Coffer Corpse fantasy monster ecology - Tabletop Roleplaying game lore -...

The village of Thistle Hollow barely clung to life after a hard-fought victory against the rampaging orc raiders. The orcs had stormed in with the fury of untamed elements, wreaking havoc in the dead of night with the same force as a savage wind tearing through the valley. The villagers, steeled with desperation and resolve, rallied with axes, pitchforks, slings, and hunting bows to push back the invaders. The battle ended with the orcs lying defeated, their bodies swiftly gathered and thrown onto a pyre at the edge of the village and set alight after a few buckets of pitch were tossed over the stinking mass.

A violent storm, the very one that foreshadowed the orcs’ arrival, returned before the fire could completely reduce the bodies to ashes. The flames were quenched by rain, leaving behind a haunting sight: half-burnt orc corpses, mangled and tangled amongst the remains of the pyre, their final farewell left incomplete. It was against this grim backdrop and a flash of lightning on the ridge a few nights later that heralded the arrival of a well-traveled Sage, his feet bare and sturdy and three red gems gleaming on his chest.

Riding along the muddy road on his trusty mule, the Sage sought ruins for his studies on lost kingdoms and ancient lore. Instead, he was met with a village steeped in terror. Doors were shut tight, and faces peered out with hollow despair. The silence was broken by the trembling voice of the blacksmith’s wife, who confided in a barely audible whisper that something sinister stirred in the night. The complaint was plain—there were unsettling sounds, as though claws were scraping at the doors, and an incident that sent ripples of dread had just occurred.

Uthric, the village tanner, had answered his door believing his child had returned from hunting in the nearby woods. Instead, he found himself ensnared in a merciless grip on the muddy street, his throat constricted as his face drained of color, turning the blue of a frosty winter sky. The horrific scene of his murder and the scant clues remaining were the spark that ignited the Sage’s suspicions.

Drawing near to the half-doused pyre, the Sage recalled similar tales—whispers of restless dead risen from improperly tended burial rites. Scouring the soggy earth, his toes squelched through the wet ash and charred remnants of bodies that still reeked of burnt flesh. There in the mud, a deep trail showed evidence of a large, crawling form that had escaped into the darkness.

“It’s a coffer corpse,” the Sage murmured, his voice low and burdened with grim recognition. “Likely once an orc shaman, its death rites left incomplete. Its soul is chained by unfinished business and it roams with a fury born of neglect, or perhaps one of their gods saw fit to refuse it entry to the afterlife until it takes its revenge on you all.” A strong, soot-streaked blacksmith, who had silently joined him, intervened with a rallying cry to end the curse once and for all.

"To hell with their foul gods and their evil damned souls the lot of them, lets find this thing and destroy it!"

The blacksmith’s simple command to kill the creature was met with a grave response. The Sage, drawing his staff carefully through the ash, implored that steel alone would not best the undead entity. Even if it was ripped apart, the curse embedded in its form would drive it back to life. The situation was dire and required both caution and advanced magical means.

Suddenly, a piercing scream rent the heavy air. Both the Sage and the blacksmith turned to witness an unnerving sight—a hulking figure emerging from behind the stables. This was no mere ghost story; it was the embodiment of cursed vengeance. With flesh blackened by fire and a snarl exposing grotesquely elongated tusks, the creature moved with a purpose, dragging a man by the throat. The victim’s struggles grew feeble as the creature’s vice-like grip strangled the breath from him.

 the lore of Dungeons & Dragons is rich with tales of spirits denied passage to the afterlife. The coffer corpse is a prime example—a cursed monster spawned from the defilement of sacred funerary customs. When a soul leaves the mortal realm without the proper rites, it is left in limbo. This incomplete transition traps the spirit, turning it vengeful and relentless. It is not a creature born solely of malice but one driven by the torment of being trapped and unable to move on to the outer planes.

In many cultures within the game's universe, death does not conclude with the cessation of life. It demands reverence, ritual, and the proper sending off of the departed. When these final rites are interrupted, spiritual energies remain tangled in the mortal coil, festering into a being that carries the scars of its thwarted destiny.

In the case of the Orc, the sage was entirely correct, the god Yurtrus, their foul god of death and disease had denied the soul freedom from the mortal plane until it had killed as many humans as it could before it was destroyed. The terrifying visage of the Coffer Corpse looked as though the flesh had been burned away from its face in the shape of a clawed hand, gleaming bone white out of the ragged, blackened flesh, a sure sign of the white hand of Yurtrus.

In the fantasy worlds of roleplaying games, where magic is very real, it shouldn't be much of a shock that the risen dead can spontaneously occur, when with a simple act of will power, some basic components to achieve the correct resonance and some spoken keywords to attract the attention of powers beyond the mortal world, a clever diabolist can launch a ball of fire powerful enough to blow a drawbridge from its fixtures.

Thankfully, the coffer corpse happens to be vulnerable to even the most basic magic weapon, which can be achieved with a blessing, an enchantment or even clobbering the monster repeatedly with an improvised magic object, such as a magical cape of billowing with a brick wrapped inside it... I bet you never thought of that neat little trick.

The case of the Orc Shaman was unusual but not unprecidented, as normally the generation of a coffer corpse hinges on the violation of time-honored customs. Whether due to the chaos of battle, natural disasters, or deliberate desecration of a body intended to torment the living who cared for that individual in life, the departure from established burial practices marks the beginning of a curse. In Thistle Hollow, the orcs’ bodies were hastily arranged into a pyre, and the interruption of the flames by the returning storm meant that the orc shaman’s soul was left in a state of spiritual despair, it had failed to destroy the village, failed to bring back even a single orc warrior to the tribe, failed to represent the power of the orc people.

Shame, rage and vengeance became a spiritual catalyst for the creature’s existence, allowing the soul to return from the ethereal back into it's corpse. The residual necrotic energy from the half-burnt bodies congealed into it and shortly after, sparked false life to lifeless flesh and bone. To most it would appear as a simple zombie or perhaps a wight, but while it matches the wight's intensity in it's dead eyes, it is devoid of the mortal spark and replaced by that horrible, cat's eye glow, as if reflecting the bright vitality of it's victims, like the gleam of cold moonlight on the dead black eyes of a shark. Like the zombie, it's body offers no apparent resistance to damage even from mundane weapons, and the corpse can be cut down, seemingly destroyed, only to stand back up again, relentless, seemingly unstoppable, striking supernatural fear into the living who witness it.

I've seen professional gladiators mimic this trick a few times, it's always a crowd pleaser, but there is nothing entertaining when a dead thing does it. In my experience, the uninformed seldom stick around to try out different methods to drop the thing permanently, they just run for it, and I hardly blame them.

Coffer Corpses are also tremendously strong, more so than a zombie by far, despite their withered and broken state, they can crush a man's ribs with a single powerful blow, but it is their terrible death grip which they use to snuff out the living.

Once locked in this grip, the victim is rendered mute, unable to call upon spellcasting or even articulate a cry for help. The constant, relentless pressure diminishes the victim’s strength with each passing moment, leaving them grasping and clawing for escape, their fingernails raking at the dead flesh of the undead, who shows no expression as they murder you, no hate, no anger, not even satisfaction as the choke the life from you.

I should mention, the coffer corpse collapsing from damage that actually does it no permanent harm is all a trick, any blow of sufficient force will do, you don't have to calculate every hit point lost, ignore non-magical damage entirely and instead concentrate on how powerful the attack appeared to be and have the undead react accordingly. The whole special feature of this monster hinges on most parties of adventurers having no idea this undead can only be hurt by magic weapons.

It is this combination of an aggressive death grip coupled with the unpredictable strategy of simulated collapse that renders combat with the coffer corpse particularly nerve-wracking. Its ability to bounce back after apparent defeat forces its foes to remain vigilant, never allowing a moment’s ease in an already grueling confrontation. It also makes the role of an informed non-player character who provides this vital information so much more critical to how this encounter plays out.

Like many undead,the Coffer Corpse has a natural immunity to mind-affecting spells and psychic manipulation, rendering attempts to subdue its will largely ineffective. However, it is not physically immune to damage from normal, non-magical sources, it's just that these won't destroy it. Ordinary blades may wound, but they rarely disrupt the cycle of its endless reanimation. Some common sense here is required, for example, lopping its head off and running away with it, or chopping both it's arms off it going to cause the coffer corpse a bit of an inconvenience.

This dependency on enchanted weaponry adds a layer of strategy to any encounter and will make the Coffer Corpse far more dangerous to those with no access, or some stance against using magic of any kind, but never forget, the gods are watching and one need not be a divine spellcaster or champion of a deity to receive a timely and life-saving divine boon. It is extremely rare in the realms to find anyone who refuses to pray to any god... extremely rare, and all it takes is the mere utterance of a god's name and they will be aware of what is going on over a staggeringly large area. Adventurers who venture into territories where the coffer corpse roams must be prepared. Relying on mundane attacks usually results in a grim stalemate, as the creature takes only a momentary pause before once again rising to continue its cursed mission. 

However, its a little worse than I'm letting on here... unless the body is incinerated or, most critically, interred with the correct burial rites the living being it was desired, the Coffer Corpse will rise again with the coming of the night, wandering out of its lair, seeking some place to find its final rest, and never finding it, taking out its rage on the living. This also means, even if the thing is still animated, knowing exactly what those rites are can also cease it's torment and finally stop its attacks on the living, releasing the soul even without destroying the body first, so, this monster can be defeated with knowledge alone, if you have it.

Originally send in to White Dwarf magazine by Simon Eaton, way back in the 70's, the Coffer corpse has seen action in the realms and other fantasy settings for the last 50 years and continues to be a fun addition to the hordes of the undying.

The forgotten Realms wiki has some excellent notes and historic lore on the monster, and I quote..

"During the night coffer corpses would arise, wander around the area in which their corpse was abandoned in search of a peaceful rest, then at dawn return to wherever they were lairing. However, even during daylight hours a coffer corpse would attack people. They hated life itself and were instinctively driven by an urge to deprive others of it due to being denied a complete death. Thus they were known to attack any living humanoid creature that disturbed them, especially priests. Unlike some undead, upon killing a creature the coffer corpse would leave its victim's body alone. It then made sure not to interfere with any other undead that came to scavenge at the corpse, such as ghouls and ghasts. Coffer corpses were occasionally known to fight with weapons, though generally they used their bare hands. They were unusually strong for undead, thus once they had a grip on an opponent it was difficult to release them, especially when a coffer corpse had a death grip around their victim's throat. in the mid-14th century DR, coffer corpses were among the more substantial types of undead that could be found guarding the burial mounds of Uthgardt tribes."  

Oh by the way, there is an excellent new sourcebook on the Uthgardt tribes, with 100% canon lore from the Creators of the Forgotten Realms, available now on DrivethruRPG, support actual Dungeons and Dragons, go pick it up today, you won't be disappointed.

Also in the mid 1400's, the legendary pirate captain Pohl Strongwind returned to life as a coffer corpse. Alongside a crew of ju-ju zombies (yes, I dislike that name as well) he sailed on a ghost ship across the Dragon Reach, terrorizing any vessel they came across, until eventually a group of adventurers put him to rest. You won't find a whole lot of Coffer Corpses in any of the outer planes, of couse, but many serve the dread Drow elf goddess Kiaransalee and there are many found in the Domains of Dread, and the Shadowfell at large.

My name is AJ Pickett, also known as the Mighty Gluestick and Picaroon the Dire Hobbit, Sage of Candlekeep and the Highhand Spire of Mintarn, as always, thanks for listening, and I will be back with more for you, very soon.

The secret origin of Plasmoids in Dungeons and Dragons

Today we’re diving deep into one of the most fascinating shifts in the history of tabletop gaming: the metamorphosis of the Dralasites from the classic sci-fi RPG Star Frontiers into the enigmatic Plasmoids featured in Dungeons & Dragons’ Spelljammer setting. What began as a species known for their philosophical outlook, intrinsic charm, and unique physiology has, through the hands of creative evolution, transformed into a blank-slate, shape-shifting blob with scarcely any background lore. Let’s get into the nitty-gritty of how these cosmic beings went from rich lore to a canvas of creative freedom.

Back in the days of Star Frontiers, the Dralasites were a standout species. These short, amorphous beings possessed a flexible, rubbery membrane but they are not single celled organisms, nor are they colonies of cells like most other oozes, they have nerves such, they are just very alien, giving them both physical resilience and an unmistakable presence in the galaxy. Far from being mere combatants, Dralasites were contemplative and philosophical in nature. Their culture prized introspection over aggression; these creatures were often depicted as individuals who questioned the status quo, shunned the conventional chase for wealth or power, and found meaning in either immersive communities or by solitary reflection alike.

In Star Frontiers, the detailed lore behind the Dralasites included distinctive cultural practices and unique forms of communication, such as vibro-tactile interactions and even chemical signaling. They were not merely biologically interesting but also culturally rich. Their communities embodied values that discernibly separated them from typical militaristic or conquest-driven alien species. Dralasites were home to philosophical debates on the nature of existence and the purpose of life in the cosmos, making them a beloved subject among RPG enthusiasts who craved depth not just in mechanics, but in narrative and character study.

Fast forward to the era of Spelljammer, a setting that catapulted players into the wild, uncharted realms of space-adventure within the D&D multiverse. As Wizards of the Coast began reimagining various elements from legacy systems, a pivotal decision was made regarding the Dralasites. With the expansion of the game and the aim to streamline races into the Spelljammer narrative, these beloved beings from Star Frontiers underwent a significant transformation, emerging under the new moniker of Plasmoids.

In the original texts the Dralasite species are referred to as plasmoid life forms, so, there can be other species of plasmoid if you want to create them and there is no reason your plasmoid character is not one of them and the Dralasites still exist, but, not as player characters, more like an interesting faction or culture far off in Wildspace somewhere.

The Plasmoids retained a few of the physical quirks of their predecessors—most notably their amorphous, shape-changing abilities. You can think of them as the ultimate example of adaptability, able to morph, shift, and squeeze through the smallest crevices. However, while their mechanical traits were emphasized to generate engaging gameplay dynamics, much of the Dralasites’ lore was excised in the process. Gone were the rich traditions and philosophical musings that had once defined them; in their place, the Plasmoids became a species with virtually no well-defined background, history, or cultural framework.

Now, its a knee jerk reaction to say Wizards of the Coast did this because they are lazy, or fired all the best writers or doesn't care about the lore... ok, that last one is probably more accurate, but look at the way the game player base has changed, look at the way the publisher has been handing the creative freedom and removing restrictions from the game for a while now, from the publisher's point of view, they want the players to have a lot more control over the background, personality and culture of the species, rather than presenting them as a fully fleshed out culture for the players to discover and become immersed in.

Well, if you were gearing up for a future where the role of the dungeon master is gradually being replaced with a digital virtual player in the form of AI, you don't need to provide a lot of dungeon master tools, they actually took a step back from that in the latest dungeon masters guide, with even less clarity on how challenge rating works, for example.

So, In the current design ethos, there's a growing trend to move away from "bioessentialism"—that is, the tendency to tie a race to a specific set of cultural or historical attributes. By providing a blank canvas in the form of the Plasmoids, they empower players and Dungeon Masters alike to invent their own intricate stories, cultures, and even complex intergalactic histories. This transformation, however, did come with a cost: it stripped away much of the inherent personality that once made the Dralasites so memorable.

One of the most perplexing aspects of the Plasmoid transformation is the noticeable absence of a rich historical background. The lore associated with the Dralasites, filled with philosophical debates and cultural depth, simply isn’t present in the Spelljammer iteration. Why was this celebrated backstory jettisoned?

Initially, one of the influencing factors was related to legal and trademark issues. As the original trademarks for certain Star Frontiers elements expired or were repurposed, Wizards of the Coast found themselves with a dilemma: How do you incorporate a beloved species without infringing on legacy content or being tied down by its established history? In response, the design team opted to sidestep these potential pitfalls by stripping the race of its detailed backstory, essentially leaving the Plasmoids as a generic, yet mechanically intriguing species.

There is also an increasing modern trend in tabletop RPG game design towards flexibility and player-driven storytelling. Rather than prescribing a rigid cultural identity or history—elements which might limit creativity—the decision was made to offer fewer fixed characteristics. The result is a race that, while fascinating in its physical form, serves primarily as an adaptable tool for narrative creation. The transformation from a species with defined cultural markers to one that is essentially a blank slate has notable repercussions on gameplay and roleplaying dynamics.

For players and Dungeon Masters who revel in world-building, the sparse background of the Plasmoids presents an enticing opportunity. Without a stringent, pre-packaged cultural framework, the Plasmoids can be molded according to the campaign’s needs. Want a race of cosmic philosophers who secretly gather arcane knowledge? Go ahead. Prefer a mysterious, otherworldly force that operates by its own enigmatic rules? The Plasmoids can be re-envisioned accordingly. This freedom makes every Spelljammer campaign a chance to authentically create and develop a new community or culture from scratch.

On the flip side, the painting-by-numbers approach can be a source of frustration. Long-time fans of the original Star Frontiers might feel that the unique, philosophically rich character of the Dralasites has been diluted. The stark absence of pre-defined lore leaves many wishing for the narrative depth that the original species enjoyed. For those who value a well-structured historical backdrop as much as engaging mechanics, the modern Plasmoids might seem like an incomplete puzzle—one in need of additional artistic effort to restore the lost grandeur.

It’s all about balancing the love for canon with the freedom to innovate. While some players derive joy from crafting entirely new histories, others may find the gap a hindrance in immediately immersing themselves in the game. Both perspectives are valid, and they represent the evolving nature of tabletop gaming where narrative diversity is celebrated even as it presents challenges in maintaining consistency.

The metamorphosis of the Dralasites into the Plasmoids has sparked varied reactions within the gaming community. For some, the idea of playing a being that is essentially a sentient blob capable of morphing through space is nothing short of exhilarating. They praise the mechanics that allow for creative gameplay, inventive problem-solving, and unexpected roleplaying moments born of a flexible character template.

However, others lament the apparent loss of lore and cultural texture. Die-hard fans of Star Frontiers often yearn for the return of the detailed, rich history and philosophies that once defined the Dralasites. This divergence encapsulates a broader debate in the RPG community: should character races be handed down as vessels of pre-defined backgrounds, or should they be provided as frameworks for players to craft their own epic sagas?

The consensus among many veteran gamers is that while the move to a blank slate can initially feel like a narrative loss, it ultimately invites players to engage on a deeper level with storytelling and world-building. Dungeon Masters can take advantage of this creative ambiguity to craft lore that fits perfectly with their campaign’s tone and themes—a custom narrative that might even surpass the original depth imagined for the Dralasites.

As time marches on, the potential for Plasmoids in Spelljammer remains vast and largely untapped. With each new campaign, players and DMs have the opportunity to redefine what it means to be a Plasmoid. Perhaps future editions of the game will revisit their origins, slowly reintroducing snippets of lore that pay homage to their Dralasite heritage while embracing the liberated creative philosophy of the modern age.

In any case, the transformation journey from a richly detailed species to a flexible, narrative-conforming creature is emblematic of the innovation that has always defined tabletop RPG communities. It challenges all of us to look at familiar themes through a different lens—to appreciate the old even as we embrace the new.

In the grand tapestry of tabletop roleplaying, few transitions illustrate the balance between legacy and innovation as clearly as the evolution of the Dralasites into the Plasmoids. On one hand, we have the cherished memories of Star Frontiers—a universe where philosophical, introspective beings with distinct cultural identities wandered the cosmos, full of nuance and character. On the other, we encounter a modern reinterpretation designed to offer limitless creative opportunities: the Plasmoids of Spelljammer.

The decision to strip away the rich lore of the Dralasites was driven by both practical considerations, such as trademark limitations, and an evolving design philosophy that prefers flexibility over rigid backstories. While some may mourn the loss of a fully realized cultural heritage, others embrace the blank slate as a chance to paint new legends across the vast canvas of space. Whether you choose to resurrect aspects of the canonical philosophy in your own custom lore or venture down entirely uncharted narrative paths, the story of the Plasmoids is ultimately one of endless potential—a journey waiting to be defined by every adventurer who dares to explore.

So, the next time you roll your dice in a Spelljammer campaign, take a moment to appreciate this fascinating evolution. Reflect on how a species known for its poetic musings and intricate culture was reimagined into a malleable, shape-shifting enigma. And above all, remember that in the realm of storytelling, it is our passion and creativity that breathe life into these beings, transforming them from mere game mechanics into legends of the cosmos.

Its not their D&D Multiverse, it's ours and only exists because of us.

My name is AJ Pickett, as always, thanks for listening and I will be back with more for you, very soon.

Large Luigi Dungeons and Dragons Lore for Spelljammer

I recently received a most peculiar letter, not by courier, not by magical sending, not even by the usual missive-bearing raven trained by the avowed of Candlekeep. No, this one arrived by spelljamming vessel, no less! The captain of a rather battered-looking wasp-class ship, crewed by a mixed lot of giff, elves, and at least one grommam, personally delivered the scroll into my hands, stating in no uncertain terms that it came directly from the Rock of Bral, and more importantly, that it had been dictated by none other than Large Luigi himself.

Now, for those unfamiliar with that name, allow me to enlighten you. Large Luigi is no ordinary tavern-keeper, nor is he an ordinary beholder, for that matter. In fact, he is a singularly extraordinary beholder with a reputation quite unlike any of his kind. Where most of his kin are paranoid, egotistical, and violently xenophobic, Large Luigi is... well, erudite, composed, and possessed of a certain undeniable charisma that has made him one of the most respected information brokers in all of Wildspace.

He operates the Happy Beholder, a tavern on the Rock of Bral, which serves as both a hub for adventurers, merchants, and spies alike, and as an unrivaled wellspring of cosmic knowledge. Unlike his kin, who see all other beings as lesser and seek to dominate through sheer terror and cunning, Luigi appears to have no such ambitions. He engages in conversation rather than conflict, dispensing wisdom rather than death. Some speculate that he is an unusual mutant, while others suspect that he is simply playing a longer game—though to what end, none can say.

The most intriguing aspect of Large Luigi, beyond his demeanor, is his encyclopedic knowledge of the planes. He is no mere spelljammer bartender but an entity seemingly blessed—or cursed—with an innate awareness of cosmic truths. He speaks with absolute certainty on matters even the most learned sages of Sigil or the great libraries of Zikran’s Tower would struggle to comprehend. Whether this knowledge is due to some latent psionic ability, divine insight, or something even stranger, none can say for certain. What is known is that the Arcane, those enigmatic traders of spelljamming goods, treat Luigi with the utmost respect, and that alone is enough to set him apart from virtually every other being in the known spheres.

So, when I unrolled the letter and read its contents, I could hardly contain my excitement. The message was brief but direct—an invitation to visit his establishment, promising insights into certain obscure celestial phenomena, provided I was willing to endure the trip to the Rock of Bral. Naturally, I wasted no time in securing passage, for how often does one receive an invitation from a being who may very well be the most well-informed entity outside of the Lady of Pain herself?

What followed was a journey fraught with the usual spelljamming perils—space pirates, astral storms, an accidental detour through a color pool that led perilously close to Limbo—but ultimately, I arrived at the Rock of Bral intact, if not entirely unruffled. The Happy Beholder was just as the stories described: a lively establishment, filled with all manner of beings from across the spheres, and presided over by the enormous, floating, ever-watchful form of Large Luigi himself. His deep, rumbling voice greeted me warmly, and as I took a seat, he set before me a drink that shimmered with arcane hues and promised knowledge in every sip.

But this was no ordinary casual meeting—Luigi had information to impart. And, perhaps most fascinatingly, it pertained to the strange and oft-misunderstood home of beholderkind itself: the bizarre, ever-shifting disk-world that orbits no sun, known only in scattered accounts and half-whispered legends.

Beholder society is a labyrinthine mess of ideology, mutation, and, above all, personal supremacy. Yet, their home world—if such a chaotic place can be called that—is even more incomprehensible. Unlike most terrestrial planets, their world is not a sphere but a vast, disk-shaped landmass that defies conventional physics. Theories abound as to whether this is a naturally occurring anomaly or something artificially crafted by an ancient, long-extinct race. Gravity behaves strangely there, pulling toward the surface from both above and below, allowing creatures to walk upon both sides of the disc. More perplexing still, the entire world is pockmarked with floating fortresses, twisting, interlocking tunnels, and caverns riddled with deadly traps—each one home to a different beholder faction, every one of them utterly convinced they alone are the rightful rulers of all beholderkind.

This perpetual, seething war of ideology manifests in more than just political feuds. The very landscape of their world shifts according to the whims of the strongest beholders that inhabit it. Great floating citadels, carved into impossible geometries that would drive most mortals mad, rise and fall with the success or failure of their masters. Strange, organic structures, almost hive-like in appearance, dot the land, constantly reshaping themselves through sheer will and arcane might. It is a world where logic falters, and reality bends to the nightmarish creativity of the beings that call it home.

Luigi, of course, offered all of this information as though recounting the latest market trends in Bral. But when I pressed him further, asking how he came by such knowledge, he merely chuckled—a deep, rolling sound that sent shivers through the gathered patrons. "Some things, dear friend, are better left to the imagination," he intoned, before pouring me another drink that shimmered like the Astral Sea.

And that, my friends, is where we shall begin our exploration of the great and mysterious beholder known as Large Luigi. So, grab a tankard, settle in, and let us delve into the truth behind the most unusual eye tyrant in the multiverse.

Also, a quick thank you to those who continue to support my work with your deeply nerdy mugs and other curiosities—it is through your generosity that I can afford the occasional jaunt across the cosmos. Now, let’s get deeply nerdy, shall we?

To begin, one must first ask the question: why is Large Luigi so unlike his kin? Beholders are creatures of singular paranoia, each believing themselves to be the pinnacle of their species. They see deviation as weakness and regard all others as either threats or slaves. Yet Luigi defies this mold entirely. He is affable, diplomatic, and, above all, willing to coexist with beings he should logically seek to annihilate. There are many theories as to why this is the case. Some scholars posit that Luigi is an aberration, a one-in-a-billion mutation whose mind simply does not conform to the typical xenophobic and megalomaniacal instincts of his race. Others suggest that he was exposed to some cosmic force—perhaps an ancient artifact, a god’s blessing, or an unusual confluence of planar energies—that altered his very nature.

And then, of course, there is the theory that Large Luigi is not, in fact, a beholder at all. Not in the conventional sense, at least. There are whispered rumors—unsubstantiated, of course—that he is something older, something far stranger. A being masquerading as a beholder, wearing the form of an eye tyrant as a convenience rather than a necessity. While such ideas remain purely in the realm of speculation, one cannot deny that he is, in every measurable way, unique. Even the other beholders of Wildspace, who despise all deviations from their perfect self-image, do not seem eager to challenge Luigi’s existence. Perhaps they know something we do not. Or perhaps, deep down, even the most hateful beholder recognizes that there are some battles best left unfought.

But, you know, and I know, that I am not ordinary mortal dire halfling sage, and I happen to know a lot more about what luigi actually experienced when he did the nearly impossible, not once, but twice, and ascended to the apex of the spire of H'Catha.

It's no coincidence that there are legends of cosmic portals at the peaks of such planar landscapes, the central spire of the concordant plane of the Outlands terminates in the fabulous city of portals known as Sigil, the apex of the Seven Mounting Heavens of Celestia terminates in a fortress of absolute purity containing a portal said to exit the dungeons and dragons universe itself, there exists a portal in the ultimate depths of the Nine Hells, contained in the mighty fortress of Nesses where Asmodius rules, said to take one who steps through it to literally anywhere they wish within the D&D Multiverse, like an exact mirror opposit of the portal in celestia, it leads only back inside the D&D cosmos, and the Great Old Ones who created the D&D Multiverse in the first place are said to have ascended into higher dimensional states, beyond our understanding, creating an impassable vortex which none can now breach. The greater god, known by many names, the chained one, the mad god, the great elemental eye or Tharizdun, is said to be well aware that the entire dungeons and dragons multiverse is nothing more than a dream, a figment of imagination, existing and maintained only by the will and whim of these great old ones, a fact which had driven him insane, a secret discovered by and now concealed at any cost by the archlich who became the god called Vecna.

It would seem, that above H'Catha there exists another gateway perhaps, which would confirm my theory that all of the beholders are, in some twisted way, actually the displaced and now leaderless and directionless angels, if you will, of none other than the great eye himself... tharizdun, ironically, the god now trapped in a prison of his own mind.

Large Luigi looked at me across that bar and my shimmering drink, and in a mercifully brief telepathic connection, he informed me that he knew exactly what I was... I was not just a very unusual part hin, part goliath dire halfling, and not just an ascended Immortal of the Sphere of thought now residing in disguise as my former indentity, gathering experience and power on the planet Toril so I could compete in the immortal olympics and attain a higher rank, but I was also AJ Pickett, a writer, artist and Youtuber from the planet Earth, who was currently typing this account, this very moment down on a wondrous item called a computer, on the planet Earth, and that AJ Pickett, was a Roleplayer, the very entities whom the great old ones themselves, were dreamed into existence by, and it was at the whims of these roleplayers, that everything, all imaginary worlds, everywhere, existed at all.

Needless to say, I screamed, clawing at my eyes, vomited, soiled myself, reverted involuntarily to my true immortal form, causing every mortal except a few in the tavern to drop like stones to the floor and start convulsing from the sheer power radiating from me, and I teleported off the rock and into the deep ethereal plane as soon as my wits returned to me.

I have not returned to talk with Large Luigi, and I must admit, I don't think I will, because he was absolutely right.

Some things, dear friend, are better left to the imagination.

Large Luigi has the same basic form as most other true Beholders, he is around five feet wide, a bit smaller than the Beholders you find on planet Toril, who are some of the largest of their kind for some reason. When Luigi escaped H'catha and the Spire, he was transformed, his death ray eyestalk was replaced with a detect lie eyestalk, and his mind was forever altered thanks to basically being in direct commune with beings beyond the dimensional vortex, forever changing his alignment and personality, as you would expect, and transforming him into a being who firmly believes that the only correct thing to do in the case of a reality built entirely like the dream of another being, is to do nothing to upset the situation, so, good and evil, that status quo, is of absolute paramount importance. Understandable, if any serious disruption of the balance may result in a chain reaction of awakening that simple wipes the D&D cosmos from existence entirely.

If I were Large Luigi, I would probably just hang out in a tavern all the time as well.

My name I guess, is AJ Pickett, as always, it seems, I will be back with more for you... very soon.

I dare not do anything otherwise, as the consequences... the consequence... well

Best fetch another beverage. 

Kamadan - Dungeons and Dragons - Monster Ecology

I recently received a very rare and special package that was found on a Thayan trade vessel intercepted by some freebooters on the Shining Sea, the crate arrived at the keep and nobody seemed to pay it much interest aside from me and a Modrone called Kwod who had recently arrived at the keep and was being inducted by the little squad of monodrones who worked on the stacks, sorting one book at a time, as is their way. I just happened to be sitting in the late afternoon light, enjoying a rather bawdy tale from the Sage of Shadowdale when there was a commotion and Kwod broke open a very sturdy wooden crate, with a dinstinctive ear popping pressure change of some protective magic being disrupted and bone vibrating shriek of a magical alarm being set off. Moments later, Kwod was sprinting on its mechanical legs back towards the keep with a large egg in his hands, his large rubbery lipped mouth hooting with excitement as several of the avowed picked up the hems of their robes and gave chase.

Naturally I got involved, as I simply had to know what possessed the Quadrone to do something like that.

Eventually, Kwod skidded to a stop and hammered on the chamber door of Master Sage Kazryn Nyantani, a resident expert in the natural world whom I often spend long evenings discussing the ecologies of creatures. 

It turns out, long story short, that the egg was from the tropical and often treacherous island of Chult, and was the offspring of a monstrous species known on Chult as the Kamadan.

Now, I have been asked, recently, if the these are the same creatures as those found within the jungles of the distant continent of Maztika, all the way across the Trackless Sea, and I can confirm, with certainty that they are not, that species is called the Kamatlan and are as distinctly different as a bobcat is from a mountain lion or a wolf is different from a fox and no, neither one of them is related, in any way, to the Displacer Beast, as a matter of fact, they are one of the few predators that actively hunt down and kill displacer beasts they find in their territory.

Master Sage Nyantani did end up incubating and hatching the Kamadan  cub and named it Asper, and let me tell you, that fiendish furry bastard was cunning, and lethal, absolutely not suitable as a pet unless one is willing to keep the creature under constant, and cruel magical submission, a practice I do not endorse, but in the case of something like a Kamadan, perhaps is better for the greater concern of keeping innocent bystanders alive.

Oh, how cute it was when it hatched! A baby leapord with these cute little snake nubs, all big eyes, soft fur, little toe beans and that long tail, a beautiful pattern on its coat and strong! Asper grew quickly and soon became a legitimate terror, shredding soft furnishings, spraying urine on the walls and attempting to murder several animal companions and, unfortunately, succeeding in the massacre of a small flock of sheep. In only a few months time, Asper was confined to a chamber where illusions on the walls gave the impression of a jungle vista, and fed a live sheep once per week, paid for by the morbidly curious who paid to watch the process.

DO NOT under any circumstances, attempt to enter the enclosure of the Kamadan, for your own safety, as they are capable of knocking other creatures unconcious with the release of a potent sleep gas they can exhale almost like dragon breath.

Before we delve into the details of these creatures and the variant species with very similar names, lets relax, grab ourselves a tasty beverage, its time to get deeply nerdy. Also, thank you to everyone so far this year who have purchased a Deeply Nerdy mug to help support my work, I very much appreciate it and hope you enjoy the design and quality of the item as much as I do.

The Kamatlan of Maztica is a large predator with the body of a Jaguar and two snakes sprouting from either shoulder, it has a rattle on the end of its long tail, just like a rattlesnake.

The Kamadan of Chult is an equally large predator with the body of a Leopard and three snakes growing from either shoulder, and it does not have a rattle on the end of it's tail. 

In most other respects, the creatures are very similar to each other, except I suspect the Kamatlan of Maztica is quite comfortable in the water and a very capable swimmer, and does a lot of its hunting and sleeping in the branches of jungle trees, often striking from above with a deadly snake bite and retreating as the venom does its work. The Kamadan of Chult is far more direct and brutal, springing from the undergrowth with a release of its sleeping gas, before a furious attack with teeth, claws and fangs. They fear no creature aside from something like an adult dragon, though they will retreat from large groups of humans as, particularly in Maztica, they are highly valued by practitioners of Hishna Magic.

Hishna is also known as Talon Magic, it dates back to the days of the empire of Scaley kind and is the divine magic practiced by Maztican priests of the god of war and violence known as Zaltec. Hishna was the magic of claw, fang, and venomous sting. Practitioners are rightly feared for their power to dominate the will of another being hundreds of miles away. Hishna can be used to deliver messages over long distances and can be used to animate objects such as snake skins.

I do wonder if that is why merchants of Thay were going to such lengths to capture such a creature, but who knows?

From what I observed a Kamadan egg takes at least two months to hatch and has a leathery shell, more like a reptile, when hatched they are the size of an adult tressym or flightless cat and they have a pelt that is gray with barely defined spots which suggests they remain in caves and crevices of boulders for protection, they grow to adulthood over two years, I'm not sure if they build a nest, I suspect they will just locate a cave or crevice among boulders and secure their egg there, and given that big cats primary cause of death in the wild is adult males killing offspring  in order to bring the female back into heat they have good reason to leave the cubs to fend for themselves. Kamadan breed at any time of the year in their tropical habitat. Average lifespan in the wild ranges from ten to twenty years.

A full grown Kamadan depends mainly on its acute senses of hearing and vision for hunting, they are active at night and also have an acute sense of smell, thanks to their snake heads also tasting the air with their tongues they can zero in on a scent carried on the wind with uncanny accuracy. While their passive perception is high, it should be noted that they can see in all directions at once, so sneaking up on them is a bad idea. As mentioned the Kamadan will either pounce from concealment on their prey, with a 20 foot run up they can leap at a creature and make a claw strike so powerful that the target must succeed on a DC 13 Strength saving throw or be knocked prone. If the target is knocked prone, the kamadan can make two attacks — one with its bite and one with its snakes — against it as a bonus action. As they almost always hunt alone and are quite fearless, they will attack groups of humanoids, in which case The kamadan exhales sleep gas in a 30-foot cone. Each creature in that area must succeed on a DC 12 Constitution saving throw or fall unconscious for 10 minutes. This effect ends for a creature if it takes damage or someone uses an action to wake it.

The 5th edition Kamadan's attacks per round are much reduced from previous editions and don't do justice to how they can take down a whole team of adventurers in a solo brawl, see, not only do they get a bite and claw attack, they get to attack with each of their snake heads, so, nine attacks per round and they can choose multiple targets to engage on adjacent positions around it. All strikes are +5 to hit and do 1d6+3 damage, the claws do slashing damage, the jaws do piercing damage, as do the snake bites, but the snakes also force the target to make a DC12 Constitution check or inflict 6d6 poison damage, or half that damage if they succeed. They are large in size, something like 3 feet tall at the shoulder, so larger than any Leopard, its more than likely that there are melanistic kamadan, with an all black coloration, in which case I would call it a Kamadan Panther.

They are strong and agile monstrous predators able to leap 20 feet horizontally and 10 feet straight up, quite impressive with a bodyweight of 250 pounds, the males can get even larger and females are almost always smaller. They have a hunting range of around 15 miles and humanoids are attacked by them almost exclusively at dawn or dusk, particularly when making camp in the evening or breaking camp in the morning.

Not a pleasant way to start the day in a sweltering jungle.

I've not seen any Kamadan kept as pets on my travels, but they are sought after by the church of Malar, and to the right buyer, I would say you could earn a couple of thousand gold coins just for an unhatched egg of a Kamadan or Kamatlan, but I do advise you to be very cautious when dealing with that particular faith, as they are always looking for cheap meat to feed their monstrous menageries.

Mind you don't end up on their menu.

My name is AJ Pickett, thanks for joining me and as always, I will be back with more for you, very soon.

Eye of the Deep - Dungeons and Dragons - Monster lore

As I prepared for a visit to the Tritons, who dwell in a secluded and very deep ocean rift region of the Sea of Swords nearby the Moonshae isles and a few miles as the Gull flies off the coastal cliffs from Candlekeep, I took some time to research one of the more rare and dangerous aberrations of the sea, known as the Eye of the Deep. Thankfully, I located a document in the archives from one Ed of the Greenwood, published originally on the planet Earth in a thing called Dragon Magazine, er, issue number 93 printed in January 1985, which is some time in the future by Dale reckoning of years, but from the perspective of Earth people, is now exactly 40 years ago, however, as confusing as this is already to any scholar, this is not the original text, as someone has made some annotations and changed whole bits of this document to update it with the strange mathematical gibberish that so often fills these startlingly accurate articles. I swear, one of these days, I will find this Greenwood fellow prowling around the realms somewhere as we investigate the same creature by sheer coincidence.

Nothing would delight me more; he seems like quite a friendly fellow.

What is strange is the article purports to be compiled from a discussion at a meeting of sages in Hillsfar led by Auvras the Enquirer, who was a real person from my point of view, but to the people of the earth, is a being of fiction!  Don't ask me to make sense of it, I refuse to. Now, before I read this to you, please go grab yourself a tasty beverage, it is time to get deeply nerdy.

The eye of the deep is a creature of legend; though it truly exists, few trained observers have seen it, and fewer still have studied it at length in its habitat, the ocean depths. Several among us tonight have done so, and can answer many mysteries.

Many have speculated that the eye of the deep is related to the beholder, and it is our considered opinion that it is indeed a related species; perhaps both were once the same creature and evolved differently to master the vastly different environments.

The eye of the deep is a solitary predator, catching most of its victims by use of its power to stun its prey with a blinding flash of light from the large eye in the center of its roughly spherical body.

Intended victims of the eye-flash stun must make a DC 15 Constitution saving throw. Targets that are blindfolded, hooded, or unable to see in the visible spectrum cannot be stunned. A darkness spell will provide an effective screen against such flashes. However, most defenses require more time to put in place than the stunning flash of the eye requires to “fire”; and an eye of the deep will recognize any defensive preparations for what they are, in a magic shoot-out, the Beholder is always going to win, as it is not casting spells, its directly channeling raw magical power. A stunned creature is incapacitated, can't move, finds it very difficult to speak, and automatically fails Strength and Dexterity saving throws. Attack rolls against the creature have advantage. Unless the victim succeeds with a DC 15 Constitution saving throw on any of their following turns, this condition can last from one to four minutes.

The effect of repeated eye-flashes is not cumulative; a stunned victim cannot be “more stunned.” The creature can use its stun power for as many as five rounds in succession but then must rest the eye-flash power for an equal number of rounds before it can be used again. Saving against this stun flash does not provide immunity to future stun attempts from that or any other beholder, so the Eye of the Deep makes good use of it and can quickly overcome a group of enemies who happen to have some bad luck with their dice rolls.

The eye of the deep can use its physical attacks (pincers and teeth) in the same round that it emits an eye-flash. It will go after stunned creatures in preference to other nearby prey only if it thinks that the “unstunned” targets present no immediate threat to itself. The creature will attempt to grab prey with one or both of its pincers and then bring the victim up to its mouth. A bite attack is made at advantage against a victim held by one or both pincers, the benefit of grabbing a victim with both pincers is that the victim is also restrained, meaning attack rolls made against it from any source will have advantage, the victim's own attacks are made at disadvantage and this penalty also applies to any dexterity checks, plus they can't move, reducing their speed to zero.

If the creature takes damage in a given melee round, it will release its hold on anything in its pincers; otherwise, prey that is being held by one or more pincers will continue to take 2d6 + 2 piercing damage from each pincer until it dies or the hold is broken. A victim held by only one pincer can (if not stunned or otherwise immobilized) can wrest itself out of the pincer’s grasp witha DC 15 Strength check. An eye of the deep will attack prey that is considerably larger than itself (such as a giant squid) but is intelligent enough only to do so when it has an advantage and is not in immediate danger of being severely hurt. This is a common trait of most Eye's of the Deep, making them sometimes act in a manner that seems cowardly, but in fact, it is just shrewd self-preservation.

Even if prey is not thus restrained, the eye of the deep can bring its two large pincers into play to grab and rend its victims. These pincers can shred creatures much larger than the “eye” itself, and octopi, giant squids, and the huge cruising fish of the depths form the bulk of the creature’s diet. It prizes most highly sinking ships, for it breaks into the disintegrating hulls of these (aided by the intense pressure of deep water), and dines upon the tasty bodies of surface creatures trapped inside. It cannot rise into shallow waters after such prey, because the less intense water pressure at shallow depths causes its body (and internal gases) to expand, and ultimately explode apart. (For this reason, the corpse of an “eye” reaches the surface very rarely; the distorted fragments of its rent body sink back to the bottom, or are devoured by shallow-water marine life.)

To compensate for their inability to travel in shallow waters, eyes of the deep sometimes cooperate with sahuagin for short periods and specific undertakings, usually demanding as payment the bodies of many surface dwellers.

(This dietary preference is one of the many hints at a common origin of both the eye of the deep and the beholder.)

Metallic treasure is often ingested by an eye of the deep, but does not harm the creature, and remains in its stomach until it accumulates to uncomfortable proportions, whereupon it is regurgitated forth in the eye’s lair. All eyes make themselves a lair in an undersea grotto (slaying any previous occupants, if necessary) far from the lairs of other eyes of the deep and as near to abundant food as possible (such as beneath heavily traveled shipping routes, or in areas of storms or shoals). An eye may well have its lair guarded by lesser creatures, or by traps (falling nets weighted by stones, and so forth) such as it can manage. An eye’s claws are quite dextrous and can shear through nets, ropes, and the like with speed and accuracy.

Eyes are aggressive, deceitful, and totally self-interested; “loyalty” has little meaning for them, and they will cooperate with creatures of like alignment only when they stand to gain much prey, or are coerced into doing so. Eyes avoid other eyes purely for reasons of practicality, not desiring to die or be badly wounded in a tough fight with an opponent of equal powers.

It should be noted here that the admittedly few observations of such battles indicate that an eye can be affected by another eye’s illusions, but each is immune to another’s stunning power. Eyestalks can be regenerated in six to eleven days when lost, and other body parts (such as its pincers or central eye) regrown in a matter of months — but the rapidity of such growth depends upon the amount of prey an eye can consume, and a seriously wounded eye is a poor hunter due to its slow natural speed.

Eyes of the deep are highly maneuverable when swimming, due to their many underside “feelers” — flexible, sticky body strands which can act as paddles when swimming, “walk” along rocks or other solid objects, hold prey, and so on. An eye grows new feelers constantly, and feelers are continually lost or damaged by its activities, so that an eye’s underside is a tangled forest of whitish, mauve-mottled feelers, all of differing lengths and diameters. Hidden amongst the many feelers are a few “strands” devoted to reproduction — long feelers that hold the eye’s eggs like peas in a pod.

All of the feelers except for the few reproductive “strands” can be made sticky by the secretion of a gluelike fluid, and made “un-sticky” by the emission of an alcohol-like solvent that counteracts the glue. The former process requires one round and must be performed before the feelers can be used to manipulate objects or provide traction on a solid surface. The latter process takes only one segment and must be performed before the creature can again use the feelers to help it move through the water. The feelers can grab and manipulate any object as large and heavy as a human body, but the creature cannot hold such an object and move under its own power at the same time; as such, the feelers are almost exclusively used either for locomotion, or to anchor the eye of the deep to a solid surface while it awaits the approach of prey.

The reproductive “strands” have none of the properties of the other feelers. They are very few in number (3-6 out of a total of 60-90 feelers) and are continually replaced or regrown like the other feelers. Once every two months, an egg is produced in each strand; when a strand accumulates 6-11 eggs, it splits open lengthwise and deposits the contents into the surrounding water.

Each egg is spherical, about 6 inches in diameter, with a tough but flexible shell that enables it to withstand water pressure and moderately hard blows without cracking.

Periodically, these egg-holders rupture, depositing their cargoes on the ocean bottom or in the powerful currents of the deeps. Any other eye of the deep can fertilize these eggs; the creatures are bisexual but cannot fertilize their own eggs. (An eye will fertilize another eye’s eggs instinctively whenever it recognizes the eggs for what they are.

Fertilized eggs fall to the ocean bottom, if they were not there already, and lie there until they hatch or die. Few fertilized eggs survive to see the end of their maturation period because they are seldom left undisturbed by other denizens of the deep. Fewer still are fertilized in the first place, since they can only be left adrift for two months after being released from the nutrient-rich “strands”; after that time they become inert and infertile. For these reasons, few eyes of the deep are born, and this monster is thankfully very rare.

Only 50% of all fertilized eggs actually hatch (and only 20% of all eggs released by an eye of the deep are ever fertilized).

Hatchlings are weak swimmers (speed 15 ft.), Medium sized (2-foot diameter), with 2d6 + 2 hit points. They have only 11-20 feelers and no strands, and their pincers and teeth are softer and weaker (1d4 + 1 piercing damage) than those of full-grown eyes of the deep. Their stun attack lasts for only 1-4 rounds, and targets get advantage on their saving throw to avoid the effect. Young creatures cannot create illusions or use the hold powers of their still-immature eyestalks. At the age of one year, an eye of the deep specimen will have 8-10 hit dice, move 30 ft., and the full range of attacks that a mature creature has, with a 3-foot-diameter body and 40-60 feelers, but still no strands. Full physical maturity is attained within 2-3 years after hatching.

Hatchlings are rapidly dispersed by ocean currents and typically hide, feeding on bottom life, carrion, and small fish for a year or more, slowly growing to full size and powers. As an eye grows, it actually splits its skin, shedding the tough, chitinous outer armor plates of its body to reveal soft, new, larger plates within. It eats discarded plates to regain lost body minerals and begin building a new layer of plates within itself once more. When an eye reaches physical maturity, its body processes shift to regeneration rather than continual growth.

Thus, lost or damaged plates are repaired by the secretion of new material from within. Young eyes cooperate with other creatures more readily than do the more wary older ones. An eye can communicate with all other intelligent creatures by means of telepathy however, the telepathy ability of an eye of the deep will work only any creature with high animal intelligence or greater within a 60-foot range.

Eyes of the deep know the tongue of many lawful evil species, and usually sahuagin, ixitxachitl, common, or (5% chance) some other tongue. Knowledge of these languages is acquired by telepathy; an eye of the deep cannot understand or communicate with a creature that is using a language the eye does not know.

Perhaps the most fascinating and dangerous ability of an eye of the deep is its mastery of illusions. These it can create and hold with practiced concentration, for a literally unlimited duration (since eyes never sleep). Such illusions will end when the eye wills it, or when one of its eyestalks is blinded by battle damage or some other mishap (apparently, both must be intact for it to create and focus clear illusions), or when one or both of the eyes is used for its other purpose (the magic of hold person and hold monster spells).

An eye can move its created illusion about, and the image appears three-dimensional. An eye can remain in hiding and manipulate an illusion it cannot see.

This skill is assumed to be simply a result of practice; the creatures employ illusions constantly from maturity to death (improving their skill as they age), except for the few times when their eyestalks are incapacitated or otherwise occupied. A typical tactic of the creature is to lure prey to its vicinity with an illusion and then use the light-blast of its large central eye to stun the victim.

The illusionary image created by an eye of the deep is equivalent to a major image spell (PHB p. 258) with a range of 120 feet and an area of effect equal to a 10-foot cube or equivalent volume (enough to simulate a Medium-sized creature or a small school of fish). Any creature of average or higher intelligence that attempts to disbelieve such an illusion obtains a Wisdom (Insight) check, and if the check is successful, then that creature can add advantage to the saving throws of companions.

An eye of the deep can sense vibrations or unusual currents in the water emanating from as far as 120 feet away; the creature has darkvision out to a range of 60 feet and can smell blood or sweat in the water from up to 30 feet away.

The hold person and hold monster powers of the creature’s secondary eyes are treated as spells from a 6th-level spellcaster for determination of range and area of effect. Each of the secondary eyes has one of these spell-like powers, i.e., either one cannot use either power. The eye of the deep can employ one or the other of these powers in any given round, but not both in the same round, and can use each power as often as three times per day. Remember that whenever the eye of the deep uses one of its hold powers, it cannot create an illusion at the same time, and any illusion that had existed is dispelled.

All well and good, a fine document and rich in details, I do have a few more to add though.

To many, the Eye of the Deep is known as the Seaholder, which is amusing enough to be gaining popularity, and I must stress that these creatures are much larger in the flesh than people often think they are, most dungeon passages are not actually ten feet wide, they are five feet at best, so Beholders find most humanoid constructed habitats to be very cramped and weirdly restricted to these flat sprawls with jagged ramps and things to compensate for the fact they can't fly. Constructing structures for themselves, Beholders prefer sheer rises, wide shafts and a lot of plummeting drops that humanoids find quite difficult and dangerous to navigate. Beholders also feel no need to concern themselves with what is going on with the ground, so pit traps, pools of acid, tripwires and all sorts of ground hazards are employed as basic security against humanoids, one of the common pest species from their point of view, humanoids are not much different from any other vermin.

Seaholders are also known to entertain themselves using their power to project illusions and delight in sadistic games where they act very much like the ringmaster, or, dungeon master, if you will, of their lair, using combinations of illusions, treacherous terrain, other nasty creatures that share their lair and items from their collection of loot from past victims. The very last thing they want is to face an opponent that is any real threat to them, so while they are not as smart as other beholders, they make use of their abilities in ways a lot more creative than you would expect and its very hard to face them without also dealing with many other things that divide your attention, your abilities and your power to harm them. Beware also that as with all beholder kin, there is variation in every individual, no two are exactly alike, unless that happens to be their special quirk, but as the Dungeon master, feel free to modify the base traits of any Eye of the Deep or any other beholderkin, to make encountering them, predictably unpredictable.

The Ever-After - Dragon Magazine Short Story

Bazim Gorag - Slaad Lord of Destruction - Dungeons and Dragons Lore - Fo...

The Origin of the Slaadi, the ancient Batrachi and the lord of Destruction, Bazim-Gorag