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.