The Shadowfell

Entry tags:

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.

♥

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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...

"Its fish jerky, not smoked. It'll last a good long while. A couple months, actually," Wolfe corrects, looking over at Jon and stopping a bit short as he takes in the ensemble, eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. "That suits you quite well. You could pass for a Circle mage."

Not that there are any in Faerûn, nor would he wish it on Jon, let alone his worst enemies, but the look is right. But none of that has to do with blink dogs. He turns back towards the showers, playfully indignant.

"You mean to tell me that there are Mabari-level intelligent dogs that can teleport and never told me? And there are puppies nearby?!" Of course he's aware if the dogs themselves warned them away they should leave them be, but it wars with his desire to see what native dogs are like.

Patience, though, huffs and pointedly sits on his foot, looking up at him moodily for scratches. He obliges, crouching down and ruffling her jowels. "Aww, my girl, are you jealous? You'll always be my first love."

She huffs again, as if to say damn right.

"It's better we start keeping things like the jerky on hand while we travel. The game around here is plentiful enough that another round of hunting will be easy." Everything will be better when they have spices on hand, but even a plain meat stew is better than bland foods.

Amelia's eyes flick to Jon when he emerges in his robe and she quickly decides not to comment. The clothes look well in him and she doesn't want to say that or have her words misinterpreted. Better to say nothing.

"Wolfe," she chides as the conversation continues. "We are not getting a puppy, certainly not before we've done our quest for Mystra. We have enough to do as it is. Besides, I love our family as it is. The girls already complete us, and I don't need anyone else trying to tell me what to do when Patience takes care of that every day."

Puppies also mean more need than what they already have with their small menagerie. Amelia would be happy to not add to that.

He decidedly does not comment on the dog discourse or why he hadn't mentioned blink dogs. He hadn't really mentioned displacer beasts either, and both for a reason.

Instead, he focuses on the warm water and the feeling of soap scrubbing away the blood and filth so he's perfectly clean, if moving a little tenderly, when he emerges in no more than his towel. He should have gone and fetched clothes first, but oh well. He stands, hip cocked near the showers, idly watching the conversation. It was...nice. Almost normal. Funny how they could have a distinctly more pleasant day with a bit of monster fighting and some members of their party blowing off a bit of steam.

Jon just nods at Amelia's chiding. Too right. They have enough of a pack already. "I also have a hard enough time keeping track of our winged beasts. We don't need something that can be anywhere it sets its mind on." And a puppy would be be even more trouble, like a toddler who didn't actually need thumbs.

"In any case, if you're going out for 'game,' please don't bring back one of the Furbies. Or whatever Chris was calling them. Surely there have to be normal rabbits around." Surely. "They're-" He sighs. "They look like a toy from my world. An incredibly uncanny and unsettling toy. I'd rather not think about eating them."

His attention shifts briefly when he hears the shower turn off, and he looks over at Chris just watching them. Maybe he should go fetch the man some clothes?

"I wouldn't dare take a puppy from its family unless they were bred for that. Its entirely different if they're wild," Wolfe says indignantly, playing it up for the humor and the camaraderie through the room. He's noted Chris standing and watching as he does sometimes, like he's trying to memorize the moment, and far be it from Wolfe to ruin that.

"If you want a hunt, Love, go ahead. I'm sure the girls will enjoy the exercise. Just try and get something that agrees with our archivist's delicate 'modern' sensibilities." He gives the jab with a cheeky smile, clearly making fun in a joking sense and not meaning anything truly disparaging by it. "I do wonder if we couldn't use one extra day just to relax before getting on with making some coin, though? Chris, you were injured, and we've all been through the ringer the last few days. We should also probably go over anything cultural we should know that's unique to Faerûn over other worlds that would just be a given. Races and societies and such. I imagine there is a lot of that to learn."

"And yet you perked up when puppies were mentioned. Don't think I didn't see that hint to your smile." She knows you far too well to miss that, Wolfe. She's still teasing, but she knows she had a fair concern when it comes to her lover and any dogs.

"I could use a day after that battle as well," she chimes in, leaving aside the talk of hunting for now. Her gaze moves to Chris. "I'll need time to alter more clothes for Wolfe and rest, and another day for our men to study more Common would do them well in case we're separated at all in the city." She holds up a finger to pause any interjection. "I also owe my own clothes and leathers some care if we're going to be entering fights in Bastila. I wasn't injured as seriously, but my garb would suggest otherwise."

She still can't believe she got distracted so soundly in the middle of the battle. A chance to gather her focus ahead of fighting similar to what 'she' did in Ragneux with the Family would be helpful, too. The time will give her a chance to choose a name, too, since anything she's come up with so far would only add to the distractions in her mind.

Chris puts a hand up in defense and waves away the reasons as he walks across the temple towards one of the rooms.

“Alright, alright, I don’t need convincing I just knew last that we were leaving. We can stay another day, Bastila’s not headed anywhere.”

He shoots Amelia a small smile and shakes his head. “Happy hunting, love, avoid the Binxes for Jon’s sake, there’s bound to be rabbits or ducks about. I’m going to dress and then…rest a moment or two.”

He still needed to attend the laundry unless he could cite getting stabbed and make Wolfe do it.

Jon is, admittedly surprised at everyone wanting to stay another day. It finally feels like they have some momentum. There's learning, excitement, prey to be found away from this place. The scraps he's picking up from the dead aren't enough. He needs more, and no one is acceptable here apart from Chris... and the cleric needs to be left to recover, himself. There are still a few Statements he hasn't recorded from Duplicity. He can... do that. There's some instinctual part of him that's disappointed, craving what he knows he can't- shouldn't have.

"If you're resting, then I can see to the laundry." At least that might take his mind off the sudden recalibration it's having to adjust to. "And we can discuss what our cover story is, in the event anyone asks who we are and where we're from. We have the whole day, though. It's not even noon. Maybe we should see how we're feeling come evening. We don't want the automatic translation effect to wear off before we have a chance to talk with people. Ideally."

Maybe just a small nudge toward moving. Jon's eager to study, as well, but surely he can do that in the city between rounds in their arena. There are two real books in the Archivist's bag, both from Chris and Faerun. They'll serve to practice his Common.

He heads to the wash basin and moves to dunk the cloths collected by it.

"I know you're eager, Jon, but there are still a few conversations to have, even beyond the cultural knowledge we're lacking," conversations that he needs to have with Chris and that he and Amelia have to have with Chris. "But mostly Amelia asked for another day, so we take another day. It would be the same for any one of us asking for that time. Besides, it would be a waste to leave the temple here to stay in some inn in Bastila we can barely afford. It does last a good 24 hours."

He glances at Chris. "Should we do something about your appearance before we go, by the way? I mean, you do look like yourself, and you said you've fought there before. Might you be recognized?"

Amelia nods to Chris before disappearing into the room with the wardrobe, her pack in hand. Unlike the men in this temple, she knows she has to change out of the temple's clothes before leaving the temple. Not that she knows they've all managed to 'ruin' the temple's conjured clothes like that, but she doesn't feel the desire to go hunting completely naked.

She reappears a few minutes later and softly calls the girls to her, giving them each scratches behind the ears. Patience has already gleaned that they're going to be going outside and is eager to go. "Have a care with my shirt when it's washed," she calls to Jon as she kisses Wolfe on the cheek. "It has a few holes in it I need to repair later." Her mage gets a smile before she moves to the cleric to peck him on the cheek as well. Jon gets a brief wave as she makes her way to the door.

"I'll be back within the hour, with no Binxes in hand." Her lips tug into a brief smirk as she opens the temple and ushers the dogs out ahead of her. The group of men gets another brief wave before she steps outside to leave them to their washing and conversations. It'll be good to clear her head and be productive for a while - and to not pass out until after she's eaten.

Chris again smiles to Amelia for the kiss she leaves him once he’s dressed in a tight undershirt and loose pants, then goes to the couch to lie down on it with some care. After another thought, he whistles to Little Thunder to have her follow the rogue out before the door can shut. Better she get some time to stretch her wings.

“You don’t need to do the washing, Jon, I’ll do it later,” Chris calls to his partner. To his other love, he rolls his head to look at Wolfe.

“I’ll prepare a spell that will disguise me, not to worry. As for culture things…I admit I struggle to think of what needs covering when I know it inherently.

“Elves are often aloof, tall beings who live hundreds of years. Dwarves will seem friendlier but also often hold a distance due to culture and living so long. They’re more straightforward whereas elves are often poetic. Tieflings are slow to trust because a lot have dealt with racist shit, Halflings are fun-loving and often kind, but there are those who’ll use that reputation to cheat people. No matter the shapes and sizes, skin, scale, and fur, they’re all people. I can give you broad strokes but it won’t apply to everyone you meet.”

Edited 2025-12-12 06:33 (UTC)

He waves back to Amelia, feeling only a touch awkward. It feels like something Martin would do, and he’s not sure how to feel about that. Some kind of way. But best not to dwell on the loss when there’s far too much of it to handle. They’ll all be spending a lifetime unpacking that. Eventually. Maybe.

“I can do it,” Jon insists when Chris waves him off the chore. He fetches the soap and pushes his sleeves up so that he can start working… sort of. So he can at least make an attempt. “And I just think we can do a lot today still. Set off in the morning…” Just leaving that there again.

“As for relevant information… should we know that Melvaunt’s been destroyed? Should we know any of the politics of the region? Who’s in charge, which names or places it might be a bad idea to mention.”

Edited 2025-12-13 02:04 (UTC)

Amelia's kiss to his cheek is met with a more openly affectionate one to her lips, as if he's trying to fortify her until she returns. Maybe he is, not because he thinks she needs it but instead because he wants to give it to her.

Once she's taken the girls and slipped out, he turns back to the sofa and promptly lifts Chris's legs so he can plot back down and drape them over his lap. He briefly considered picking Chris up wholesale and interposing himself but this is less invasive considering where they were with each other yesterday. Even so, its taking all he has not to just blurt out what he and Amelia talked about, but he shouldn't without her present. Somehow Jon rolling his eyes or worse, being legitimately uncomfortable or disparaging about it, in reaction also would feel worse to him right now. Better to just get comfortable.

"Well, we're not to say we're from Mulmaster, I know that much." He was listening every time Chris talked about the Moonsea. "You say elves are tall, as a rule? And live a long time? Practically the opposite of what I'm used to, then. And for dwarves, are all the ones who live on the surface outcasts? Or can yours come and go from their mountain as they please? I would hope the latter as your world seems like a much kinder one."

He runs his fingers through his beard for a moment, thinking, as he places his other hand on Chris' leg and absently runs his thumb gently back and forth over the fabric under his touch. "Well, where would how we sound mark us as being from? Could we pass as being from wherever that is? Unless we just want to be open about having come from other worlds, but I would assume people will think we're insane if we said that. It would make it easier to explain any gaps in our common knowledge though."

Chris makes a small sound of surprise at having his legs lifted, but doesn't protest the rearrangement. If anything, he settles in where he's lying more. If Jon was going to stubbornly insist, Chris wasn't going to fight back too much.

"We can know Melvaunt was destroyed, it was about nine months ago, word around here has travelled. As for what you all sound like, you both sound as if you're nobility; the Sword Coast often has your sort of accent, so the nobles around here emulate it too...but don't say you're from the Sword Coast, they apparently had some Illithid shit happen recently, according to Astarion, and I don't know enough about it to sell the story."

What would work? Zehntil Keep was too insular. Phlan could work, or maybe Hulsburg, but what if someone asked about the politics or recent goings-on, or if one of them slipped and said something that didn't make sense?

"Just...just say you're third or fourth nobility from the Heartlands, traveled through Teshwave on the Moonsea. There, you picked up a local guide, and your travels have taken you north. The Heartlands is varied enough that any inconsistencies can be waved off, and that slight accent Amelia's got won't be pondered over too much. As for who and what you should know, the Varm, Vaeguld, and Veld of the Ride are nomadic barbarian groups that largely rule there, so far as anyone rules the land. Springmeadow, Whitbell, and Bastila are the only established towns on the Ride up until Ilinivur, where all you need to know for sure is that it's run by a council. The Head Speaker for it is named Elilah Soliell. The rest I'll tell you later, but as traveling nobility, no one would expect you to know everything about the area anyway. And...why you're dressed as you are is to dissuade bandits."

He shrugs lightly. "I don't know first thing about Planeswalkers and how they tend to introduce themselves, but I think announcing you're from a different plane from the top is unwise for a number of reasons."

Jon glances up to see Chris with his legs on Wolfe and there's some fleeting moment of envy before he sets it aside. Wolfe has been trapped away from them, having sex with dying people for weeks on end. He deserves that closeness. Not to mention he'd saved the Archivist from what could have been a nasty scratch or bite. Jon certainly hadn't acquitted himself half so well in the Shadowfell. If he were better fed, maybe he could-

No. He shouldn't be thinking like that anymore.

"I imagine we'll be in trouble if we're asking for the head of a council." The idea of just ringing round to the local MP is mad enough. Then again, with Chris being actual nobility, maybe he's done that sort of thing. Jon shakes his head slightly to himself as he starts scrubbing. "Is your man Gideon part of it, though?" If he's some powerful member of the city, it stands to reason he might have some political influence.

"I suppose the other thing is... is Jon a normal name? Or Wolfe? Amelia? You said your own name is unique in this world, but it's common in mine. I don't mind having a 'unique' name here, but if we're trying to be discreet for the moment and need to pick something else while we're in Bastila, it would be good to know now."

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