makinglies | The Shadowfell

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faerun

The Shadowfell

Shadowfell

During the early, blue dawn of the morning, a hole opens in the Material Plane. The energy hums no differently than it had in the facility in Duplicity that had brought them here in the first place. This time, however, just before breaching the glowing white surface of light, a chill greets those who pass through. One, two, three, four shadows step through the light before it closes with barely a pop of energy beside the austere white marble of the recently recast temple.

Waiting on the other side of the gate is a land of barren monochrome. Plants like ash, rivers with the consistency of blood, and pools of thick, dripping ichor decorate a land of black and grey stone that connects to an equally grey sky. The life, like the color, seems gone from the land, and where there should have been unearthly silence, there were low murmurs and ominous creaks and noises that didn't quite make sense at the periphery of everything.

The landscape, at least, could not be called flat. Great, black mountains broke the dim, grey sky like blotches of ink on canvas. Even the group of armed visitors stood now upon a tall, but sloping hill marked with a single, gnarled tree. At the foot of the hill, ahead of the group, sat the hazy, black scar of what was once a city.

Spires of buildings stood as broken bones in the place Melvaunt had as its mirror, with the shattered docks even dipping into a charcoal ocean beyond it. Maléfell, once a town inhabited and infested in equal measure with ghosts, gasts, dopplegangers, and malice, now festers with a malevolent haze that visibly shrouds the city. At its edges, just outside the haze, is a pulsating mass. It's upon closer inspection that the mass gains definition: bodies. Undead. Skeletons. Ghosts haunting black ooze and rotted corpses that press at the Darkland's edges, daring to neither venture in nor go too far from their home.

Hundreds of the displaced mill about, gorging on more of the black ichor that fills the waterways into the city. Here they wait, trapped, the sounds of them muffled and nearly silent in the blanketing nothing of the Plane around them.

♥

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Harder, but not impossible, and he knows there are gods much less kind than the Raven Queen, ones that would use them like the Dread Powers might use their avatars. But even then, Chris had been able to have an actual conversation with Bane. More Elias than Ceaseless Watcher, or some unholy combination of the two wrapped up into one.

It's another minute before he feels settled enough to pull back. He doesn't know what he wants his expression to be right now. Grinning or frowning. Jon pulls back enough that he can press his forehead to Chris' comfortably. "And she'll listen to you. 'Omen Caller.' She recognized you as her own. You are hers. It's like we said. Branching from what was, an alternate universe where you went to Duplicity. You're you, and you're him. That's... are you all right?"

Jon shifts so that he can look down between them. There's still blood on Chris's shirt... and now on the Archivist's, but he's not making pained sounds for the hug. He... probably should have been more careful about that.

He's more than happy to press his forehead to Jon's. There's comfort in that for them both, and a moment he takes to center himself. Meeting the Raven Queen might not have been his first time in the presence of a god, but it shook something in him he was still parsing.

He shrugs lightly at the question. "What's left of the wound is a mess of mostly-healed flesh, it will be better with sleep and the Weave's healing effect. For the rest...I think I'll just need to reflect on it a bit, to take it all in. And yet...it's a relief. I think I'm...happy? To hear it. To know it. Whether I'm him or not, I'm enough so that she still accepts me. That's enough...and means I can keep taking care of us how I can. If she'd not...I suppose my faith wouldn't have gone anywhere...but I'd be a lot more useless to you all and I don't think I would have taken that well." He's still recovering from accepting he couldn't take care of them how he'd promised for years; if he suddenly wasn't a cleric on top of that, it would have been a crushing blow.

He kisses Jon's cheek and brings a hand up to rest on his arm. At least the blood on them was mostly dry now. "How about you?" He smiles. "Are you excited to not only have the possibility, but the explicit support to be a godly archivist? She wants to hear your stories."

"You're the only person who knows this world, Chris. You wouldn't be 'useless' with or without your magic." But Jon can well understand the feeling behind it, the sense of helplessness it would bring. He hadn't been terribly worried about a rejection, though. The Raven Queen had sent Topher with magic vials. She'd proved she was listening from the moment they'd returned here. And they're... unique. She seems to enjoy 'collecting' unique things. For all that the Archivist believes Chris is the Chris Sonom who lived his life up until he'd diverged and had his consciousness dragged to Duplicity, he's completely removed from that younger self now. Older, wiser... decidedly more broken.

"I- Yes?" He pulls back more so that he can show Chris the tape recorder. "She's put some sort of magic into it. I won't need batteries anymore. It- I mean, I expected we could have worked with one of your 'artificers' for the same effect, but it's extraordinary." It's still collecting for some sort of greater power, though. "I'll have plenty to play for her at the last, I suppose. And more to collect when we're in the Shadowfell more permanently.

"Unpleasant place though it might be, it was fascinating. I... for some reason, I had the impression the people in the city there would be more like... shades? Wisps? At least the ones that weren't like Topher. Some of their last moments came through, though." He gestures with the tape recorder. "The darkness just suddenly existing... they never would have had any warning it was coming."

He resists the urge to point out there's far worse to deal with than just not knowing their way around; they'd made it years in a world none of them knew, and they had practice at that now. Still, that's not Jon's point, and he's not in a mood to throw his kindness back at his feet.

As Jon talks, both about his interest in the mechanics of his tape recorder's power and the Shadowfell, Chris can't help the fond smile growing on his face...at least until he mentions the people in the Shadowfell having no warning. He hadn't thought about that.

From what he knew, it wasn't much loss...but there had to be others in Malefell like Topher who were more irreverent and annoying than sadistic and evil like Sumner. Those people probably didn't deserve such an end.

"None of us even thought about what our actions on the Material Plane might do to the Shadowfell...or the Faewild, I imagine. I...don't know if we would have changed them, even had we thought about it. I can't say I feel too guilty...but I'm glad you were able to capture some of them.

"Most of the Shadowfell is as you imagine; it's only in the major cities you find dark mirrors, and there's the Shadar-kai of the Raven Queen who do her bidding and live in her castles. Otherwise, it's got creatures twisted by the shadowstuff there."

Jon shakes his head slightly. "Have you seen the 'mirrors' in the Faewild like you have in the Shadowfell? That would be a fascinating comparison to make. Especially if the there's something apart from... 'shadowstuff.' 'Faestuff?' Is that actually what it's called?"

He's not sure if it's Chris' general ignorance or if there's some ridiculous terminology going on. There's a part of him that can recognize what Chris is saying in Common if he's really paying attention, but that's a 'big' word that he's still relying on the lingering effects from Duplicity to comprehend.

"Regardless, I'm... I am happy for you, Chris. For us. It's one problem sorted." More or less. His fingers find the cleric's cheek. "I, uh... I just sort of... Sorry about... losing it. That was a lot. In... a good way? Seeing all three of you was also very impressive."

He laughs but puts a hand up in his own defense. "That's what it's called! But you'll forgive me if I'm not jumping to take us to the Fae. At least not until you're all in the weave and can defend yourselves magically." Blades only did so much with faefolk...and considering Amelia's history with the fae in Duplicity, he can't say he's overly confident in relying on her there just yet.

His hand comes up to press over Jon's. "I accept your apology, even if it's not needed...if you all didn't have some sort of reaction to being in a god's presence, I'd be far more worried. I'm...glad it was a good thing, even if it was overwhelming."

He takes Jon's hand and turns it to kiss his palm. When he leans closer, he lowers his voice and raises a brow. "I've seen you lose it...I know you've broken before and might again...but I'm still here and will still be here. You're strong, and I'm always happy to help you put the pieces back together, even when you feel a few of them might be lost for good. I still selfishly want all of you. Now...do you want to go put that new quick-study to work or do you have more notes to take?"

It's probably sensible they don't go planeswalking without dealing with the pressing problem of their continued existence as people here. There's still some concern in Jon for Wolfe's use of magic, but he hadn't seemed affected, really. Certainly not to any great degree. And his own use of his abilities doesn't seem to be affecting him. Maybe because it's still feeding the Eye? So, it feeds him?

"I don't feel terribly strong tripping over my own feet back there, but... as you say." Jon leans up for a kiss before pulling away to wipe at his eyes and resettle his glasses. His attention shifts to the lake, then to the temple. "Amelia's... taken it all poorly." He sighs. "Do you think she needs a bit more time with Wolfe? I don't- Has she always been like this since you knew her? I thought she had a stronger constitution, really. She always seemed so... hard in the city."

Edited 2025-12-07 04:43 (UTC)

Chris starts to head to the temple, but pauses at the door to think on the question posed to him.

"I feel it's likely safe enough, if they're talking more deeply, they'll have gone to a corner or a room for it. As for the rest...yes and no? She's never been as hard as she seems. That's the Shadow Mistress, a mask she's cultivated for over a decade. Her comfort zone, no different than mine and being a lord. Duplicity gave her the chance to be something else, and she found out she could be softer than she ever knew, feel more than she let herself...but now, I think finding out that mask isn't what she thought it was has taken her comfort from her. It's left her feeling she's lost a sense she relied on. There's bound to be a lot that shakes us the next few weeks, she just needs time to realize she's still her and only her -for good or not- and she'll have to learn to live with whatever that means to her. She'll find her footing. Hopefully, before she's forced to or she'll just crumble again later.

It's something like what Wolfe had said. Jon's less charitable than them, and he knows it. Amelia's anxieties are just... a lot to deal with on top of his own, and that's not really her fault when she can't help thinking it. But, god, he wishes she'd figure herself out sooner rather than later.

Then again, this might be moot once he loses his connection to the Eye and the abilities that come with it. That's not an especially comforting thought, but he supposes he should consider that one small boon. He won't have so many different minds pressing at his own. Comforting... and paranoia-inducing at the same time.

"I'll try to be patient with her. She just... tests me." Jon joins Chris, waiting for the other man to open the door before heading in. Thankfully, there's no sense of fear, just-

Jon abruptly turns on his heel, shoving Chris back out if the cleric has started to enter, and all but slamming the door shut in the hopes it might be heard. "They, er... need more time. Would you like to go for a walk? A longish walk." Covered in dried blood.

"I know, what patience you can spare is all I hope for." Hopefully, time and forced proximity would smooth their edges down on each other eventually. In the meantime, they'd all just have to manage how they could with each other as they learned and relearned.

He's very much about to step in behind Jon when he's suddenly ushered backwards down the steps with fluster in Jon's expression. Why?
Oh.

Chris scoffs his amusement. "Oh, do they? Very well, then, but if I start bleeding again, remind me to wipe it on them."

He had made four separate rooms that served both as bedrooms and activity rooms of a sort that he felt they could have slunk into, but if Jon said out, out it would be. He starts them towards the copse of trees by the river's mouth.

"Come on, I'll point out what plants I know and if they're used for anything, so you can take your mind off it." On that thought, however... "Now that you've been blessed with quick learning, what other languages do you want to know?"

Jon follows along, brushing a hand through his hair as he pockets his tape recorder. "We've all been blessed," he points out as a reminder. "I... don't know what languages might be best, though. I assume each of the races have some sort of language? Elven? Dwarven?" There's a long pause. "Tiefling...ese?" That sounds stupid, and he winces slightly at himself.

"What would you recommend? I'm in a position where I don't know what I don't know. If there are languages that aren't terribly common, those might be handy if we want to explore and find stories from people who don't typically have theirs told. Or from people long dead. Oh... you've told me ghosts exist here, right? I suppose you'd need to have a language in common to speak with them, as well. Is there a language specific to the Shadowfell or these... Faewilds of yours? Something like Common for them."

That's true...he could also learn other languages...maybe even Jon and Wolfe's? In case they ever want to hear their own tongues again. Something to broach later, once they've learned Common, it would be an easier exchange that way.

At least, for now, he doesn't laugh at Jon's 'tiefling-ese' comment, even if it puts a bubble of amusement in his chest.

"That's fair. To communicate with the most people, Elven and Dwarvish and Halfling would be the most useful; I already know and can teach the former two. For esoteric...Infernal-which is what most tieflings know, even if nearly all speak Common- and Primordial come to mind. A lot of lost magic texts are in Draconic or Giant. Deep Speech and Sylvan are rare, too. The latter is what's used in the Fae." He pauses and rubs under his chin with his fingers, a touch self-conscious. "There's...a lot of languages. Divide and conquer might be our best bet to start, though I'm sure you'll want to learn them all eventually because you're you." Said with only affection, of course.

Edited 2025-12-07 22:55 (UTC)

Jon huffs at his assumption. It's not wrong, but still. "We'll start with Common, but I imagine Ilniver will have more books, yes? You mentioned they had a grand library. Once we're ready to head there, we may want to stay for a while, see what languages we can learn if your Gideon is willing to let us." Although, there are other considerations. "Ah... after we deal with our Weave situation, of course." Even if Wolfe could study while Tranquil, that would be well outside of Jon's capabilities.

"Do you think it'll be as 'easy' as it was for the Raven Queen? Out 'quest.' Have you ever gone on a quest for a god outside the Matron?" It only occurs to him after he's asked that Bane would be the most likely option there, and Jon makes a bit of a face at himself. He doesn't take the question back, though.

As they walk the woods, Jon tries to make note of their 'path.' He's not entirely sure what they're going to find out here, and he wants to make sure they run back toward safety, if need be. It's as he's looking off to one side that he notices a shape amongst the undergrowth. The shape moves, and Jon sees the tips of ears.

"Is that... Patience?" The Archivist raises his voice slightly. The ears stop moving and then vanish from view. Something feels... off. Jon grips Chris' arm. "Are there wild dogs out here?"

He nods and hesitates over the question about quests and favors done. "I...yes, I have. I gave a statement on one of them." One for the Hunt from the hunter's perspective and the fear he'd caused. There were others. He doubted Mystra's quest would be so trivial or so up their alley as the Raven Queen's quest. It would probably have to do with proving themselves.

Unfortunately, he doesn't get around to putting that thought into words with Jon's sudden grip and caution. Chris goes still and pulls Jon close while his other hand reaches for his scythe. "Might be...keep behind me."

Chris creeps a bit closer, eyes set on where there'd been movement. It's only when his eyes refocus that he sees the glint of eyes in the bush. It's the sound of something like a deep pop and a woosh that has the cleric looking around and backing up again to cover Jon.

"Blink dogs..? They're usually in a pack." Chris looks around, and there's movement to their left and right, but blink dogs could teleport; it could be any number of them.

"They're human-level smart and usually good-natured...but if they're hungry...keep eye out, they teleport."

And they were trying to intimidate them. Were they too close to some pups?

"We mean you no harm; we were simply out for a walk," Chris calls out. Though he suddenly realizes he's not sure what languages they understand.

"Blink..." Jon blinks, himself. "Oh, for god's sake! Why are there teleporting dogs?" Mabari are enough. Imagining one of those being able to bamf about like Kurt bloody Wagner is headache-inducing. He knows Chris isn't responsible for the existence of these blink dog things, but Christ, why is it always dogs? It couldn't have been deadly cats? Jon feels he might have more luck with those.

While there's no immediate response to Chris' call, the popping sound stops. The hair on the back of Jon's neck stands on end as he looks every which way, hand still on Chris as he both hides and tries to watch their backs. There's a rustling to the west and a long snout emerges, followed by the pointed ears and ridged back of an enormous dog. A second follows it. A third and fourth step from behind denser brush to a little further south.

"What I wouldn't give for Wolfe about now," Jon mutters as he keeps his eyes on the creatures, trying to gauge their intent. Non-hostile... for now. Maybe even a little curious. One of them seems to be smaller than the others and wags its tail for a moment before looking around and stopping. What seems to be the biggest of the dogs and their first to emerge eyes Chris, then points at him with his nose before making a sharp point back in the direction they'd come.

"I think they want us to turn around..."

"He'd want to bring one of them home, no, I think it's best he's not here." Especially with a younger one here. Then it was puppies.

"Of course, our apologies. Here, if I may..." He stoops slowly to one knee and concentrates on his magic. In a matter os seconds, the edge of the clearing closest to the dogs fills with piles of meat, all raw as intended in the casting. It would be bland, but his understanding of dogs told him they wouldn't care.

He winces slightly as he stands again and takes a step back towards the temple and reaches for Jon's hand. "Come on, love. We can probably head back now anyway." Certainly, overhearing sex was better than being hunted by a protective group of teleporting, intelligent dogs.

Chris does have a point. They're already toting around something of a menagerie with two dogs, a raven, and a mothcat, especially when one of those dogs is smart enough to warrant actual child status. He's quick to follow Chris on the retreat, sighing when he hears the dogs going for the proffered meat.

"That could have gone worse, certainly. Impressive, as well." He glances sideways, up at Chris. Disintegrate a horde of undead and parley with magical dogs in the same morning. How does it feel to be home, Lord Sonom?" His tone is light, knowing that's a loaded question for the man, particularly when Jon's using his title.

"I suppose we can point out-"

He's interrupted by a familiar 'boof!' as Patience comes running for them, Cookie in tow. Jon's immediate instinct is to step behind Chris, leaving the cleric to take the brunt of the happy affection and interest. Or interest, at least. Patience gets a good whiff of them, and the Archivist watches her hackles rise as she looks past them and deeper into the woods.

"It's all right," he assures the dog. "We're safe. We just, ah... there are other dogs in the woods. Best we keep away from them."

Patience's glare in the direction of the blink dogs only deepens somehow, which is, Jon thinks, mildly impressive for a canine.

“Admittedly, easier and more normal than working at the desk at Switch Street or even nights at the Crucible.” He replies airily.

Better to half-joke than admit the slight twist at the title-turned pet name. He still liked it for the latter, but the former made it more complicated.

Wolfe’s hounds arrive, probably to look for them, and Chris offers them both scratches behind the ears. The smear of dried blood still on his hand served as reminder he was still in his armor and bloody shirt…yes, they definitely needed to head back in now. Hopefully, his shirt being black would save it.

“We’re alright, girls, let’s head back and I’ll see about someone taking you out for a bit. Maybe in the other direction of the temple.”

Chris glances at Jon and gives him a devilish smile.

“Do I need to go in first to see if the coast is clear? Assumedly, someone had to send them out.”

"Assumedly." Jon rolls his eyes and walks past Chris now that he's distracted the dogs. Cookie barks and turns to race ahead of Jon while Patience waits and brings up the rear, her ears pricked and swiveled back to catch the sound of any would-be pursuers. "If they've sent the dogs out in the middle of that, I might question their priorities. I thought I might be more unique than that."

It's self-deprecating, but he smirks at Chris. "I'm not that delicate, you know? I just... if they're doing that after dealing with a horde of zombies, I assume it's something they- Well, I mean." His smirk falters. "That's not particularly normal, is it? Just, it must have been... People don't get horny over undead. I assume." A pause. "Unless they're vampires or whatever, but those zombies were not attractive."

And if Wolfe or Amelia found them so... Jon is going to start questioning a lot about the judgment of his friend and his lover.

Chris stoops to kiss Jon with a smile on his lips..and reaches around to trace a hand down his partner's back to curve along the line of his ass. When he pulls back, his hands come with him and reach for the (thankfully not hand-themed) doorknob. "I don't know, I could certainly go for that after destroying a horde of zombies. It's not about the zombies, it's about the battle-rush. The adrenaline and watching someone you love being in their element and competent."

He pushes the door open for the dogs and glances back with that same smirk. "Why do you think I always kiss you so heartily after you've gone off about a fascination of yours or something you know with confidence? It's attractive."

He'll leave Jon with that thought as he steps into the temple with its much diminished pillow pit and four separate bedrooms, as promised. Though each of them doubled as some other need as well. He'd need to rethink the design more solidly going forward. There were very few limitations on what he could do with the temple; he should push his own creativity going forward.

It's a thought that drifts off as his gaze falls on the clutch of couches that have taken over where the line of tables north of the pit used to be.

"I'm afraid you'll have to be done now, I'm not going on another walk covered in my own blood and undead dust." He calls to the reclining lovers as he starts peeling his weapon and armor off himself.

Jon has the sudden realization that Chris probably wants to have sex with Wolfe and Amelia if that's how he feels about it. Not... something he particularly wants to think about. The Archivist shakes his head as he follows after Chris, the dogs padding in before he closes the door behind. His own eyes light on the lovers ensconced on the sofa, and he's half-ready to step out again until Chris tells them to be done with it. He's confident Wolfe, at least, will do as he's bid.

As Chris undresses, Jon's attention is drawn down to his own shirt and the small smear of the cleric's blood. It would be easy at home to fetch the stain spray and toss the their clothes into the wash after 10 minutes or so. Blood might be a little more challenging than most things, but it would lift well enough.

Once more, he mourns the loss of Chris' prestidigitation. Once he's written into the Weave, the Archivist mentally commits himself to learn the spell. Somehow. It would make him feel less useless about the washing up, if nothing else.

He offers a brief wave before slinking into one of the rooms that appears to have another wardrobe of clothes to fetch something to wear. They really do need more real clothes, especially if they're going to have to wash them every day like this. He has a few real outfits on hand, but they're still not enough to get him through hard wear for a week without cleaning them.

Before he gets dressed again, the thought occurs that they need to warn the others. "In case Chris didn't say," he calls, cracking open the door again, "there are blink dogs to the east around the lake in the forest. Best to avoid them."

"Blink dogs?" Wolfe asks, neither confirming nor denying that there's anything he and Amelia need to be 'done' with. He does sit up though, bringing Amelia up with him and settling his arm around her so she's in the crook. "What's a blink dog?"

He says it loudly so Chris can hear. He's not going to interrupt Chris' shower with talk of weddings and all, that feels like an ambush after he just had to heal himself, but he'll absolutely ask about dogs native to Faerûn.

Amelia also admits to nothing, though her cheeks are a fairly bright red as she and Wolfe sit up to face the others. "I offer to do the next round of laundry so you can't go out again." They need to speak to Chris once he's washed and had a chance to settle, though that will wait for this talk of 'blink dogs' and also--

"We'll need to work out something to eat as well. We could go in the opposite direction of the offended creatures you mentioned to catch something." A beat. "And by we I mean I'll take that chore with the girls instead if no one else wants to go with them." She's used to eating so little that after several nights in a row of good rest, she can feel the hunger settling in post-battle but it isn't so bad that she's unable to go out for a short hunt with the dogs.

His scythe and the clasp get respectfully placed on the table, but his breastplate and bloodied clothing are dumped irreverently on the floor. He at least casts Mending on his shirt before he drops it.

The wound is largely closed, more like an open sore rather than a previous stab wound, but he casts one last low-energy healing on himself to scab it over and heads into the showers to seek the bliss of hot water.

“Blink dogs teleport and are as smart as an average person. They have pups and firmly warned us away. I’ve just enough magic left to conjure food, but if you want flavor, you’ll need to go find it.” Chris calls over the spray.

“We can buy some things to help with spices when we go to town tomorrow.” At least, he assumed that was the plan. Everyone had seemed so antsy to leave yesterday, he wasn't going to try to argue and start more fights when it finally felt a little like some footing was regained.

“I’ll do the laundry when I get out.” He calls again.

Jon emerges from the room dressed in a long dark robe, carrying his clothes to set them near the wash basin and gathers Chris' things along the way, as well. He'd considered going with the more 'modern' attire the wardrobe offered, but if they're just going to be in here, maybe he ought to try out something different. Something... 'fantasy.'

"Don't we have a ridiculous amount of smoked fish from that monstrosity Chris caught yesterday?" He lifts a brow at Amelia. "I'm sure we could make do with that for now. We'll want to eat it before it goes off, anyway. It's not like refrigeration is a thing here." Probably. Maybe? Maybe they have it in the sense of ice spells or magical items? And Chris had said they have plumbing...

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