When I picked the nightmare to look at in this post, I was thinking back to Advanced Dungeons & Dragons, in which it was simply the equine equivalent of the hell hound—an infernal horse, ridden by devils. Apparently, the lore has changed. Have you read the fifth-edition Monster Manual’s description of the nightmare? It’s not just some devil-horse anymore—now it’s what you get when you rip the wings off a pegasus. Seriously. That’s some sick stuff, man.
Give me a few minutes for the ick to wear off.
OK . . . whichever origin story you prefer, nightmares are clearly not evolved creatures, so they’re not going to possess the same survival instincts as most other monsters. They’re not undead, either, so there’s not necessarily any compulsion driving them. They’re categorized as fiends, so their primary motivation, underlying any other they may have, is malevolence. Their job is to transport devils and demons, and it suits them. Continue reading Nightmare Tactics
Another monster classic, the roper is a dungeon predator/scavenger that nabs its prey by camouflaging itself as a stalagmite or stalactite. The latter is rarer, probably because in every instance I can recall, the roper has always been depicted pointy side up; perhaps dungeon masters never consciously consider that ropers can also adhere to cave ceilings.
Ropers have enormous, toothy maws and sticky tentacles that lash out and seize their prey. Although their exceptional Strength and Constitution and below-average Dexterity suggest a brute fighter, ropers are ambush attackers, using their fast and flexible tendrils to compensate for their lack of mobility (their speed is only 10 feet per round, whether crawling or climbing).
Despite their low Dexterity, ropers have double proficiency in Stealth, along with the False Appearance feature, which allows it to blend in perfectly with its surroundings. I understand this to mean that passive Perception—and even Searching—will never reveal a roper for what it is as long as it’s holding still. Its Stealth skill comes into play only if it’s moving. Thus, a stationary roper will always take its opponents by surprise, as long as its eye is closed and its tendrils retracted until it strikes. Continue reading Roper Tactics
There aren’t too many gargantuan creatures in the Monster Manual. Ancient dragons grow to gargantuan size; aside from that, you’ve got your kraken, your tarrasque and your roc, a monstrous avian whose name, curiously, shares an etymology with “rook,” the chess piece (from Persian rukh, by way of Arabic) but not with “rook,” the corvid bird (from Old English, an imitation of its croaking call).
This terror with a 200-foot wingspan—roughly the size of a Boeing 747—hunts big, slow-moving game, snatching up an elk, a buffalo or even a giant as easily as a hawk or owl would seize a squirrel. It’s unaligned and has only bestial Intelligence. Its Strength and Constitution are extraordinary; its Dexterity, as ordinary as you can get.
Rocs are fearless. Aside from their enormous pool of hit points, they have proficiency in all of the big three saving throws (Dexterity, Constitution, Wisdom), plus Charisma. Magic doesn’t scare them, and it takes massive damage to even deter them: From their maximum of 248 hp, they’ll need to be reduced to 99 hp or fewer to be driven off. Continue reading Roc Tactics
The behir is, simply, a predator. A huge monstrosity, in the neighborhood of 15 feet long, it’s fast, tough and strong, able to run as fast as a lion and to climb faster than most humanoids can run. Its Intelligence is at the upper end of animal range, and it’s a good judge of prey. It’s also surprisingly stealthy, able to strike from ambush and do spectacular damage to its victims.
But all this power comes at a cost: Behirs get sleepy as they digest their prey. Because of this, once a behir strikes and swallows its prey, it immediately breaks off and retreats to its lair or some other hiding place so that it can absorb its meal in peace.
Normally, a creature with a recharge ability prefers it over any other method of attack, but in the case of behirs, Lightning Breath is an oddly limited-use feature. Its range is only 20 feet, meaning that in most cases, it’s only likely to strike a single target (see “Targets in Area of Effect,” Dungeon Master’s Guide, page 249), and while the damage it does is substantial—about 50 points of expected damage—it doesn’t help the behir eat anything.
In contrast, the behir’s Multiattack comprises a Constrict action, which does an average of 34 points of damage and restrains its target on a hit, and a Bite action, which does an average of another 22 points of damage, with advantage on the attack if the target is restrained. That’s 56 points of damage right there, and the behir’s chance to hit is extremely high, compared with its chance of doing full damage with its Lightning Breath. Finally, on its next turn, it can Swallow the creature it’s restraining, which is what it came for. Continue reading Behir Tactics
The otyugh is an old-school monster, dating all the way back to Advanced Dungeons and Dragons—and in all that time, debates have raged endlessly over how to pronounce its name. Countless gamers over the years have made their best guesses, usually settling on something like oh-tee-yug, while the Final Fantasy video game series has adopted the pronunciation oh-tyoo (second syllable stressed, to rhyme with “through”). But according to the seemingly authoritative EN World D&D Pronunciation Guide, citing a 1985 Dragon magazine article, it’s ot-yug; that’s the one I’d go with.
The Monster Manual categorizes otyughs as aberrations, not monstrosities, though it doesn’t explain why—maybe because of their Limited Telepathy feature or their odd morphology. They’re not described as extraplanar, they’re not evil, and they’re not especially intelligent; in all respects other than their telepathy, they seem to behave like an evolved creature.
Otyughs are brutes, with high Strength and extraordinary Constitution. They have a well-developed survival instinct, including the ability to discriminate between easy and difficult prey, but despite their ability to communicate verbally in their own language, their Intelligence is animal at best—about what you’d expect of a sign language–using gorilla. Theoretically, it may be possible to bargain with an otyugh, by appealing to its one and only interest: food. Continue reading Otyugh Tactics