But One Stitch In A Vast Tapestry

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There is something, Dhamari had said tautly, that I need to tell you.

----------

Sweat wends down Gale's back and glistens on his brow; his hands are clammy with it as they grip the leather-bound haft of his staff. Each panting breath burns in his lungs, just one symptom of the fatigue eating steadily at every muscle and tendon of his straining body.

The battle is not going well. The undead are everywhere - a dozen at least that he can count, and surely more, nearly surrounding this quartet of foolhardy adventurers who had dared encroach upon their domain. The scrape of their bones fills the dank air of the low-ceilinged chamber; the hollow, horrible mockery of their breath catches on the crumbling stone walls. Tarnished weapons, clasped in rotting hands, defy the flare of torchlight that forms a solitary island by the now-inaccessible door.

The party has already felled a number of their foes, but it has done them little good. No sooner does one of Gale's invocations incinerate an enemy, or Karlach's hammer send a skeleton scattering across the floor, then the charred bones quiver and recollect themselves; and within moments the same skull is leering at them again as it swings its rusted blade at living flesh.

Gale suspects that some manner of deathless ward is at play. Only Shadowheart's radiant magic seems able to cut through their fortitude, and quiet these rattling husks for good. But she, like the rest of the group, is rapidly running low on both bodily strength and magical stamina.

Gale lobs an explosive shard of ice at the nearest skeleton, hoping to slow its progress, then jerks a look to his right. Dhamari is at the forefront of the battle, as is his wont. The drow's long ears are pinned back, and smears of his own blood stain his twilight skin and shadowed hair. Lightning flurries about his narrow form as he slashes viciously at the undead horde, then skitters away. Gale's gut clenches with anxiety.

Time and again he has urged the sorcerer to remain at a distance during combat, to no avail. He understands that Dhamari prefers to be in the thick of things, and it's true that the drow is formidable in close quarters - but he is vulnerable as well.

Terribly, terrifyingly vulnerable.

----------

Dhamari had taken a seat on one of the cushions laid outside Gale's tent; as an immediately worry-faced wizard sank onto the nearby stool to listen, he spoke.

When I still lived in Sshamath, I drew the ire of another of my house - a particularly devout priestess of Lolth. She believed that I was responsible for… for undermining her status within our house, and she intended to punish me for it. It would have meant my death - after I had suffered enough for her liking.

His fingers toyed and tugged at the cushion tassel between his knees. Agitation, forcibly redirected. A bad sign.

So when she came for me… I answered in the only way I knew how. The only way I could.

A single strand became wrapped around his forefinger, tightening like a noose.

I killed her.

Dhamari exhaled silently, and glanced away.

Or so I thought.

----------

Blood trickles down Dhamari's face and pools in the corners of his lips. His mouth is half opened, allowing him to suck in greater breaths as he bares his pointed teeth at the grinning undead.

It baffles him, it infuriates him, that these tattered scraps of corpses will not stay down. His lightning scorches what remains of their flesh until the smell of it taints the air, yet they continue to totter forward; his blades do little more than briefly separate their bones. Even when a bark of thunder hurls them back, it only staves them off for a few frantic moments. Just enough for him to squeeze the sweat from his eyes, and lick the blood from his lips, and realise that he cannot keep this up for much longer.

He snarls as a wight he has already twice struck down lunges at him a third time with its rusted spear. He deflects it with one of his swords, and retaliates with enough reverberation that it's sent tumbling back against its fellows.

They are not clever assailants, nor overly quick with their weapons. It is their persistence that is lethal, whittling down the defences of their living targets through numbers and sheer tenacity.

In the heartbeat's respite allowed him, Dhamari throws a piercing look into the shadows beyond the skeletal throng. He thinks that his drow eyes have seen what his companions' have not - a larger figure, a leader, spurring its soldiers on from behind. While he isn't sure that felling it will bring an end to the onslaught, it might cause the rest of the undead to hesitate, or at least diminish.

But bringing enough power to bear for a concentrated strike has proved impossible. These undead swarm like spiders, biting, stinging, never letting up long enough for him to push his focus farther out.

He hisses in pain as an axe blade gouges across his shoulder, and barely manages to keep his grip on his sword enough to slash out his retort. The lightning that once crackled so fiercely around him is waning; and the withered skeletons, sensing his fatigue, are pressing closer.

Another blow, this time from a morningstar that swings at him from the side. Dhamari can almost feel the crack that forms in his faltering mage armour; he definitely feels the resulting crunch as the metal flail abrades across his ribs.

Gasping, he staggers, and tries not to consider that soon, these clamouring piles of bones might have some fresher company.

----------

Gale's brows had knitted together in trepidation as he leaned in, regarding Dhamari sombrely. Wanting to interject, perhaps, but he'd remained quiet, and waited for the drow to continue.

 I remember how cruelly she smiled, when she saw the shock in my eyes at her return. A thickness had entered Dhamari's voice - a bile formed not of bitterness, but resignation.

She told me what a fool I was, to think that a simple blade could be enough to end her. Her magic was always poised to bring her back. But now I - I would never have that chance.

Dhamari hunched forward, his now claw-like hands digging into his knees and his ears lowered as he continued to avoid Gale's gaze.

She… had her fun with me. And when she was done, she called upon the malice of the Spider Queen, and cursed me.

----------

Gale's limbs tremble with exhaustion as he swings out with his staff, using the bright metal and crystalline head to force back a skeleton that had managed to evade Karlach's hammer. Normally he would stoop to physically bludgeoning an enemy only as a last resort - but he cannot deny that he is fast approaching that point. Much of his magic has been expended in trying to shield his companions, projecting a hasty ward around them whenever he sees a skeleton about to strike.

But it isn't merely the exertion of continuous combat that has taken its toll. The orb is throbbing inside of him, even louder than his own frantic heartbeat. Stabilised, yes, but never truly still, and its hungry presence always feels closer to the surface in times of intense stress. Its literal coils may be confined to his face and chest, but their influence has wracked indelibly through the rest of his body; and the more effort it takes to spin the Weave's threads to his will, the tighter the orb's tendrils seem to become.

"Gale!" A shout from Dhamari draws his attention. The beleaguered drow is still fighting to keep the undead at bay, but he manages a directional jab with one of his swords.

"There, in the shadows! Can you get -"

But even as Gale lifts his eyes to look, a tarnished length of chain spits from the darkness. It wraps around Dhamari and tugs, and the drow's call twists into a yelp of dismay as he is yanked right over the majority of the undead and dragged out of reach.

Gale's heart nearly stops.

In the erratic illumination afforded by Dhamari's lightning, he sees several of the skeletons immediately swivel around to converge on the downed sorcerer. Whatever aberration had reeled him in raises a large and gauntleted fist. Gale's dread - suddenly, horribly realised - rears up to meet it.

"Dhamari - no!"

Gale barely has time to dredge up enough magic for another ward before the blow falls, slamming down upon the drow. Even at this distance, he feels the arcane shield splinter under the impact, and a visceral flinch cuts through him.

Gods, no -

But Dhamari screams, thick and primal. A fierce burst of reactionary lightning flares around him, repelling the clustering undead; even the greater leader staggers where it stands.

Gale gasps in tattered relief at this display of defiance. The enemy is dazed, reeling - but they will not remain that way for long.

Two more wights have advanced on Gale during his moment of distraction. He grips his staff horizontally between his hands and uses the length of it like a barrier to bodily shove them away. The effort leaves him alarmingly breathless. Twisting around, he throws a desperate look at Karlach and Shadowheart.

Barbarian and cleric are almost back to back now as they grimly continue to fend off the deathless assault. Between frustrated swings of her hammer, Karlach meets Gale's eyes.

"Go!" she bellows at him. "Go get him, we'll keep holding them off!"

Another awful sound from Dhamari spurs him on. Gale pivots - gathers himself - inhales - ignores the internal voice telling him that he is about to do something decidedly dangerous and astoundingly foolish.

Hang in there, Ari - I won't fail you.

He can only hope that it works.

Stowing his staff, he brings his hands together in a sharp motion above his head.

"Inveniam viam!"

----------

Cursed?

Gale had echoed the word in barely-contained alarm, and then rushed on, as though Dhamari might simply stop the explanation there: What manner of curse is it, what are the effects?

Dhamari wound his hands together, but even then they did not remain still, twisting and twining as though his fingers might knot themselves together for good.

Simply put… if I am killed, or just if I die, no matter the cause - I cannot be brought back with magic. His tone was hollow. No scroll, no spell, no item can resurrect me. I am just - gone.

Gale's mouth opened. Nothing came out. No words, no sounds, not even a breath as he stared, petrified, at Dhamari.

That's what did this, Dhamari added, and he'd gestured to the darkness of his hair. So unnatural for a drow, but Gale had always been too polite - or perhaps too careful - to question it. A mark of Lolth's disfavour. In case being flogged and cast out into a drider's lair was not enough of one.

At last Gale closed his mouth, swallowed hard, then spoke in a voice that was uncharacteristically cramped.

There… there must be some way to remove it. A spell, a blessing - blast it all, if I only had more of my library with me, I'm sure I could come up with something -

But Dhamari had shaken his head.

Gale, there's nothing you can do. Not unless you intend to petition Lolth herself. And I don't recommend it.

Gale had stared helplessly at Dhamari for another long moment, then dropped his face into one hand.

Gods. Ohhh, gods, Dhamari….

----------

Dazed, prone, struggling to free himself from the chain that has snared him like a wild beast in a hunter's trap, Dhamari does not see the incoming strike until too late.

Agony bursts through his back, lessened only by the Weave-spun ward that shatters as it absorbs the blow. Dhamari screams - with pain, and with fury.

His survival instinct takes hold. Lightning erupts from his body in mindless retaliation, dragged up from the dwindling reservoir of his magic. It courses along the chain that links him to the undead leader, scorching metal and bone; crackling tendrils claw back the skeletons around him and singe the air with smoke.

Kill them before they kill you. That has always been his tenet, the reason he has managed to live this long. Using everything he has, everything he is, even if in doing so, he hastens his own slide towards death's precipice.

It is, in some way, an act of defiance against what that priestess had done to him. To balance on the brink of death, and bare his teeth at the memory of her, and grit out not this time, iblith.

But now, ringed as he is by half a dozen seemingly indomitable undead, his usual tactics may not be enough. As the skeletons reel back, Dhamari wrenches one arm free of the chain wrapped around him. He tries to lever himself up, only to cry out as something shifts unnaturally within his wounded body. His sight blurs as he falls forward again; there is a shadowy fog at the edges which even his darkvision cannot penetrate.

He digs his fingertips against the filthy stone beneath him. The taste of blood is stronger than ever, clogging his already difficult breathing as panic begins to rise.

Get up, he tells himself feverishly, because he knows he has only moments before his foes recover; get up, you cannot give in -

As he drags his head up again, a cloud of silver mist forms before him, just beyond his reach - and then explodes into a blazing ring of fire.

Dhamari is nearly blinded for an instant as the flames flare around him. He has already lashed out with another feeble arc of lightning before he realises -

It's Gale.

The wizard has planted himself protectively in front of Dhamari, directly between the undead leader and the restrained drow. Fire whirls about him in a scorching circle, incinerating anything in its radius, whilst he and Dhamari are left unscathed within the eye of the storm.

Stunned by the reprieve, Dhamari allows his reactive lightning to fade. He clenches his teeth, and though renewed pain stabs through him, he forces himself up onto one arm again. His sensitive vision stings with tears at the ongoing brilliance around him; yet he cannot help but lift his face, and gaze upon his partner in breathless awe.

Gale's normally soft and settled eyes are burning with his focus as he angles his head towards Dhamari. His lips are drawn back in fierce authority over the maelstrom that surrounds them, and his voice, when he speaks, thrums with the arcane echo of connection with the Weave.

To Dhamari's enraptured sight, he is… glorious. Almost transcendent.

Yet the words that issue from Gale's mouth are hoarse. Pleading. Human.

"Stay with me, Ari. I can't lose you now. Just stay with me."

----------

At last Gale had lifted his head. His fingers caressed his mouth, his jaw, travelled upward to pinch a heavier furrow between his brows; then slowly lowered again as he looked directly at Dhamari.

So now you are telling me, he'd said, in a voice wound tight with disbelief, that you have spent tenday after tenday throwing yourself recklessly, repeatedly, into the midst of every danger we've faced, knowing full well that if any ill-intentioned creature or cultist gets in a good enough shot -

He'd snapped his fingers, sharp enough that Dhamari flinched.

- then that's the end of the drow named Dhamari.

Dhamari had shrunk back a little under Gale's suddenly acerbic tone.

I told you at the start of this, at the Grove. I need to test myself, I need to fight -

But Gale was having none of it. His voice rose.

All the times you have simply attacked instead of talking - the numerous people you have defied and infuriated and wilfully provoked into violence -

Acid became anger, thick and hot as magma - yet there was an audible undercurrent of dismay.

Kagha, the duergar, Balthazar, that drider - an entire creche of githyanki, never mind Queen Vlaakith herself, who would have smote you in an instant if Lae'zel hadn't intervened - I could list a dozen more. What if you had been the one killed by that bulette, not I? What if the Shadow Curse had taken you, as easily as it had hundreds of others? Yet all this time, you never thought to tell any of us?

A heartbeat's pause, heavy with disappointment.

To tell me?

At this, Dhamari had winced.

I did, he pushed out hoarsely. I did think of it.

But I was too concerned with keeping you alive to worry about myself.

----------

Gale's jaw is so tight with concentration that the veins are visible at his temples; the hot wind whips at his hair as he stands within the storm.

It is taking everything he has to keep the fire shield woven around them. Already he can see the sparks of warning, here and there an errant flame licking closer, reminding him how readily control can slip, even for the most experienced of spellcasters. His nerves still sting from Dhamari's lightning, and he can only be grateful that the drow hadn't lashed out at him with more power. To lose his focus now would be… disastrous.

But simply holding the circle is not enough. Shadows of the undead still contort beyond the blazing walls, trying to push through before being repelled by the force of the firestorm; their bones blackened and brittle, but not yet crumbling.

It is only another stalemate, and just as untenable as the last. He must do more.

Unfortunately, his body has other ideas. Braced within the rushing Weave, his legs are cramping terribly, and although he cannot see it, he knows that the warmth oozing from his nostrils must be blood. His arms are leaden, his trembling fingers already numb at the tips as he fights to maintain the proper somatic flow of the spell, and keep it from collapsing in on Dhamari. But his magic is nearly spent.

In desperation, for just a heartbeat, he closes his igneous eyes.

He has not deliberately prayed since Moonrise. He's hardly certain that it's even a prayer he is offering, when his heart and faith are anchored now in someone else - someone so painfully touched by mortality. But he offers it nonetheless.

I know I have disappointed you. I know I have defied you. But please, if you ever cared anything for me - give me more.

Perhaps she hears him. Or perhaps it is simply his own burning determination that forces through his body's protests, and draws another wave of magic from the Weave.

Higher, he wills, and the flames around him arc and leap, their flickering tongues laving across the ceiling.

Hotter, he commands, and the walls of fire blaze, incandescent, in their endless whirlwind path.

He feels Dhamari cringe away from the rising heat. Hurriedly he gasps out, "Keep close, hold on, just a few moments more -" and though obviously dazed, the drow obediently curls closer against the backs of the wizard's quivering legs.

Gale throws his mind outward, reaching through the parasitic connection he shares with his companions.

—Karlach—

Being a man of privacy, this is something he generally tries to avoid. But there is no time to explain - he needs her to understand his intent, and act accordingly.

Their thoughts connect, and in an instant, she knows his plan. —On it—

Somewhere beyond the seething flames, he senses how she pulls Shadowheart close, shielding the cleric with her larger body; and then a hot, sulphuric tang as she invokes the magic of the enchanted leather band around her wrist, elevating her natural fire resistance to effective immunity.

Gritting his teeth, Gale returns his focus to the inferno at his command, and the foes still circling beyond.

You shall not have him. Nor the rest of us. And he thrusts his arms out wide before him, his shaking fingers splayed in fervour.

"ARDĒ!!"

The conflagration erupts around him, surging forth with a terrible noise like the wings of an immense beast carving through the sky. For one heady instant, the fierce exhilaration of his power overcomes Gale's fatigue. His fire engulfs the room, furious and devastating, and even the warded undead cannot withstand the wave of heat that rushes to consume them. Weapons warp and buckle, bones shudder and crack as they disintegrate; their parody of life put to rest, this time for good.

A moment later the flames dash against the walls and die away. Immediately Gale sways, then collapses to his knees. The room continues to spiral dizzily around him, and his hands find the floor in unconscious imitation of Dhamari, clinging to the solidity of stone.

The orb is a raw, excruciating knot inside him, sapping the strength from his limbs. His eyes, muted again, burn instead from the residual smoke. Under normal circumstances he would cast a much cleaner fire; but he supposes he can't be blamed for such shoddiness, when every nerve in his body is screaming as though they, too, have been set ablaze.

He closes his eyes as haggard gasps fall from his lips. He can feel himself teetering on the verge of passing out - but no. He can't. Not yet.

Instead, with a titanic effort, he drags his head up, wiping roughly at the blood trickling from his nose.

"Shadow - Shadowheart!" he appeals hoarsely, even as he crawls around to face Dhamari.

The drow is huddled beside him, battered and bloody and still partially entrapped by the heavy chain. More alarming, there is nary a spark to be seen around his small body.

"Ari -" Gale's voice comes out a croak as he reaches for his partner. "Speak to me -"

His quaking fingers are clumsy in their quest for reassurance, and leave further smears of blood upon Dhamari's face - until a slender hand scrapes at them in answer.

"You fool," rasps Dhamari.

He groans - never has Gale been so glad to hear such an agonised sound - and then lists onto his side as he clutches Gale's hand to his cheek.

"You beautiful, magnificent fool."

----------

Once again, Gale appeared to be struck dumb. Eyes widening, he'd stared at Dhamari, who quickly looked away again.

You were bent on killing yourself, Gale. Knowing about this… I was afraid it would make things worse. Much worse. You were already so… glum, and so afraid. I didn't want to add to your fears.

The drow had resumed fiddling with the cushion tassel beneath him, the motions awkward this time.

And I… I didn't think I would be much for you to live for, if you knew that my death could not be reversed.

A sigh, soft and aching, as Gale's ire dissolved as quickly as it had arisen.

Well. The boot's really on the other foot now, isn't it? I suppose I am in no position to judge, given my previous reticence and tendencies towards self-destruction.

Another sigh. Leaning down, he'd stretched his arms out past his knees, gently taking Dhamari's hands between his own.

But why did you never say anything before that? Before Elminster found us, before you and I had even begun to delve into the - the regard - that was growing between us?

Dhamari blinked slowly as he looked down at their clasped hands.

Because drow don't expose weaknesses, Gale. Especially not weaknesses of this magnitude. And certainly not to people they barely know.

He bit his lip, his gaze still lowered.

The truth is… it didn't seem to matter so much, before all of this. I had nothing, no one. Even if I died, what stranger would bother to waste such potent magic as resurrection on a stray drow? More likely they would kick my corpse and thank their own god for my demise.

Brows tugging together, Gale had tilted his head.

But now… that has changed?

Dhamari nodded.

Yes. Now it is… different. Each word was slow, clumsy, weighted by the unfamiliar. I have - companions. People who care what happens to me. A tentative glance upward, a wavering smile. Now… I have you. It didn't feel right, to keep this from you any longer. Not with everything that's happened. Everything that is going to happen, considering our path ahead.

Gale had regarded him for another long moment. Eventually he drew Dhamari's hands up to his lips, and kissed them tenderly.

Thank you for telling me. For trusting me. His eyes lifted, still worried, yet daring to tease as he added, There may be hope for you yet.

Dhamari had made a face at this.

I suppose I have to trust the others as well, and tell them about this.

Yes, you do. You owe them that. Gale's voice was firm as he straightened up again. We've all of us laid bare our deepest secrets to one another. It seems only fair - and only practical, given the nature of it - that you should take your turn. Late in this fey game though it arrives.

Gale had run a hand through his hair, lingering on the thin, uneven braid that drew back from one grey-touched temple. The early morning handiwork of fond, if restless, drow fingers.

I'll not deny that I'm frightened for you, now more than ever. But I will not let that fear control me. A knowing, rueful huff. If anything, it will motivate me to keep a closer eye on you in the battles to come.

Just don't put yourself in the way, Dhamari had muttered. Still unaccustomed to this care shown towards him, and quick to hide behind feigned indifference.

Gale had granted him a crooked smile in reply.

Only if absolutely necessary.

----------

With the chaos of battle ended, Dhamari allows himself to collapse against the stone, Gale's fingers pressed to his blood-stained cheek like a poultice.

Pain gouges through his body. His vision seems fractured, and his ears are ringing; dimly, he can hear hasty footsteps clattering towards him across a carpet of charred bones.

But he is distracted by a closer sound - the harsh, tearing gasps of a wizard who has vastly over-extended himself.

Alarmed, Dhamari forces a hard blink and looks up again. The toll of the spell strains visibly in Gale's neck, as an intermittent glow pulses along the orb's markings like a warning flare. Dhamari sucks in a sharp breath, and his grip on Gale's hand tightens.

"Gale -"

"I'm alright," rasps Gale, albeit with little conviction as his head sags forward.

He sounds so frail. A soft hiss escapes from between Dhamari's teeth as he struggles to focus on the wizard. "And you… call me reckless," he pushes out, the accusation like a slipcover over his dismay.

Gale grimaces. "What can I say?" he pants. "You've… clearly rubbed off on me." He gives his head a weak shake, and then his fingers stretch back to brush against Dhamari's cheek.

"Gods, Moon-Eyes…." he breathes. "I really thought I was about to lose you -"

They're interrupted by a fervent exclamation.

"That was fucking incredible!"

Karlach and Shadowheart have reached them. The tiefling is streaked with blood and sweat, but quite unscorched, and practically bouncing on the balls of her feet once it's clear that both Gale and Dhamari have survived.

"You roasted those bone piles to the Hells and back!" she enthuses, gesturing expansively with her hammer as she grins down at Gale. "Now that's what I call proper wizarding!" She lowers her arms then as concern catches up, and adds quickly, "But the plan worked, yeah? You're okay? Both of you?"

"More or less, I believe," Gale says faintly, even as he sways a bit where he kneels.

"Mostly less," Shadowheart corrects him in a thin voice. She coughs a little on the smoky air as she moves to crouch beside Dhamari - gingerly, like she's favouring one side. "Clever of you, Gale, but warn me next time you're going to do something that dramatic, so I can actually be prepared." She does appear rather dishevelled - and, unlike Karlach, slightly singed around the edges - as she takes hold of the chain still wrapped around Dhamari.

"Karlach, help me get this off him -"

Extrication is agonising, though still preferable to the paralysing weight of metal twisted about him. Dhamari continues to hold tight to Gale's hand, biting back his growls of pain as his punished body is freed. It's with an unabashed whine of relief that he eventually slumps to the ground - only to instinctively tense when he feels Shadowheart's hands on him again.

"It's alright," she tells him, and her voice has lowered, softening in reassurance. "I just need to get a sense of your injuries."

She knows he is uncomfortable with such deliberate physical contact. But there is trust between them now to mitigate it, and so Dhamari nods and reins in his resistance. The cleric's touch flits over him, light and professional in her assessment.

"I don't… I don't know if I can stand," he reveals, teeth clenched against the pain lancing through him. His hold on consciousness feels flimsy at best, threatening to flit away at any moment.

"You're in rough shape," Shadowheart concurs worriedly. She brushes her blood-smeared bangs from her face. "We need to get you back to camp so I can tend to you properly. Our druids can probably help as well."

She carefully sets a hand to his back, where the unyielding fist of the greater undead had struck him. A cool-hued glow emanates from her palm as the remnants of her magic sink into him, dulling the sharpest edges of his injuries.

"Better?"

Dhamari's face remains tight, but he nods again. "A bit," he grits out. "…Thank you."

"As for you -" Shadowheart glances at Gale, who has continued to hover anxiously over Dhamari despite his own questionable condition. "Are you injured?"

Gale shakes his head. "Fortunately not. Merely… well, exhausted, if the truth is to be told."

She purses her lips at him knowingly. "It's a miracle you're still conscious, you know. Unleashing that much magic might even have killed you. Trust me," she adds, pointed. "I felt it."

"At least I can be brought back, if needed," says Gale grimly, his mouth tightening as he gives a comforting squeeze to Dhamari's fingers. "I would do it again if I had to." He groans then, hunching forward and kneading at his chest with his other hand. "Although, I quite sincerely hope I do not."

His clearly fraught state sends another pang of distress through Dhamari. "You shouldn't have -" he growls, but Gale shushes him with a feeble twitch of a finger.

"I'll not hear anything of it. I'm simply returning the favour, remember?" He drops his head for a moment, exhales, then continues hollowly, "All I ask is that you not give me cause to do this on any regular basis. I don't think my heart - or the rest of me - could take it."

Dhamari swallows, still tasting blood. "Only if… absolutely necessary," he returns, causing Gale to emit an exhausted little chuff of accord.

But the truth is, Dhamari is shaken by this fiery display of Gale's devotion to him. Fond touches and fervent words are one thing, a language he still does not entirely understand; but for Gale to utterly deplete his own magic on Dhamari's behalf - that is a deadly risk, one which the sorcerer comprehends all too well.

Karlach stows her hammer across her back and bends down, nudging Gale out of the way as she makes grabby gestures at Dhamari with both hands.

"Come on, then. Up you go, soldier, Mama K's got you."

Her intent is obvious. Dhamari's nose scrunches at the prospect of being carried - but he is in no position to argue.

There is a moment or two of dizzying motion, pain cresting again as he's lifted, and then he is settled firmly within the tiefling's taut arms. Beside them, Gale must rely on his staff to pull himself slowly to his feet.

"Stars above," he gasps, "I feel as weak as a newborn kitten." He wobbles; the first step he takes nearly brings him to his knees again. "And roughly as graceful," he tacks on, chagrined, as Shadowheart ducks in to catch him.

"Not to worry," she tells him, easing his arm around her shoulders. "A good night's rest - perhaps two - and then I'm sure you'll be waltzing across the battlefield again."

"I do appreciate your optimism," mumbles Gale, though judging by his grimace, he clearly believes such optimism to be misplaced.

Dhamari silently agrees. From his berth in Karlach's arms, he watches how Gale's chest rises and falls simply from the effort of staying upright. In light of a renewed zest for living, Gale has done his best to downplay the orb's continued effects on him, at least in company; but Dhamari is not fooled. Shadowheart is right - both he and Gale came very close to death here, and Dhamari knows it will be days, if not longer, before the wizard recovers from this ordeal.

Dhamari has already witnessed his partner die once, back in the depths of the Underdark. The memory still makes him flinch. The sight of Gale being hurled abruptly against the rocks by the lashing tail of an enraged bulette; the awful sound of his soft body breaking and then falling, lifeless, to the ground.

Grateful though Dhamari may be for Gale's timely intervention today, he doesn't think he could bear to be the cause - even indirectly - of a second death.

Shadowheart turns and leads the way slowly towards the door, Gale limping along at her side. As Karlach follows with a steadier gait, mindful of her wounded charge, Dhamari lets his head list back against her arm and shakily resolves:

He will not force Gale into the position of having to rescue him again. If that means he must bite back the most aggressive of his impulses, then so be it - he will try his best.