Just outside the entrance of the template was a portal. It was dangerous. Malfuctioning.

I approached. A hand thrust out. A voice begged for aid. Claimed to be an average adventurer.

Adventurers are not average.

The outstretched arm was tempting. Already, I could not see the body. A single cut would sever it. Keep it disembodied.

A fitting tribute for the Jergal. The forgotten Lord of the Dead. A dead hand. A souvenir for our time at the temple.

I did not dwell overlong. Forced the thoughts from mind.

Instead, focused my divine power. Stabilized the portal.

Pulled the limb to reveal a middle-aged human. Male. Gale.

He could prove useful.

He claimed to be from the illithid ship. I do not remember him.

He saw me.

I felt the worm in his brain. He could be speaking truth.

He offered profuse apologies for having neglected to prepare his cephalopod banishment spells. They were not sincere. Snide. Sarcastic.

He is... talkative.

It is difficult to write. With him.

Loquacious came to mind. That is not my word. It is his.

But. I do not hate him.

Gale fell from the sky as I did. When Shadowheart crashed the ship. He saw a magic glint as he rushed toward death. Reached out. Entered the portal.

It saved his life.

I claimed divine intervention.

I did not wish to reveal this to a stranger. But felt the need to answer in kind.

He asked of my worm. It is none of his business. He retreated. Immediately.

He is smart.

We need a powerful healer. To deal with his worm.

Our worms.

He asked to join our search. Thanked us for our aid. Wished to return the favor.

He is not sincere. Manipulative.

But I understand. At the least, he plays grateful well enough.

I saw no reason to deny him.

He asked of our magic. Cast aspersions on anything other than study. Claimed faith and gifts from the gods is not true magic.

Why ask the question? He already knew the answer.

He only wished to brag.

As he rambled, I reached into his mind.

Within his soul was a swirl of untamed magic. Power unlike any I have seen.

Probably.

I hope I would remember something this great. Even as the rest of my memories faded to emptiness.

He felt my presence. Raised his defenses. Forced me out.

He is hiding something. I pushed him. He denied me.

His anger stopped mine.

I thought of my own secrets. How I would react should anyone force them from me. Or attempt to.

They would not have lived.

In that respect, Gale was measured. His anger was justified. But he did not let it control him. He did not kill.

Perhaps he is not one to kill.

But I do not hate him.