it would be for the best. But what of Tara, of mother? They would never know what became of him.
Which made it a relief when he was tugged from the stone, faced with a pale-haired elf and a dark-haired half-elf. Neither seemed overly charmed by his introduction, as he clasped the hand that had freed him with a warm grin. The invitation to travel with them came as a necessary evil more than welcome. He supposed he could not be too upset.
They freed Lae’Zel without bloodshed. The elf was slick with his words. Though the cleric seemed none too pleased to have the fighter on side, Gale was appreciative. She was short and surly, but she was a force to be reckoned with. And if her creche bore fruit, they might be rid of this damned worm within a tenday.
The elf easily spoke his way through the scavengers upon the old temple. Shadowheart made some comment that she had expected a fight. In truth, Gale had too. The rogue, in their brief acquaintance, had shown little love for peace if it was not his own. Yet his words were coated with veiled threats and sweetened teasing. He was equal parts brilliant and terrifying. Gale made a mental note to stay on his good side.
He managed to talk his way in to the temple. But saccrine words could not disguise his appearance, and the fight was upon them before they had a moment to react. And hells, he moved like a dancer, light on his feet, gentle as a caress with his glinting daggers. He felt all but unnecessary as he hurled a bolt of fire into the frey, igniting a powder barrel and sending the group flying. Lae’Zel and Shadowheart made short work of those who remained.
“Smart trick,” Came that almost-purr, a cool ghost at his shoulder. Gale had been poking around a corpse, seeing if they carried anything of use. That voice had him standing stock-straight, playing it off with a cool glance over his shoulder at the even cooler elf. In place of a verbal response, he gave a short, self-indulgent bow. It seemed to be the right move, earning him the smallest of smirks, a slight incline of that pale head, before he was gone. A few moments later, he heard the cry of stone on stone, the shudder of a wall falling away.
“What did that do?” He heard Shadowheart ask, distantly, in the next room.
“Over here. This wall just moved,” He responded, straightening from the body he had been looting. Little had been revealed: a room with a decaying statue, nothing of note to nab. But there was a door to… Somewhere. Gale gestured to the door with a bow, “Your door, sir.”
If he squinted, he might have seen the ghosting of a smirk on those pale lips. But he chose not to stare, falling into rear file with Lae’Zel as Shadowheart and Astarion took point, nudging through the grand oaken door.