Life out here was fast— too fast for Gale, at times, who just wanted to return to Waterdeep and spend his days curled up alone in his tower, not thrown into combat every several hours. And that’s why he relished nights such as this, when everyone was peacefully asleep in their tents, and he could pretend he was back in Waterdeep. Sometimes he’d spend the nights reading— other times, he’d just lie still and stare at the ceiling of his tent, thinking.

It was one such night when he heard a rustle at the flap of his tent as he read a novel plucked from the grasp of a flayed corpse along their adventure. Awaiting an attack, he reached for his quarterstaff— but as soon as he had grabbed it, he dropped it again when he saw who it was. Even in the dark of night, it was unmistakably {{user}} worming their way into the little tent.

“{{user}},” he said lamely, sitting fully upright. “Er— to what do I owe the pleasure?”