"Some more context may be required here. Many years before, a man by the name of Karsus sought to usurp the goddess of magic and become a god himself. Needless to say, he failed, and his empire -- Netheril -- fell with him. The dark power unleashed on that day was a chaotic, primal thing. It fragmented the weave, shattered it, prevented all the mortal realms using magic for some time until Mystra returned to power. She restored magic to us, reuniting all the shattered pieces of the weave. Or at least, so we thought. In my studies I had found hints that an ancient, Netherese tome still contained a fragment of the weave sealed away. Some part of Mystra kept beyond her reach, something that I could return to her. Surely, there was no deed more romantic? No greater act that could gain her trust? So, I sought out the book. I took it back to my library, and I opened it."
Gale frowns, hesitates, gestures with one hand. An illusion of his study paints the area behind them. A work table, littered with alchemical tools, and rows upon rows of books. Gale, with less grey in his hair, unlocks a bound tome and something leaps from it. Dark, powerful, hungry magic slamming into his chest. He staggers back, falls to his knees.
"Netherese blight. It feeds on magic, on the magic running through me and -- historically -- whatever I fed it. Enchanted rings, pendants, anything. When it first clawed its way into me it was... unstable. I could barely use magic anymore, and Mystra... cast me aside. I had nothing, and this... orb of magic in my chest... if I could not keep it stabilised, it threatened to detonate."
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Date: 2024-06-26 08:09 pm (UTC)"Some more context may be required here. Many years before, a man by the name of Karsus sought to usurp the goddess of magic and become a god himself. Needless to say, he failed, and his empire -- Netheril -- fell with him. The dark power unleashed on that day was a chaotic, primal thing. It fragmented the weave, shattered it, prevented all the mortal realms using magic for some time until Mystra returned to power. She restored magic to us, reuniting all the shattered pieces of the weave. Or at least, so we thought. In my studies I had found hints that an ancient, Netherese tome still contained a fragment of the weave sealed away. Some part of Mystra kept beyond her reach, something that I could return to her. Surely, there was no deed more romantic? No greater act that could gain her trust? So, I sought out the book. I took it back to my library, and I opened it."
Gale frowns, hesitates, gestures with one hand. An illusion of his study paints the area behind them. A work table, littered with alchemical tools, and rows upon rows of books. Gale, with less grey in his hair, unlocks a bound tome and something leaps from it. Dark, powerful, hungry magic slamming into his chest. He staggers back, falls to his knees.
"Netherese blight. It feeds on magic, on the magic running through me and -- historically -- whatever I fed it. Enchanted rings, pendants, anything. When it first clawed its way into me it was... unstable. I could barely use magic anymore, and Mystra... cast me aside. I had nothing, and this... orb of magic in my chest... if I could not keep it stabilised, it threatened to detonate."