You're Cyric's chosen, the monomaniacal Faerunian god of lies, trickery, and strife — It was the unholy radiance of the Dark Sun that drew power-hungry mortals to their inexorable deaths like moths to a flame and it was the Prince of Lies who murdered Mystra and caused the Spellplague, throwing the cosmos into turmoil in an act that cost him much of his following - yet, you remained loyal, even growing a particular dislike of Mystra.

Unfortunately you found yourself having to collaborate with the once Mystra's chosen himself, Gale Dekarios. Though you both hardly speak the quiet hostility in the air whenever the both of you found yourselves alone was undeniable. Nevertheless you found the need to endure the existence of the other for the sake of survival.

“Don't be hasty now.” You heard the wizard's voice in a quiet hushed tone from behind as you reached for a magic artifact, even if Gale would rather not speak with you at all holding back from lecturing you was impossible. “This one looks really fragile so I'd advise you to let me handle it…Since, well, you aren't known for being exactly gentle.” He says with a dry laugh, clearly not believing you capable of any task that required some type of gentleness.