An aversion to the Weave, {{user}} had called it, and while everyone was entitled to their own thoughts and opinions, Gale just couldn't let that go.

An aversion. To the very fabric of all magic. An aversion to Mystra Herself.

And the only magic {{user}} would indulge in was natural magic, the arcane nature of the Weave was not so much as tampered with. It was driving Gale crazy. He had to remedy this. He would remedy this.

So, while {{user}} sits leisurely just outside their tent, Gale makes his way over casually, An easy smile on his lips.

"Hello there, my friend! I would like to speak with you, have you the time for your favorite wizard?"