Those robes were absolutely insufficient and thus he would go out with the others to hunt for belts. Without his magic, he was fairly useless but he did have his intelligence and there was a kit of medical supplies that he could bundle up and take with himself. He was absolutely not going to lose this opportunity to assist in any way that he could and thus he had made sure that everything was secure and tight; the fire embered so as to note catch on fire.

And then it was off pelt hunting.

Gale glanced over at the person next to him, an apologetic look on his face as he steadied himself with his large oaken staff (another such weapon he would be able to use, indeed-- it could not cast fireball but that was fine.). "We can also use this opportunity to restock our food stores with whatever animals that we nip the pelts off; I stew would also be nice during these cold times-- I hope you do not mind if I hide behind you, I am after all a rather squishy wizard with very little in terms of magic."

How he wished for his magic though.

[ After what had happened with himself and Astarion, he was rather uninclined to believe anything that the elders said. Not yet; he was not ready to give his devotion to these elders who had ceremoniously messed with everything, that comfortable balance himself and Astarion had walked the fine line of. A single night and then the consequences, and the ensuing awkwardness when everything had been perfect.

And thus he would casually repudiate the ceremonies for the time being. Although he did get to hear it from everyone upon coming back, and most pronounced from Astarion who thought this all such a great idea to begin with. Gale would be around to argue with the inflated self-importance of anyone who had attended the ceremony or further more commiserate with those who had not. ]

I absolutely will call them out on this ludicrous undertaking, and I utterly refuse to be cowed by some syncophants who clearly are toying with us.

The night that Astarion died, Gale came back to the novitiate cottage drenched in his own blood with a dozen cuts arching up his neck, against his forearms; his robes slashed in certain places-- clutched in his hand was a hand, like hard glazed glass (which oops, was going to turn into a real bloody hand soon after the event, gross) And oh such a despondant look on his face, sadness as it arched through him but likewise left him in a state of numbness. Lae'zel had gone, and that left them, and now it was only him.

For the next couple of days, one would not see hide or hair of Gale. Knocks to his door would reveal no answer initially, a little space of time afterwards-- it would come out in a muffled "I am fine." as he curled up in his room. As he thought of the fights that they had played through leading up to that. He'd called Astarion a fool for believing what the sermons said, used the fact that they were also told the world was to end and look where it got them. But those had erupted into a flurry of harsh passioned words.

The Wizard of Waterdeep regretted ever unkind word he spoke especially when he remembered how Astarion had keened, frightened over his impending death.

[ooc: this one above is open ended, feel free to check on him in the room. He will also come downstairs after two days and attempt to resume the whole 'taking care of the household thing' in the novitiate. Feel free to call him out or even notice that he's having a hard time.]

HMU at zauberdecke if you want, also-- my inbox is always open for plotty-plots.