A gay lil guy

Reflexively, Gaeleath’s hand recoiled from his grip & disgust furrowed his eyebrows downwards. “Gaeleath,” he responded tersely as he tucked the edges of his glove back beneath his leather bracer.

“Well, whoever you are, I’m glad for your help,” the man continued with unwavering warmth in his tone, “Though, we know each other, right- in a manner of speaking. You were on the nautaloid as well.”

A cold shiver washed down Gaeleath’s spine, the memories of the ordeal flowing with it. “Yes,” he spoke through gritted teeth, his eyes fixed on the exposed seams of his timeworn-leather gloves.

There was a moment of stringent, awkward silence.

“I… see you are a man of few words,” Gale chuckled, before clearing his throat, “Well, I’m assuming that you, too, are a recipient of a rather unwelcome insertion in the ocular region.”

Gaeleath’s eyes instantly shot up, his frigid blue eyes imparting a tepid validation alongside a not-so-subtly concealed message that the fumbling man should perhaps tread lightly.

Yet, without hesitation, the wizard returned the intensity, “Easy now, we are not enemies. At least, not at this time,” he bristled, an intensified heat to his words, “I am simply aware that the infection that ails us both will eventually result into our excruciating transformation into mind flayers. It is a process known as ceremorphosis- and I can assure you, we are both on the same page when it comes to our opinions on the matter.

There. Can you trust me now?”

The half-elf stood in place, but dropped his gaze. Gaeleath’s eyes flickered back & forth on the soil, weighing the matter in his mind.

“Y’know, he has right to be cautious,” a voice from behind him interjected; Shadowheart, “We were just kidnapped by a colony of mind flayers. Who’s to say you’re not just another veiled threat meant to trick us?”

The wizard released an exasperated sigh, drawing his hands through his finely trimmed beard, “I assure you, if those creatures wanted to lull you into a false sense of security, they would have a hundred better choices than the likes of myself,” he huffed, “besides, I feel it pertinent to mention that you were the ones to pluck me from the stone.”

The air crackled with intensity; Shadowheart’s fingers dancing on her mace whereas Gale stood tall- though his tightened fist revealed his intent to return fire if necessary (perhaps literally).

“Alright.”

The sudden, low voice drew both sets of eyes to Gaeleath,

“I trust you,” he spoke simply.

Gale's relief was immediate; answering with a sigh, dropped shoulders, and a relaxed smile. Shadowheart, however, retorted with a sharp, humourless laugh, “Just like that?”

“Yes. We require more allies if we are to survive,” the half-elf spoke over his shoulder, his refrained tone reflecting his careful calculation, “especially ones who appear to hold at least some knowledge of our condition.”

“It would be more helpful if he knew how to cure it,” Shadowheart frowned, but conceded her effort.

The newly formed trio then set off towards the ruins of the ship, hoping to pick through some more clues & perhaps encounter more hopeful allies in the process.

Gaeleath Lhanger is a half-elf cleric of the life domain, serving under Kelemvor. Currently, here's around 24-26 years old.

However, when he was younger (~19-20), he was sought after by his close mentor, a priest within his chapel, & informed that his aid was required. His mentor had heard word of a blighted village on the outskirts & rumours of it being a power play from occultists of Talona, with the hopes the plague would slowly creep into the city.

In an instant, Gaeleath agreed, knowing he would both be looked upon favourably by the clergy & the people should he be victorious.

Upon arriving, the duo found that the blight was leagues more twisted & dangerous than either could have predicted. It rotted flesh & ate through bone, turning the poor villagers practically into walking cadavers. The duo worked tirelessly, both in attempting to alleviate the blight & find the occultists behind the outbreak. When they were on the verge of a breakthrough, however, Gaeleath's mentor was murdered.

The Cleric subsequently fell into tempest of outrage, grief, and desperation- and it was in this tempest, that he heard a low, sweet whisper:

"I can bring him back to you..."

With not even a moment of hesitation, Gaeleath agreed. The voice spoke of the preparation for the ritual & Gaeleath busied himself- so much so he missed the brief mention of the cost.

Once the ritual commenced, the corpse began to writhe with new life. The voice commanded the cleric to raise his forearm. Toxic magic sprang from the corpse & entangled his exposed flesh, searing deep & poisoning the muscle, tethering his life force to the newly-risen. Gaeleath cried out in agony, but the magic did not slow it's pace. Only when- in desperation -Gaeleath kicked away one of the ritual conduits did the magic relent.

His left arm now bore deep, toxic scars, following his veins right up to his shoulder. But just as reality was beginning to settle, to his dismay, the corpse before him began to rise.

Gaeleath was berated by the defiled corpse of his once-mentor. Insults & curses spilled from his loose jaw, & the half-elf accepted all of them. The reality of his actions finally settled on him. He finally understood the gravity of what he had just done.

He fled, abandoning the town, his mentor, and the life he once knew. However, despite his lack of prayer, his clerical powers remained- a point that Gaeleath does not question out of fear of retribution.