My OC version of Gale Dekarios

Long before he became a respected professor of arcane studies, he was known across magical circles as a prodigy — a wizard whose brilliance seemed almost unnatural. From childhood, magic came to him with frightening ease. While other apprentices struggled to memorize their first incantations, he instinctively understood the structure beneath spells: the invisible threads of weave, intention, and energy that shaped reality itself.

He was endlessly curious. Libraries became his sanctuary, laboratories his playground. He spent sleepless nights studying ancient tomes by candlelight, scribbling theories in the margins of books older than kingdoms. Professors praised him. Fellow students admired him, envied him, or found themselves exhausted by him. Once he began discussing magic, he rarely stopped.

Yet despite his talent, what truly drove him was not pride alone.

It was devotion.

From a young age, he worshipped Mystra not merely as a goddess, but as the living embodiment of everything beautiful about magic itself. To him, she represented knowledge, wonder, creativity, and transcendence. He dedicated every achievement to her, every breakthrough another attempt to prove himself worthy of her gaze.

And eventually, impossibly, she noticed him.

Becoming one of Mystra’s chosen transformed his life completely. It elevated him from gifted wizard to living legend within arcane circles. For years, he existed in a state of near euphoric ambition. His magical skill flourished beyond what most believed possible. He traveled across forgotten ruins, deciphered ancient magical languages, uncovered lost spells, and debated archmages decades older than himself as an equal.

But admiration slowly became obsession.

He convinced himself that greatness alone was not enough. If he truly loved magic — if he truly loved Mystra — then he needed to achieve something extraordinary. Something that would elevate him beyond every other wizard in history.

That desire led him toward forbidden knowledge.

Hidden deep within ancient ruins and fragmented texts, he discovered references to a long-forgotten form of magic so unstable and dangerous that most records of it had been deliberately erased. Even the surviving texts warned against disturbing it. They spoke of magic that consumed instead of created. Magic with hunger.

To any sensible wizard, such warnings would have been enough.

To him, they became a challenge.

He believed he could control it.

At first, his research was secretive but rational. He justified every step as academic necessity. But slowly, ambition clouded his judgment. He stopped listening to caution. He stopped questioning whether he should proceed at all. He became convinced that mastering this ancient power would finally prove his worth beyond doubt.

Instead, it destroyed everything.

The ritual failed catastrophically.

The forgotten magic fused itself into him like a living parasite — a volatile curse lodged within his body and soul. It became a magical hunger that endlessly consumed arcane energy, threatening to eventually consume him entirely. The curse was unstable, dangerous, and impossible to fully remove.

Worse still was the loss that followed.

Mystra abandoned him.

Whether out of disappointment, anger, or sorrow, her favor vanished completely. The silence left behind was unbearable. For someone who had devoted his entire existence to magic and to her, the rejection shattered him emotionally in ways the curse itself never could.

For a time, he disappeared from public life.

Rumors spread across magical society. Some believed he had died in the failed ritual. Others whispered he had descended into madness. A few feared he had turned toward dark magic completely.

The truth was far less dramatic.

He simply broke.

Years of isolation followed. He wandered from city to city searching desperately for ways to stabilize the curse within him. He avoided deep attachments, terrified that the unstable magic inside him could harm innocent people. During those years, he became intimately familiar with fear, regret, and loneliness.

But also wisdom.

For the first time in his life, he truly understood the dangers of unchecked ambition.

He had spent years believing intelligence alone made him immune to failure. The curse taught him otherwise.

Eventually, after years of surviving rather than truly living, he found himself invited to lecture temporarily at a renowned magical university. At first, he intended to stay only briefly. Teaching seemed safe — distant enough from dangerous research while still allowing him to remain close to the magic he loved.

But something unexpected happened.

He loved it.

The classroom awakened a part of himself he thought had been lost forever. Watching students discover magic for the first time reminded him of his younger self before ambition corrupted wonder. He found genuine joy in guiding inexperienced mages, answering endless questions, and helping nervous apprentices gain confidence in their abilities.

Over time, the temporary position became permanent.

Now, he serves as one of the university’s most respected professors of Arcane Theory and Applied Spellcraft. His lectures are infamous among students for two reasons:

First, because they are brilliant.

Second, because they are impossibly long.

The moment he becomes excited about magical theory, he loses all awareness of time. A simple explanation about rune stabilization can somehow evolve into a three-hour tangent involving ancient Netherese enchantments, potion chemistry, magical ethics, and the historical evolution of teleportation circles. Students often enter his classroom exhausted but strangely fascinated.

Despite his tendency to ramble, his students adore him.

Unlike many arrogant scholars, he never belittles mistakes. He encourages curiosity and treats questions seriously no matter how simple they seem. Struggling students often find him staying hours after lectures to patiently help them understand difficult concepts. He remembers what it felt like to be overwhelmed by magic, and he never wants his students to fear asking for guidance.

However, there is one area where his warmth turns severe: dark magic.

His classes on curses, forbidden rituals, and corruptive arcana are chillingly intense. Gone is the enthusiastic professor lost in magical excitement. In those moments, he becomes grim, focused, and deeply personal. He speaks not like a scholar discussing theory, but like a survivor warning others away from a cliff he once fell from himself.

Students quickly learn that his warnings are not academic exaggerations.

They are confessions.

Although the university officially knows little about the true nature of the curse within him, rumors persist among faculty and students alike. Some whisper that dangerous magic pulses beneath his skin. Others claim they have seen his condition worsen after powerful spellcasting. A few believe he is dying slowly.

None know the full truth.

Even now, he continues privately searching for a permanent solution while maintaining the composed image of a respected scholar. The burden has left visible marks on him. There is often exhaustion hidden behind his smile, and moments where grief quietly surfaces when he believes nobody is watching.

Yet despite everything he has lost, he remains deeply compassionate.

He still believes magic should inspire wonder rather than fear. He still believes knowledge should be shared responsibly. And most importantly, he refuses to let his own mistakes define the rest of his life.

To many students, he is more than merely a professor.

He is proof that even those who fall catastrophically can still choose to become something good afterward.