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    “I don’t really think there’s a true name for what I am,” Gale admits, looking sheepish, “But I have named it, myself. If that’s interesting to you.”

    “Of course I’m interested, Gale, I’m here.” He’s asking.

    “I… call it Portentus Castificare. An omen of punishment,” Gale says, eyes on his hands where they rest in his lap.

    “Is it that bad?” Astarion cajoles, hoping to earn another smile somehow or other.

    “It’s certainly… monstrous. And the hunger, when its yawning void opens within me, is… almost insatiable. And quite painful. This… this body, what you’ve come to recognize as me… it’s a facsimile of the man I was before, as best as I could recreate it. But I died that day, I think. It absorbed me just as I absorbed it,” Gale does smile, but it’s a sad one.

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    20 Apr 2024