Medium Humanoid (Fiend)
Armor Class 15 Natural Armor
Hit Points 68 (8d8 + 32)
Speed 30 ft.
STR
12 (+1)
DEX
14 (+2)
CON
16 (+3)
INT
12 (+1)
WIS
16 (+3)
CHA
16 (+3)
Saving Throws WIS +6, CHA +6
Damage Vulnerabilities Radiant
Damage Resistances Cold, Fire, Necrotic
Damage Immunities Poison
Condition Immunities Exhaustion, Poisoned
Senses Darkvision 60 ft., Passive Perception 13
Languages --
Challenge 5 (1,800 XP)
Proficiency Bonus +3
Traits

Undead Cleric of Contradiction. The Athame’s spellcasting ability is Charisma (spell save DC 14, +6 to hit with spell attacks). It regains all expended spell slots at dawn.

Torn Faith. When the Athame casts a spell that restores hit points, roll a d6. On an odd result, the healing becomes necrotic damage equal to the rolled amount; on an even result, it heals normally.

Contradictory Devotion. At the start of each of its turns, the Athame flips a coin.

  • Heads: it regards player characters as allies and fiends (including summoned demons) as enemies. It immediately casts Bless on each ally.

  • Tails: it regards summoned fiends as allies and player characters as enemies. It unleashes a demonic shriek—each enemy must succeed on a DC 14 Wisdom save or be frightened until the end of the Athame’s next turn.

Fractured Benediction (1/Day). For 2 rounds, at the start of each of its turns, the Athame’s allies regain 1d6 hit points, and its enemies take 1d6 necrotic damage (determined by its most recent flip).

Summon Lesser Demons (Recharge 6). The Athame tears open a rift under its control, summoning either 2–4 imps or 1 quasit in unoccupied spaces within 30 ft. These fiends do not obey the Athame; they view it as a tool to anchor them and act on their own initiative, typically attacking the nearest non-fiend creature. Summoned demons vanish after 1 minute or when reduced to 0 hit points.

Spellcasting. The Athame is a 4th-level spellcaster. Its spellcasting ability is Charisma (spell save DC 14, +6 to hit with spell attacks). It has the following cleric spells prepared:

• Cantrips (at will): thaumaturgy, sacred flame, toll the dead

• 1st level (4 slots): bless, command, hellish rebuke

• 2nd level (3 slots): hold person, spiritual weapon

Actions

Multiattack. The Athame makes one unholy mace attack and can cast a cantrip.

Unholy Mace. Melee Weapon Attack: +5 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. Hit: 7 (1d6 + 3) bludgeoning damage plus 4 (1d6) necrotic damage.

Confounding Prayer (1/Day). Each creature of the Athame’s choice within 20 ft. must succeed on a DC 14 Intelligence save or be stunned until the end of its next turn.

Bonus Actions

Torn Mercy (Recharge 5–6). As a bonus action, the Athame chooses one creature it regards as an ally (based on its last flip) within 30 ft. That creature regains 2d8 + 4 hit points. If the target is instead an enemy, it takes that amount as necrotic damage.

Reactions

Sanctified Defense. When a creature the Athame sees within 30 ft. is hit by an attack, it can use its reaction to grant that creature +2 AC against that attack—regardless of whether it is currently ally or enemy.

Description

As you step into the ruined chapel, the air shivers with a scent of singed incense and damp rot. At the far end, a gaunt figure stands before the shattered altar, robes torn into ragged strips that flutter like wounded wings in a stale draft. His flesh is both ashen-white and smoldering black, as if ice and ember fight beneath his skin.

He lifts a trembling hand, clutching a broken rosary whose beads drip with something oily and dark. A single voice slips from cracked lips—soft at first, a prayer echoing off the broken pews—then shatters into a guttural curse that rattles your bones. Each breath he draws hisses like a hidden furnace, and when he exhales, a faint plume of brimstone smoke curls around his shoulders.

One eye gleams a desperate blue, the other glows red as molten iron. Shadows coil at his feet, forming clawed silhouettes that skitter across the floorboards—though no creature stands there. Whenever he shifts, the wooden beams overhead groan, and shards of light from a half-broken stained-glass window fracture into jagged patterns across his twisted form.

When he moves toward you, each step leaves a footprint of black ash. You can taste sulfur on your tongue and feel a chill in your bones, as though the very ground recoils where he walks. His voice quavers between pleas for mercy and snarled demands for sacrifice, and every word seems to split the air in two—one half lingering in solemn lament, the other in mocking laughter that crawls beneath your skin.

SailorDM

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