#shadow plane

[ellekhen]

Hand, Hearth, and Home

Chapter 60 - Leave What is Buried

Chapter Summary: Church and Astarion get separated within the Fortress of Memories — with terrifying consequences for both.

(Author Note: I'm lowkey especially proud of how this chapter turned out. :') Hope you all enjoy(?) 💙🦋)

Pairing(s): Astarion x Male Tav (Main); Past OC x Male Tav Rating: Explicit Length: 310K+ words; Chapters 60/?? (Master Post)

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Excerpt below:

“I’m done with your games,” Church declares into the Raven Queen’s halls as he slams another door shut, his voice echoing back at him. “Show him to me!”

“Come closer,” a child’s voice whispers excitedly. “Come and see. What will you do?”

Church hurries down the hall. He turns around the corner and yes, he sees it —

A lonely tomb — out of place as it sits in the middle of this vaulted, glassy room.

He hears nothing from within. 

“Astarion?” Church breathes, taking in its sealed stone door — shimmering with the barest trace of red magic. “ASTARION!”

He races up to the tomb, pressing his ear up against the cold stone and somehow, just somehow…

…he hears the smallest, softest sound.

… scrrrtch… scrrrtch… scrrrtch…

“Gods. Oh gods — I’m coming, love!” Church stammers frantically. The shadows dance around his fingers as he calls upon the magic to wrap around the sealing stone of the tomb and pull. “I’m here. I’m here!”

The tiefling grunts as his shadows flare and writhe around his crackling arms, vibrating the stone. As he strains to break the seal, the Raven Queen manifests back into the corner of his eye, watching him with that impassive porcelain face.

“I have seen your possible fates, child,” she murmurs. “If you let me finish the ritual, then you will be free from them.”

Church tries to ignore her.

“I know that in a possible future, he will hurt you,” she informs him. “So terribly. Possibly even kill you. He will betray you. And you will betray him. Or is it the other way around?” she muses. “No matter. But you are destroyed by him, or you destroy yourself, child. And I would not like to see you destroyed.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Church growls. “It’s just one future. Fate’s always in motion.”

“Yes,” the Raven Queen says, her soft voice distant. “But I promise, dear child. Letting him go will only reduce your possible futures of pain and grief. I will not see you lost to Shar’s domain.”

Church ignores her, channeling his shadows into the stone until it begins to crack…

“You are going down a dark path,” she warns him. “I know that you both seek answers from a devil. But the answers are the key to his downfall, and yours.”

Her hand settles to rest upon Church’s as it contorts with magic. And Church can’t help but look up to meet her hollow eyes.

“You are at a fork in the road,” she murmurs. “You hold a butterfly in your hands.”

“...then I’ll let him free,” Church whispers.   

With an explosion that echoes throughout the fortress’s endless halls, the shadows disintegrate the stone into dust. Church waves away the smoke, coughing as he ducks inside.

“Astarion—?”

His heart nearly thuds to a stop.

“Oh, love,” he breathes, tears burning in his throat. “Oh gods. Oh…”

He steps carefully towards the pale, emaciated figure curled up upon the floor facing away from him. 

He is so, so still. 

At last, with almost imperceptible movement, Church sees a frail, skeletal hand stretch slowly towards the ribbon of light cast across the wall opposite of him. His fingers… gods… his fingertips are nearly completely gone — ragged and blackened by old blood as they reach to caress the intangible light.

Church doesn’t think any further. He reaches in and carefully pulls the poor thing out, muttering apologies and reassurances until the prone elf is out of the tomb and back onto the smooth, crystalline floor.

“Astarion?” Church murmurs. “Can you hear me?”

He slowly lowers to his knees, crawling cautiously around to face Astarion so as not to startle him.

“I’m here,” the tiefling whispers, reaching towards the elf before pulling his hand back apprehensively.

On the other side of that disheveled, but familiar head of limp silver hair Church finds a gaunt face with blazing red eyes — wide and dancing as they take in the sight of him. He has bitten his thin arms bloody, and his fangs are perpetually extended over a rabid, panting mouth. 

“It’s me,” Church whispers, forcing his mouth into a shaky smile. “It’s Church. It’s—”

The vampire spawn launches himself at the tiefling with a feral snarl, smashing him back against the glassy walls with surprising speed and strength. Wind knocked out of him, Church slides down the wall with barely a groan. But before he can make any other move, the spawn’s bloody fingers grapple the tiefling down — pinning him against the cold, hard floor as the emaciated elf lets out an otherworldly, rattling shriek.

“Astarion! N-no…! No!” Church struggles against him, and though the spawn is starved and weak he still manages to overpower him in his unnatural rabid fervor. Even with his muscles dehydrated and sinewy, he still manages to bash the tiefling’s head back against the ground before wrenching it back to expose his neck.

Vision swimming, Church shouts — bracing himself for the fangs to tear out his throat. 

But they do not come.

The vampire spawn instead presses his chapped mouth desperately to the tiefling’s throbbing jugular, moaning and whimpering. He buries his nose helplessly into the warm flesh, breathing in the forbidden blood that pumps tantalizingly beneath. His paper-dry tongue licks hungrily at the skin but his teeth, his fangs…

Thou shalt not drink the blood of a thinking creature.

Astarion had told Church of his master’s commandments during one of the watches they shared, soon after when the spawn bit the tiefling for the first time. Church forces himself to relax beneath the starved spawn’s desperate attempts to feed — the mere memory of a thrall somehow enough to keep Astarion from tearing the tiefling’s throat out entirely. 

Church won’t let himself feel grateful to Cazador. He only feels more rage, more determination to destroy him as painfully and violently as possible. But that is a thought for later. He needs to help Astarion now. 

The spawn’s grip loosens enough for Church to breathe easier and relax a bit. It’s a struggle to keep himself from wrapping his arms around the feeble elf, or to keep himself from stroking his hair and kissing away the bloody tears that leak from those flickering, glowing red eyes.

“It’s me, love,” Church whispers instead, nuzzling gently against the starving spawn’s matted curls — almost afraid to see the hungry, gaunt face buried against his neck. “I’m Church. You’re Astarion. We were both kidnapped and infected by mind flayers. We’ve been traveling together for months now.”

Astarion groans so softly with a voice disused.

Church continues. “You make lockpicking look easy. Sewing, too. You’re deadly with your daggers and bow. You can walk in the sun. You can bathe in the river, and as much as you complain I think you secretly love it.”

Despite everything, the tiefling smiles softly into his hair. 

“You’re ruthless with your enemies, but to me, at least… you’ve got gentle hands. And you don’t dare admit it, but I know you like cats. You’re deadly, you’re funny, you’re fussy, and…”

He shudders, resting his head fully against the filthy elf’s.

“...and I… love you,” Church whispers, voice choked. “I love you. And I’m here.”

He can’t resist any longer. He reaches his hand up to brush against the shuddering elf’s hair. The fact that the spawn doesn’t recoil from his touch is encouraging — or perhaps he is simply too hungry.

“I’m here,” Church repeats softly, stroking his hair. “I’ve got you, love.”

The spawn whines but remains so still, his shallow breaths barely perceptible.

Whatever nightmare of a memory the Raven Queen trapped him in, Astarion can’t seem to escape on his own. They are out of health potions, and he is too starved, too weak even to try anymore. In his desperation, Church feels the shadows and magic furling upon his tongue, ready to use either his illithid or fey thrall to snap the elf out of it…

No — the warlock won’t dare do that. He can’t do that — not to him. 

…but perhaps there’s another way to wake him up and bring him back to reality. 

“Come on, you need to heal,” Church murmurs. “I’m… I’m so sorry, love.”

He tilts his head away to expose his neck further. 

“I’ve never wanted to force you to do anything,” Church whispers. “But you have to wake up, alright? I’m not leaving here without you.”

He reluctantly grabs hold of the back of Astarion’s head now, guiding it to press his mouth more firmly upon his neck. The spawn struggles and whimpers against the skin, mouthing at it desperately as he’s simultaneously enticed and repulsed by the scent of the sinful blood. 

“Bite me,” Church urges him softly, burying his fingers into his hair. “You can do it… it’s fine. He can’t hurt you. He can’t control you anymore — no one can. You’re your own master now.”

His breath hitches as the fangs within Astarion’s gasping, protesting jaw finally catch upon the skin of his straining neck. 

“This is proof,” Church groans through gritted teeth, squeezing the panting Astarion’s head so firmly against him that those fangs puncture through his skin at last. “You’re free. You’re you.”

As soon as the smallest bit of blood begins to bead up around his fangs, Astarion’s starved tongue laps it up hungrily. And then, as primal hunger kicks in, the spawn eagerly sinks his fangs deeper into the tiefling’s neck with a strangled growl.

Church lets out a gasping cry, failing to stifle his pain and fear as his blood spurts warm and wet from the wound. Even the first time Astarion bit him was not nearly this bad. In his normal state of mind, Astarion had more precision regarding where to bite, and to what depth, and what amount, but this time…

He bites brutally hard into the tiefling, his bottom jaw clamping tight against Church’s throat as the tiefling lets go of the spawn’s head, desperately resisting his body’s own instincts to push him away. Astarion’s labored, excited breath is fast and harsh from his nose as he drinks in the tiefling’s blood greedily, moaning in unfettered ecstasy and relief. His entire body writhes on top of the tiefling in the throes of pleasure and relief as he drains him with gusto. 

“There you go…” Church whispers encouragingly through the pain, whimpering sharply as the spawn pulls his head further sideways. “There you go, love… it’s okay — I’ve got you.”

He feels himself quickly fading from consciousness, and in his dizziness he forgets himself, letting his arms drape limply around Astarion’s back to hold him close in a final embrace.

If this is the end, it may as well be, Church thinks blearily to himself. Astarion will survive. He will find Halsin and Thaniel. The Raven Queen will have what she wants — Church’s soul — and she’ll send the rest of them home.

They will lift the Shadow Curse at last. His friends will find a cure. The Absolutists will be defeated.

…without him.

These are all lovely dreams — such sweet dreams that he doesn’t mind sinking into as those dull lights from multitudes of memories slowly diffuse back into darkness.

It’s okay, he tells himself. You did your best.

“...hnngh… wha—? … Chu…rch…?”

Well, he thinks to himself ruefully. You tried to, anyway…

“…CHURCH!”

Start from the beginning!

[pathfinderunlocked]

Bongo Bongo - CR15 Outsider (Shadow Plane)

Shall I play with you, pa-rum pum pum pum?  You’re on my drum.

Artwork is official art from The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time, copyright Nintendo.

Translating Legend of Zelda bosses into Pathfinder is a challenge because they’re frequently massive, and nearly impervious until the player performs some specific action to make them vulnerable.  That’s a fun boss design as long as the action is obvious enough (like “kill the minions”), and as long as the boss gives the players time to breathe instead of being able to crit them to death in one round, but it’s pretty different from how Pathfinder combat usually works.

This particular one was also a challenge just because its name is so stupid that I almost didn’t post it.

The origin of the Bongo Bongo in Ocarina of Time was left mysterious, but considering its powers and the fact that it flees into the Shadow Temple when it breaks free, I feel like it makes perfect sense for it to be an outsider from the Shadow Plane (or the Realm of Twilight, in the Zelda cosmology).

It’s too big to move around much indoors without the use of Shadow Step and Shadow Walk, so players might be able to immobilize it with light magic.  I imagine that’s part of how Sheik sealed it at the bottom of the well in Ocarina of Time.

This creature has two Bongo Bongo Hands as minions, which are included below its main stat block.

In combat, its general strategy is to stay invisible and let the hands attack unless it has a safe opening, then heal the hands when they’re reduced to -1 HP.  If the main body attacks, it tries to do so by opening its eye while invisible, and attacking on the next round, closing its eye at the end of the round immediately after attacking.  Outside of combat, it uses its prying eyes spell to detect approaching enemies; the prying eyes are typically commanded to return and report if they see unknown or hostile creatures.

I previously posted the Stalblind, another Zelda boss.   I also want to give a shout out to The Legend of Zelda: An RPG to the Past for more Zelda creatures, races and items converted to Pathfinder 1e.

Bongo Bongo - CR 15

Emerging out of the darkness is the upper torso of a massive shadow creature with a single glowing orange eye where its head should be, shadowy flaps surrounding the eye like the leaves around a flower bud.  Its gargantuan arms end in severed wrist stumps, but a pair of floating hands fly around in front of it.  And then, as the hands begin to slam onto the ground as if playing the drums, the body becomes invisible.

XP 51,200 NE Colossal outsider (extraplanar) Init +8 Senses arcane sight, blind (while using closed eye), see invisibility, see in darkness; Perception +30

DEFENSE

AC 32, touch 7, flat-footed 14 (+4 Dex, +1 dodge, +25 natural, -8 size) hp 225 (18d10+126) Fort +17, Ref +12, Will +14 Defensive Abilities closed eye, open eye DR 20/— Immune sleep, transmutation effects Resist negative energy 15, sonic 15 Weaknesses injured hands

OFFENSE

Speed fly 20 ft. (poor) Melee slam +19 (4d6+14/19-20) Space 30 ft. Reach 10 ft. Spell-like Abilities (CL 15th; concentration +20)     Constant—arcane sight, freedom of movement, see invisibility     1/day—prying eyes     3/day—shadow walk, twin heal (see text)     At will—invisibility (self only), sending, shadow step

STATISTICS

Str 28, Dex 18, Con 23, Int 8, Wis 16, Cha 20 Base Atk +18; CMB +35; CMD 50 Feats Combat Casting, Dodge, Hover, Improved Critical (slam), Improved Initiative, Lightning Reflexes, Skill Focus (perception), Steadfast Mind, Toughness Skills Fly +7, Knowledge (arcana) +11, Knowledge (planes) +11, Perception +30, Perform (percussion) +12, Spellcraft +20, Stealth +9 (+17 in darkness); Racial Bonuses +8 Stealth in darkness Languages Necril SQ hands

SPECIAL ABILITIES

Closed Eye (Ex) A bongo bongo typically keeps its eye closed.  This leaves it blinded and prevents it from casting twin heal and shadow step, but increases its natural armor bonus from +10 to +25 and gives it DR 20/—.  This is already included in its statistics above.  It can close or open its eye once per round as a free action.

This does not affect the vision of a bongo bongo’s hands, each of which has a massive eye in its palm.

Open Eye (Ex) A bongo bongo can open its eye in order to allow it to see and cast twin heal and shadow step, but doing so reduces its natural armor bonus from +25 to +10 and removes its DR.  It can close or open its eye once per round as a free action.

Hands (Ex) A bongo bongo has two hands, which function as independent creatures.  A bongo bongo’s hands cannot move more than 60 feet from it (even unwillingly, including teleportation effects).  Their statistics are included below.  If a bongo bongo moves or teleports, its hands move automatically along with it; this movement provokes attacks of opportunity, but does not count against the bongo bongo hands’ movement for the next round.

If a bongo bongo’s hands are killed, destroyed, or lost while the bongo bongo lives, only a regenerate spell or equivalent effect can restore them (although this is unlikely to happen due to their Undying Shadow ability).

If a bongo bongo dies, its hands immediately die.

Injured Hands (Ex) If a bongo bongo’s hands are both reduced to -1 hit points, it its eye immediately opens (see the Open Eye ability), lowering its armor class and removing its DR.  It cannot close its eye (see the Closed Eye ability) until at least one of its hands has been healed to 0 hit points or more.

Twin Heal (Sp) As a standard action, as a spell-like ability, a bongo bongo can restore both of its hands to full hit points and remove a number of negative conditions from them, functioning as the heal spell except that it targets the bongo bongo’s hands and has unlimited range as long as the bongo bongo can see them.  This immediately ends any and all of the following adverse conditions affecting its hands: ability damage, blinded, confused, dazed, dazzled, deafened, diseased, exhausted, fatigued, feebleminded, insanity, nauseated, poisoned, sickened, and stunned.

Twin heal does not remove negative levels or restore permanently drained ability score points.

When a bongo bongo casts twin heal, it becomes visible if it’s currently invisible, and is dazed until the end of its next turn.

Treat this as a sixth-level conjuration (healing) spell.

Bongo Bongo Hand

NE Large outsider (extraplanar) Init +7 Senses see in darkness; Perception +3

DEFENSE

AC 24, touch 16, flat-footed 17 (+7 Dex, +8 natural, -1 size) hp 63 (18d10-36) Fort +4, Ref +16, Will +9 Resist negative energy 10, sonic 10 Immune mind-affecting, sleep, transmutation effects Defensive Abilities undying shadow

OFFENSE

Speed fly 40 ft. (perfect) Melee slam +26 (2d6+14 plus grab) Space 10 ft. Reach 5 ft. Special Attacks clap, drum, sacrificial recovery

STATISTICS

Str 28, Dex 24, Con 7, Int —, Wis 10, Cha 4 Base Atk +18; CMB +28 (+32 grapple); CMD 45 Skills Fly +11 Languages none (cannot speak) SQ hands

SPECIAL ABILITIES

Clap (Ex) A bongo bongo hand can ready an action to make a slam attack against the same target as another bongo bongo hand, attacking it with a clapping motion.  When a pair of bongo bongo hands attack in this way, they lose their grab ability, but can use their Drum ability even if there is no surface within 10 feet (effectively each hand using the other as a surface).

Drum (Ex) When a bongo bongo makes a slam attack against a creature within 10 feet of the ground, a wall, a ceiling, or another surface, it can strike that surface like a drum as part of the attack, causing a shockwave.  All creatures within 30 feet of the struck surface point, except for bongo bongos and bongo bongo hands, take 1d8 sonic damage, must succeed on a DC 23 Fortitude save or be staggered for 1 round, and fall out of the air if they are flying unless they succeed on a DC 25 Fly check.  The save DC is Strength-based and includes a -5 penalty.

Hands (Ex) A bongo bongo hand functions as an independent creature, despite being a body part of a bongo bongo.  A bongo bongo hand cannot move more than 60 feet from the bongo bongo (even unwillingly, including teleportation effects).  If the bongo bongo moves or teleports, a bongo bongo hand moves automatically along with it; this movement provokes attacks of opportunity, but does not count against the bongo bongo hands’ movement for the next round.

If a bongo bongo’s hands are killed, destroyed, or lost, only a regenerate spell or equivalent effect can restore them (although this is unlikely to happen due to their Undying Shadow ability).

If a bongo bongo dies, its hands immediately die.

Sacrificial Recovery (Su) As a full-round action, a bongo bongo hand can reduce itself to -1 hit points in order to remove negative effects from the bongo bongo, functioning as either break enchantment or dispel magic with a caster level of 20.

Undying Shadow (Ex) A bongo bongo hand cannot be killed while the bongo bongo lives.  Its hit points cannot go lower than -1, and it automatically stabilizes.

[pandoras-proxy]

My Saturday group took a jaunt through the Shadow Plane.

[himb0i]

Don’t disturb the water- There is a reason it is so still.

a very, very hasty concept for a campaign-specific shadow plane

[ellekhen]

Hand, Hearth, and Home

Chapter 58 - Flesh and Bone

Chapter Summary: Church and Astarion begin to make their way through the Shadowfell in search of Halsin and Thaniel.

Pairing(s): Astarion x Male Tav (Main); Past OC x Male Tav Rating: Explicit Length: 301K+ words; Chapters 58/?? (Master Post)

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Excerpt below:

Church huffs a laugh, opening his mouth to reply, but a surprised, strangled grunt comes out instead. 

“What?” Astarion blinks at him. 

“Um,” Church blanches, his eyes wide and fearful as he continues through their minds alone. “Don’t turn around.”

Astarion feels his hair stand on end as he keeps his eyes fixed upon Church’s face. 

“Can I move?” he thinks back uneasily. Church nods.

“Yes,” he whispers back. “Quietly. Now!”

Astarion scrambles stealthily to the tiefling’s side, and in moments Church has crowded him into a crevice of a rock formation. The tiefling’s breath is shallow and fast, his eyes still wide as he gazes over his shoulder. 

“What the hells is it?” Astarion hisses, but Church shushes him. It doesn’t stop the elf from getting an eyeful over the shorter tiefling’s shoulder. 

Somewhere in the distance across the inky river — and yet not distant enough — a massive, dark humanoid shape lumbers slowly across the bleak landscape. By Astarion’s estimate, it’s even taller than the Raven Queen and just as disquieting. At least this figure doesn’t sport wings. Its colorless eyes are glowing and watchful as it scans the horizon unhurriedly, shaking the ground beneath its feet with each step. As Astarion watches, he realizes that what he thought was smoke trailing off of its body are actually flocks of birds or… whatever the hells lives here. He can only hope that they’re something as normal as ravens, but in a twisted place like this, who knows?

“Nightwalker,” Church breathes, watching over his shoulder as well. “And its court of bodaks.”

“Those are certainly words…”

“It’s a big nightshade,” Church explains. 

“Intelligent?”

“Very,” Church shudders. “Something we don’t want to cross, especially with those things around it. Those are all bodaks — deformed, undead husks that can kill us with a look.”

Astarion watches the haunting procession pass in horrified fascination. He tightens his hold around Church’s waist, admittedly comforted by his warmth and rapid heartbeat.

“Do you suppose that ugly bastard might’ve gotten Halsin?” Astarion asks curiously. 

Church’s fingers tighten against his chest. “I hope not,” he mutters grimly. “But it’s hard to stay optimistic in this place.”

They continue to hide there, watching with bated breath as the hellish procession moves into the distance, fading into fog. 

Church’s bright eyes look slowly up to meet Astarion’s, soft and regretful. 

“Think we’re good?” Church whispers. 

“You’re asking me?” Astarion sputters incredulously, and Church huffs a quiet laugh. 

“True. I suppose we’ve wasted enough time as it is.”

Astarion already misses the tiefling as he steps away from him. 

Normally Astarion’s plan would be to stick to the shadows, but in this plane, everywhere is shadow. The deeper they go, the more lively this dead world becomes. Things are moving — scuttling out of the corner of their eyes. 

Deeper shadows. 

Watchful shadows. 

Astarion feels sick to his stomach. The last time he felt so relentlessly watched was within the Szarr Palace. Cazador had his spies not just among the servants, but also the bats, the rats… hells, probably even in the walls, paintings, and statues themselves. 

Astarion could never stop performing his little puppet show for him. The spawn would never give him the satisfaction. 

Oh don’t fool yourself, Astarion scoffs to himself. Cazador will catch up to you soon enough. And what he has done to you in the past will pale in comparison to what punishment he’ll wreak upon your next. He’ll have Godey break your arms and legs. You won’t walk for months. You’ll…

Astarion shakes his head roughly. Now’s not the time for those thoughts…

…but he can almost feel the pain. And then the cold. And then the loneliness. Longing even for the miserable company of his siblings, the disgusting touch of a stranger… hells, even that of his master. Anything to take him away from this darkness…

“Hm?” Church glances at him over his shoulder. 

“What?” Astarion snaps out of his thoughts.

“I missed what you said.”

Astarion stares back at the tiefling. “I didn’t say a thing.”

Church gulps, luminous eyes darting around as he steps closer to Astarion, his hands filling with magic and sparking into twin flames as Church scans the dreary, but otherwise unremarkable road around them.

“We’re being hunted,” Church mutters into his mind. 

Start from the beginning!

[ellekhen]

Hand, Hearth, and Home

Chapter 61 - Take Flight

Chapter Summary: After a terrifying brush with death, Church and Astarion escape to find Halsin and Thaniel. The Raven Queen has a proposal.

Pairing(s): Astarion x Male Tav (Main); Past OC x Male Tav Rating: Explicit Length: 317K+ words; Chapters 61/?? (Master Post)

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Excerpt below:

“No — no! You can’t die — wake up, damn you!”

The tiefling inhales sharply, his eyes flying open to ogle at the anguished face hovering above him.

“Oh—!” Astarion gasps, falling back upon his heels in a daze. 

He looks normal. His eyes are no longer sunken, his cheeks are fuller, and his ears are tinged with pink from drinking the same blood that has smeared and trickled down all over his mouth, chin, and throat. He wears his black padded armor once more — the raggedy illusion of a year of torture gone. 

Aside from being encrusted with the dirt of the Shadowfell, the elf’s fingers are still perfectly manicured — and whole.

“Hello, you,” Church rasps. “You alright?”

“Am I—? AM I ‘ALRIGHT?’” Astarion snarls. He gathers the tiefling up into his arms, shaking him. 

“Fuck you!” the elf bellows. “I hate you! I hate everything about you!”

And yet he buries his fingers into the tiefling’s hair, yanking him into a desperate, clumsy kiss that still tastes of Church’s blood. He then pulls the dazed tiefling away from him, eyes furious. 

“Why did you do that?” Astarion exclaims hysterically. “Why the hells would you let me do that to you?”

Church sighs an exhausted laugh, leaning heavily into his touch.

“You know why,” he says softly.

And by the terrified, confused look upon Astarion’s face, the tiefling knows he truly does.

—

It takes some time for Church to get his bearings fully. By then Astarion calms down somewhat, although his expression is still resentful as he surveys the tiefling for further signs of injury.

“You… you’re all healed,” Church studies Astarion with relief. “Thank the gods.”

“No thanks to the gods, I’d say,” Astarion retorts. “None of that… none of that was real, after all. Well. Except…”

He grimaces, yanking Church towards him to examine the intact, unbruised skin and tendon of his neck. The only scarring left is that of the shadow gate’s corruption.

“...except…?” Church prompts him.

“Well,” Astarion clears his throat. “I drained you dry. I… I was so hungry — I thought I was starved, but I didn’t—!”

“I know, love. It’s alright,” Church pulls away his anxious hand and kisses it, reveling in how full and soft the slender fingers feel compared to the skeletal ones that had gripped his throat. “I’m just glad it worked.”

“What? Making me kill you?” Astarion sputters.

“Yes, well,” Church winces. “It wasn’t supposed to go that far. I just thought a taste of breaking Cazador’s commandments would be enough to snap you out of it. Or at the very least you’d recognize my flavor, or something…”

Astrion scoffs. “You saw what I was. I was the furthest thing from reasonable. You should’ve just… ugh…”

Church watches as the vampire spawn covers his mouth, looking vaguely nauseated.

“Cazador used his magic to compel you,” Church explains, clutching Astarion’s hand. “Whether it’s through our tadpoles or the Weave… I never want to do that to you. I never want to take that control from you. And I thought of an alternative, so… I risked it.” 

He shrugs, smiling ruefully to himself. “And it worked, didn’t it?”

Astarion says nothing to that, refusing to meet Church’s eyes. 

“That said, how am I not dead?” Church asks, making a valiant attempt to stand.

“I assumed Tavi somehow kept you alive once again,” Astarion says blandly, hauling him to his feet.

Church shakes his head. “I don’t think he can even reach us on this plane. Maybe it was part of the illusion?”

“More Raven Queen mind-fuckery, no doubt,” Astarion mutters. 

“Yes, of course. She likes making mortals face their fears.” Church looks up, sighing. He knows very well that she’s listening. 

“I’m not mortal, and I don’t need to face my fears,” Astarion snips. “I hate this wretched place. How the hells do we get out?”

“We still need to find Halsin,” Church reminds him.

“Forget it! The druid is lost — we’ll never find someone in this bloody maze!” Astarion exclaims.

Church looks steadily at him, drinking in the sight of him healthy and whole. “I found you.”

Astarion fumes.

“Fine!” he grumbles. “Then what do we do?”

“Well… we seem to be missing an exit from this place,” Church observes. “Maybe if we focus ourselves again on our intentions…” 

He runs his fingers absently over his craggy, scarred face as he scans the round, doorless room. It appears that as soon as he had stumbled upon the tomb and the rest of the illusion, the black glass of the gallery walls sealed behind him, trapping them inside. 

Astarion lets out a short, harsh laugh. “I just killed you and you want me to focus,” he sneers.

“I… I know.” Church wraps his arms around the elf, squeezing him as he takes in a shuddering breath. “Astarion.”

It’s his name — a simple thing that is so beautiful on its own. But for Church, it’s a prayer upon his lips, and he hears the elf shiver when he says it. 

“I don’t want your pity,” Astarion says hollowly. “It’s bad enough knowing that you saw me in that pathetic state…”

But he doesn’t push the tiefling away. He relaxes as much as he can into his warm embrace.

“Good gods, get ahold of yourself,” he chides him half-heartedly. 

“Hells, Astarion… when I saw you there…” Church chokes, unable to shake the image of the nearly-skeletal spawn — starved, filthy, and feral — sealed inside of that crypt. “I thought you were dead too.”

“Well I certainly wished I was… for months.” Astarion scowls. “I never told you about that little stint in the darkness, did I?”

“I saw glimpses of that memory,” Church reminds him. He holds Astarion away, searching his eyes. “I want to know the story — when you’re ready,” he adds hurriedly as his expression turns dark. “I want to know exactly what I’ll be punishing Cazador for when we destroy him once and for all.”

A smile twitches to Astarion’s lips. “Such a sweet-talker. If only the Raven Queen wanted to take that memory of mine.” He hesitates. “Perhaps, if we must focus, I could tell you a bit more context. At the very least I will get it out of my damned head.”

Church smiles encouragingly at him. “It might help us get out of this room too,” he suggests, gesturing at the doorless walls. 

Astarion nods, eyes troubled as he finds his words. “Alright, well… once, in the first decade of my slavery… I found a… darling boy.”

As he speaks, whether through their tadpole connection or some other trick of the fortress, Church finds himself sinking into Astarion’s mind. Somehow, he tastes cheap wine. He smells the wet leather of muddy boots sitting in the corner. But closer than that, he smells… what is that? A bit of tuberose? Over-brewed coffee?

…and he sees soft, voluminous coils of black hair over a bright smile. Warm, brown skin illuminated with traces of gold in the semi-darkness. He was the quietest bard the vampire spawn had ever met. He said that he had always been on the road, but his career was only getting started.

He was a model target. He smiled too easily. Laughed too readily. He was too eager to bring Astarion to bed but was gentle. Generous. He asked him about his hopes and dreams. He told him he had a musician’s fingers, all the while interweaving them with his own.

He said he wanted to write a song about Astarion.

It was wonderful.

It was pathetic.

Astarion’s voice shakes. “I couldn’t bear to bring him back to him. So… I ran. Instead of hurting that sweet man.”

The memory fades from Church’s mind, and he feels Astarion’s hand back in his as they stand together in their prison. The elf clears his throat and continues. 

“After Cazador caught me… the bastard sealed me starving inside a dusty tomb all on my own for an entire year — a year of silence. Months of scratching my hands raw trying to carve my way out.”

He glances down at his flexing fingers, as if to reassure himself it was only a nightmare. 

“...and then even more months of not moving at all. Months wishing only for death. Complete solitude for the crime of being disobedient. Sealed. Buried alive. Voiceless. I had no way to count the days, so I… I lost track of time. I thought it might be forever. 

“Then when he released me, I vowed never to disobey again,” he finishes, face hardening. “I was the dutiful spawn, bringing back souls nearly every night for his insatiable appetite of sadism, lust, and blood.”

Church listens and nods along throughout his story. When he looks back up at Astarion, there are tears in his blazing, smoking eyes. 

“I will destroy him for what he did to you,” Church vows. “I’ll help you get your revenge. Whatever it takes. We won’t just kill him. We’ll make him suffer tenfold for what he did to you.”

“I believe you, darling,” Astarion huffs a laugh. “But he’s in Baldur’s Gate, and we are here now. Let’s get your druid and plot our bloody revenge later, yes?” 

He pauses to ponder to himself for a beat.

“Does that mean you’ll try to get out of this place alive after all?” Astarion asks pointedly. “No grand gestures of self-sacrifice this time?”

Church nods, rubbing at his smoking eyes. “As I said… whatever it takes.”

Astarion returns his tight smile. “Wonderful. Oh, look at that — there’s the door,” he says blandly.

Indeed, a door formed out of knotted, golden wood seems to have appeared out of the corner of their eyes, nestled into the obsidian walls as if it had been there the whole time. Greenery coils out from its seams, moss spreading like a welcome mat to wherever this hellish place hopes to take them next.

“Alright, then,” Astarion sighs. “Shall we, darling?”

He flourishes out his hand and Church gratefully takes it. He bitterly wonders if the Raven Queen has been getting some amusement out of watching their ordeal from her omnipresent throne.

He pushes the thought out of his head as he reaches towards the door, pushing it open with a resonant creak. Unsurprisingly, they find another infinite hallway on the other side.

“So how does this work?” Astarion prompts the frowning tiefling. “Shall we meditate upon that enormous druid of yours and his… friend?”

“Thaniel,” Church reminds him. “Who I’ve never even met and know nothing about, so how the hells am I supposed to…?”

The smell of lavender.

Church turns to Astarion. “Humor me, love?”

“What?”

“Close your eyes?” Church asks him nervously. “Keep tight hold of my hand, and I’ll do the same. I promise. But we’ll keep walking, alright?”

“Gods, this place is a hellhole of insanity. But we may as well, I suppose,” Astarion grumbles, interlocking his fingers with the tiefling’s. “Just… don’t let go this time, alright?”

Church keeps his promise. He holds tight to Astarion as he leads them onward along the echoing hallway. The two close their eyes and walk carefully — and then purposefully — forward. Surprisingly, even with the intensity of their stride, they don’t run into any walls.

The shadows part willingly for them, their hunger sated. 

…for now. 

Start from the beginning!

[pathfinderunlocked]

Noble of Ink - CR 1/3 Outsider (Shadow Plane)

How’s the view up there, from your ebony tower?

Nobles of Ink are outsiders, native to the Shadow Plane.  While much of the Shadow Plane is full of dangerous undead, much more of it is a twisted mirror of the material plane, along with twisted mirrors of humanoid societies, cities, governments, and castles.

It bothers me, therefore, that there are so few humanoid-adjacent creatures native to the Shadow Plane.  Not every single settlement in the world can be run by a fetchling or vampire.

Nobles of Ink govern some of these settlements, as a rare species that established themselves as an elite class of rulers long ago.  They have no special abilities that allow them to keep their positions by force; instead, they seem to have an incredible innate adeptness at clever political maneuvering.  They ensure that those under their rule are happy and well-protected.

Nobles of Ink don’t procreate in a traditional way.  Instead, they carefully choose someone to appoint as their successor to govern their domain, and transform that person irreversibly into a Noble of Ink.  A Noble of Ink is considered either an augmented humanoid or augmented outsider, depending on what the base creature was.

The basic Noble of Ink is below, but it wouldn’t be uncommon to find one with class levels.

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Noble of Ink - CR 1/3

Standing in the parlor is what appears to be a woman made entirely out of inky black shadows, wearing a fine red dress of the latest fashion.  It’s impossible to make out any of her features; her face is like looking at a black silhouette.

XP 135 LN Medium outsider (augmented humanoid or outsider) Init -1 Senses darkvision 60 ft.; Perception +3

DEFENSE

AC 9, touch 9, flat-footed 9 (-1 Dex) hp 7 (2d10-4) Fort +1, Ref -1, Will +6 Defensive Abilities reverting form

OFFENSE

Speed 30 ft. Melee unarmed strike -1 (1d3-3 nonlethal)

STATISTICS

Str 5, Dex 8, Con 7, Int 14, Wis 16, Cha 14 Base Atk +2; CMB -1; CMD 8 Feats Skill Focus (Diplomacy) Skills Bluff +11, Diplomacy +14, Knowledge (history, local, nobility, planes) +7, Sense Motive +12, Stealth +3; Racial Bonuses +4 Bluff, +4 Diplomacy, +4 Sense Motive Languages Common, Infernal, Necril Gear fancy clothes and jewelry worth 600 gp

SPECIAL ABILITIES

Reverting Form (Ex) Any non-magical physical effect applied to a noble of ink which has a Fortitude save ends after 1d4 rounds, even if it would normally be permanent or instantaneous.  If a magical physical effect which has a Fortitude save is applied to a noble of ink, the noble of ink receives a new Fortitude save every 1d4 rounds (in addition to any save that the effect might normally allow) to end it early, even if the effect would normally be permanent or instantaneous.  This does not apply to damage.

Shadow Blend (Su) In any illumination other than bright light, a noble of ink blends into the shadows, giving it concealment (20% miss chance).  A noble of ink can suspend or resume this ability as a free action.

Create Noble of Ink (Su) By performing a ritual which requires spending 1000 gp of fine ink, a noble of ink can undergo a week-long process to turn a willing creature into another noble of ink, who must be a humanoid or native outsider.  The noble of ink and the other creature must remain in physical contact for the entire week.  At the end of the process, the creature is transformed into a noble of ink, but keeps its original ability scores, class levels, skill ranks, and feats.

A noble of ink has Diplomacy, Knowledge (history), Knowledge (local), and Knowledge (nobility) as the four bonus class skills it gains from being an outsider.  Its base saving throws are +3 Fortitude, +0 Reflex, +3 Will.

[pathfinderunlocked]

Shadowy Gravekeeper - CR6 Wizard

A mystical grave keeper on the Shadow Plane.

In the Shadow Plane, graveyards are important.  The dead need to be carefully managed, because it takes very little for them to rise again.  But their bodies can’t simply be burned or destroyed, because that doesn’t stop them from rising as ghosts or other types of incorporeal undead.  Instead, they need to be interred in consecrated ground.

The gravekeepers responsible for tending to this consecrated ground are also responsible for protecting it.  This NPC is one example of such a gravekeeper.

This creature uses a wizard archetype that is vastly weaker than a normal wizard - basically just an excuse for me to give it only a tiny handful of spells.  Its challenge rating is reduced by 3 by its lack of combat abilities.

The Shadowy Gravekeeper uses its Prying Eyes spell to watch creatures from a distance before approaching them.

If one of your PCs gets killed by this monster, maybe they can come back as a Gravebound.

Shadowy Gravekeeper - CR 6

A middle-aged woman in a hooded black cloak and rough-stitched black clothing, the shoulders of her cloak covered in some kind of long dark feather, approaches you.  She's carrying a staff in one hand which looks distinctly magical, with a translucent crystal on its top, and with twisting shadows spinning around it.  Her skin is a monotone gray, and her eyes are solid black, with no whites or irises.  Other than her coloration, she appears human, though her long black hair and hooded cloak could be hiding any number of inhuman features.

XP 2,400 Fetchling unique wizard 10 LN Medium outsider (native) Init +5 Senses darkvision 60 ft., low-light vision; Perception +9

DEFENSE

AC 15, touch 11, flat-footed 14 (+1 Dex, +4 mage armor) hp 62 (10d6+20) Fort +5, Ref +4, Will +6 Defensive Abilities shadow blending Resist cold 5, elec 5

OFFENSE

Speed 30 ft. Melee +1 alchemical silver quarterstaff +7 (1d6) Special Attacks augment (7/day), bury alive, perfection of self (10/day) Wizard Spells Prepared (CL 10th; concentration +14)     5th—prying eyes (2)     4th—heightened intensified create pit (3) (5d6, DC 20), bestow curse (touch +6, DC 18)     3rd—intensified create pit (3) (5d6, DC 18), fly     2nd—create pit (5) (3d6, DC 18)     1st—alarm, detect undead (3), mage armor (already cast)     0 (at will)—dancing lights, detect magic, open/close, read magic

Spell-like Abilities (CL 10th; concentration +9)     1/day—alter self (humanoid only), shadow walk (self only)

STATISTICS

Str 12, Dex 13, Con 15, Int 18, Wis 8, Cha 9 Base Atk +5; CMB +5; CMD 16 Feats Combat Casting, Greater Spell Focus (conjuration), Heighten Spell, Intensified Spell, Improved Initiative, Scribe Scroll, Spell Focus (conjuration) Skills Craft (stonemasonry) +11, Fly +14, Knowledge (arcana, geography, history, religion) +16, Knowledge (planes) +19, Perception +9, Survival +4, Spellcraft +12, Stealth +3; Racial Bonuses +2 Knowledge (planes), +2 Stealth Languages Aklo, Common, Draconic, Ignan, Terran SQ arcane bond (staff), arcane discoveries (beyond morality), arcane school (transmutation) Combat Gear potion of cure moderate wounds x4, scroll of remove curse, +1 alchemical silver quarterstaff (arcane bonded item), spell component pouch, spellbook (listed spells), writing equipment, miniature shovels worth 300 gp, 60 gp

SPECIAL ABILITIES

Augment (Sp) As a standard action, 7 times per day, the shadowy gravekeeper can touch a creature and grant it either a +4 enhancement bonus to a single ability score of its choice or a +3 bonus to natural armor that stacks with any natural armor the creature might possess.  This augmentation lasts 5 rounds.

Perfection of Self (Su) As a swift action, 10 times per day, a shadowy gravekeeper can grant itself a +5 enhancement bonus to a single ability score for one round.

Reduced Spells A shadowy gravekeeper learns far fewer spells than a typical wizard.  It learns all cantrips as normal, but only learns three 1st-level spells, and one spell of each other spell level it can cast.  Its 2nd-level spell must be Create Pit.

Beyond Morality (Su) A shadowy gravekeeper can choose to be treated as either good or evil, whichever would be more beneficial, by spells with effects that vary based on alignment.

Shadow Blending (Ex) Attacks against a shadowy gravekeeper in dim light have a 50% miss chance instead of the normal 20% miss chance. This ability does not grant total concealment; it just increases the miss chance.

Bury Alive (Su) When a shadowy gravekeeper casts Create Pit in an area of dirt, the spell becomes dismissable.  When a shadowy gravekeeper dismisses Create Pit, or when the duration of the spell ends, creatures within the pit are not necessarily pushed up out of the pit as normal; instead, each creature in the pit receives a Reflex save with the same DC as the spell.  A creature that succeeds on this Reflex save is pushed up out of the pit as normal.  A creature that fails on this Reflex save is instead buried in the pit as it fills with earth around them.

Buried creatures are pinned, but they can reduce their condition to grappled with a successful DC 15 Strength check as a standard action.  They take 1d6 points of nonlethal damage each minute, and begin to suffocate after 10 minutes.  Creatures outside of the pit can dig out the buried creatures.  Each 5-foot cube of dirt weighs 1,000 pounds; a creature can move 5 times its maximum load worth of dirt per minute, or 10 times her maximum load if it has a shovel.

Once all squares of dirt above a creature’s head have been removed, the creature can breathe, and can escape with a DC 15 Strength or Escape Artist check.  A standing Medium creature typically has its head buried 5 feet above the bottom of the pit. For a Small creature, this is decreased to roughly 3 feet.  If the creature was prone when it was buried, its head is buried under the full depth of the pit.