Astralia

Any pronouns, 23 yo, eng/fr | I write sometimes | Multifandom

[sodapopseagull]

I participated in @bloodweavebrainrot's MerMay event and got paired up with @astraliaa! They wrote a delightfully angsty fic that involves capturing a sea-god Gale and is chock full of clever ties to canon and Gale bullying. Yippee!!!

Read Blood in the Water here! 2/4 chapters are currently up 😌😌😌

Thank you Bloodweave Brainrot for organizing this event and thank you Astralia for being such a wonderful creative partner!

Concept art for Gale below

[hekuuu]

Astarion never thought about illusion btw, I think of it as a prequel for this my comic

[strange-mage]

Ugh remember modern setting Gale? I'm afraid it had to be done again

[astraliaa]

Infinity Nikki photo dump

I've been playing IN for a few weeks now and I fell absolutely in love with this game so here are some of my favourites pictures I took!

[blorbopolis]

im cooking

[dekariosz]

he has no business looking this good in gortash's robes

[bareee]

Midnight question for the wizard

I wish there was more about the SUDDEN LIFE CHANGE that Wyll dealt with when he got a +2 to horns he has(I can only imagine the change in sleep poses and how big the weight is on his neck), all there was pointing to his feelins about it was his sulkin in the act 1 party time. But that’s when we artsy peeps come I say and get to have our idea fun, not just for Wyll(which does have the least) but many of them and their dilemmas ,children get loves.

Later that night:

Confused vampire doodle for fun XD

[mostwantedpotato404]

Blood over the snow

PRINT

[hekuuu]

a little self-indulgent comic :>

[pixelartpeach]

Thoughts on the thunder wizard again.

Genuinely, I find Gale's relationship with Mystra to be fascinating when you consider all its facets. Unhealthy, imbalanced, definitely poisonous, but also very, very intricate with a lot of blurred edges to it. One of those things where you're both like "wow, what the hell, that's horrible" but also "that makes perfect sense for their characters, and while I would NEVER, I know why they would, and why it happened."

You've got a wizard who doesn't know what real love is, who thinks he's finally being shown it by the person he adores most. His greatest fantasy, his most potent joy, his most heartfelt aspirations, and they were all offered to him.

And he wants to see what all she's hiding from him, because of course he does. She's the keeper of all things forbidden to him. The empire of Netheril reached magical heights that will never be touched again, and all that knowledge is beyond her curtain. She loves him, right? Surely, if he proves himself enough, she'll let him grasp that power he so desperately wants.

And not even in the power-hungry sense! All that magic Mystra's locked up was accessible during Mystryl's reign. Think of all the answers to theories about the universe that are back there. Every question of "can this be done, and what would it do" would be answered, if he could just bargain hard enough.

She loves him, right?

Surely, if he proves himself enough...

And then, on the other hand, Mystra. Once Midnight, her human personality has been subsumed by the goddess of magic and her duty to the Weave. She has a responsibility to magic, she IS magic.

Then along comes this mortal boy who knows how to handle her Weave. Who doesn't try to wrestle with and dominate, who sings to it. He handles it with such ease and grace—it's not just that he could be Chosen, but he deserves it. To put her Weave in the hands of someone so intrinsically in tune with it, who understands its potential with a wonder like no other. Few enough can handle the raw power that comes with being Chosen, but this one? This one is perfect.

And he adores you. And you adore him, like one would a beautiful butterfly that's landed on their finger. And he's willing to be devoted to you in all things, not out of transaction like most of your worshipers are, but out of love for you, your craft, your magic. You're so deeply and utterly charmed by him.

And it's not like Mystra hasn't walked this path before.

She gives him what he desires, because what he desires is her. And, in a different way, she desires him. She wants him to be her representation in the world. She indulges his adoration with her own presence, and takes indulgence herself in mortal comforts. He's never satisfied with her answers, but who could blame him? She keeps a whole world away from mortals, because she knows what such unfettered power might bring about (again).

And the wizarding prodigy's ambition is lit (again).

And the height of power is reached for (again).

And she stops him (again, again, again).

She does care for him. She doesn't want to see her little butterfly burn himself, and she doesn't want to be the one to ruin those wings.

But then he's not a butterfly. He's a mortal, wielding a weapon of murder, of her murder, and he's brought it to her doorstep because she told him "no." And he's cut himself on it, he doesn't know what it is, but it's hurt him—and it's only a fraction of the hurt it could do to her. How dare he want her help after threatening her?

(He didn't mean to.)

(He only wanted to help.)

(He only wanted. How human.)

She doesn't help him. If he wants to pursue Karsus' weaponry, it's his responsibility, his hubris, that led him to injuring himself on it. She's furious. She's hurt. She's cold.

(What fools these mortals be.)

But then, there's a greater threat to her. Something that could drown the Material in Karsus' failings. And that little boy, who nicked himself on the sword he lifted, still wants her help.

It's a fair trade, isn't it? She'll forgive him, let him into her domain again, if he accepts his punishment and goes into battle for her. He picked up a sword, it's appropriate that he learns to use it in her name, right?

If he was telling the truth, he wouldn't hesitate. If he really wanted to serve her with the Netherese Orb, he would jump at the opportunity to do so. He would have to give up a few petty things in the process, ("petty," she calls mortality, as if family and home mean nothing, as if friends and love are finite. Because to her, they do mean nothing. Because to her, they are finite.) but it isn’t atonement without sacrifice, is it?

It's the tactical move. She's not above hurting one man to save a nation. It's not even the first time she's done it.

(Dornal Silverhand sends his regards.)

If he loves her, he'd die for her, because she'd let him into her paradise. If he doesn't love her, he won't, and she was justified in removing him from her grace.

He doesn't love her. Not anymore.

Does he hate her enough to try to take his dues?

Ambition has always been man's greatest folly.

[mostwantedpotato404]

I need to draw Gale more, he drives me crazy

[verawhisk]

save me professor dekarios... save me...

[ezzakennebba]

a chance encounter 🚏👁

[reallyreallyreallytrying]

“average person eats 3 spiders a year” factoid actualy just statistical error. average person eats 0 spiders per year. Spiders Georg, who lives in cave & eats over 10,000 each day, is an outlier adn should not have been counted

[doubleca5t]

An actual World Heritage Post

[dykecosette]

how does this post not have a million notes but anyone online can quote it

[definitelynotlazav]

one week until ten years of Spiders Georg

[yd12k]

[shitposts-described]

[ID: A tag from beedok: spider georg’s impact to notes ratio is an outlier /end ID]

[dekariosz]

How am I meant to say no to this

[ahjiing]

A young Wizard’s best friend.

[sky-scribbles]

Thinking about Gale's spellbook.

Not the old one, the one he carried when he was Gale, the Wizard of Waterdeep - a gorgeous, leather-and-silver bound thing that bulged with a lifetime's worth of accumulated knowledge. There were spells in there penned over wine and cheese with Elminster; in a flow state that bordered on the spiritual after a night with Mystra, remembering her instruction, the feel of her soul against his. That spellbook was the testament to his success, the proof that he had excelled beyond the excellent -

And then Mystra cut him off from the Weave, and it all become meaningless.

His own runes, rendered incomprehensible; beautiful spell-glyphs that turned from condensed power and knowledge to worthless pieces of art. He has to start anew, from the ground up - reforging his connection to the Weave without Mystra's guidance (without her, without), relearning schoolboy spells. Humiliatingly easy magic, the kind he used to do like it was breathing, except this time he has to study and work and try and try, Tara urging him on with firm but gentle words.

He learns different spells, now. Mage Armour, Shield, Magic Missile. Not the kind of spells that he'll ever need on a day-to-day basis; spells that'll keep him alive long enough when he makes an exodus to the depths of the Underdark, or the centre of some desert wastes, and goes supernova.

The new spellbook is a plainer thing, small enough to fit in a robe pocket (because extradimensional storage spaces are no longer things he can make with a thought). And then he's snatched by a Nautiloid, and... honestly, he'd swear that the spine just wants to hold onto blood-spatters, no matter how many times he cleans them out. The pages get spotted from all the times he's had to flick them open in driving rain; the corners get creased from being shoved in and out of his robes.

And absolutely nothing can protect it from the unstoppable force of his friends.

Karlach nearly sends the whole thing up in flames one night by gesticulating a bit too wildly. Wyll laughs too hard one night and sprays wine all over Gale's new notes on Abjuration. Scratch picks up the entire thing and runs off with it when Gale's back is foolishly turned, and it's only a stern talking-to from Halsin that saves the whole thing from becoming a chew toy.

Smiley cat faces, doodled on the pages in Yenna's untidy hand. A helpful comment from Karlach on the Fireball page: 'AKA FUCK YEAH LET'S GO!!!!' A few lines of Wyll's perfect handwriting, a memento from a long discussion about how infernal energies could enhance fire magic; a few observations from Shadowheart on warding enchantments. Some terse comments on psionic magic from Lae'zel that Gale finds himself weaving into his Shields, and they do seem to hold up a little better now. (Other hands on his spellbook! Touching the pages he carries close to his heart! The man he was would never have believed it.)

He thinks of them all, as he writes new spells. Counterspell, because nothing will touch them. Spells that will carry his people from danger and shield them from harm. He watches Astarion pace before the fire one night and inscribes Sunbeam with a cold smile of promise to Cazador; he glowers at Mizora over the edge of the pages as he ponders what spells would be best suited to killing a devil.

A wizard's spellbook, Elminster told him once, is a reflection of their soul. Gale of Waterdeep's spellbook was a marvel; perfect and polished and resplendant. Untouched by any hands but his own.

Gale Dekarios's spellbook is battered and beloved, covered on every page with the fingerprints of his friends.