Shoggti are the tentacled charmers of the qlippoth
race. That’s not exactly a hard
title to claim, given that the average qlippoth looks like the result of
scorpion having sex with a cancerous colon. But still it’s significant, because that means the shoggti
is still the only one of the qlippoth whose first instinct is to control PCs
rather than devour them outright.
That doesn’t mean shoggti are subtle—they are of only
average intelligence and their powers are mostly a combination of crude
fascination and command effects, with
charm person and monster reserved for special targets. The subtle machinations that are devil or succubus’s stock
and trade are beyond them; at best a shoggti resembles Kaa of The Jungle Book if he were born a land
squid. But provided they can lure
docile slaves back to the Abyss for dark purposes, that is enough. A subtler approach would necessitate an
understanding of mortals, and that is something no qlippoth could abide.
Otyughs begin
bursting up from the sewers to abduct passersby, while more clever mimics
lay in wait to foil attempts at retaliation. Interrogating either of the Wisdom-damaged creatures reveal
that they are doing so at the orders of a tentacled creature they revere as
“the Master.”
Deep in the
underworld of the palm-lined city of Marxis, a shoggti and a serpentfolk
priest team up to build a drug-dealing cult and abduct mind-drained
slaves. The serpentfolk, who has
spent all his life praying to a sleeping, likely dead god, hates the new world
order that humanity represents, and is very sympathetic to the qlippoth’s claim
that life was so much better in the time before…
A town in an Abyssal
forest is comprised solely of imbeciles who tend the abundant (and
disturbingly fleshy-fruited) orchard and run a strange mill in the heart of
town. Their shoggti masters live
in the trees above the village, mind-wiping any thralls who show too much
independence. The mill, meanwhile,
seems to exist only to mulch the fruit, imported demon parts, and the bodies of
elderly villagers into a slurry the slurps downriver to
some unknown destination.
—Pathfinder Bestiary 2
225
My summer work/travel schedule continues to make me slow at
replying to messages and comments, but believe me, I read everyone. Speaking of which, cheers to uwtartarus and Fortooate for digging the spell-bower birds.
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