Deep-Dwelling Octopus

In the black depths this octopus looks like a drifting, shifting cluster of green lights, thanks to a bioluminescent pigment it controls precisely. In strong light it proves to be a pale relative of the common octopus, whiter and with a bigger body sac, about 8 feet across and 65 pounds. Its glow is its only camouflage. It lives 30 to 35 years.

Gentle by nature, a deep-dweller has fought little but the odd predatory fish, yet when threatened it is crafty and stubborn. Two arms anchor it while six strike for 1d2 each, aimed at one foe or spread among up to three, and its beak bites for 1d3. A creature under 4 feet tall hit by a tentacle saves vs. paralyzation or is grabbed. Each gripping arm then constricts automatically for 1d2 per round, and once two or more hold the same victim the beak gains +2 to hit.

A held creature attacks at -2 and cannot cast spells. It may try to peel off one tentacle per attempt by rolling its Strength or less on 2d8, doing nothing else that round win or lose. Allies can sever an arm with 2 points of damage, which does not reduce the octopus's own hit points. Lost arms regrow in 1d6 months.

Most colonies are unarmed, but recently attacked ones prepare: against big foes they wield bone spears needing two tentacles each, dealing 1d6, never thrown. They also dim their lights and descend from above, giving victims -2 on surprise.

Only a mother guarding young fights to the end. Others escape behind a burst of glowing sepia, going dark as they flee. Close up the cloud blocks vision; from afar it can pass for an octopus. The ink also sticks: anything caught within its 10-foot sphere glows for 4d4 hours, much like faerie fire, unless it makes a save vs. breath weapon at -2.

They dwell on the seabed deeper than 9,000 feet around hydrothermal vents, and because vents die out, villages move often. They speak with beak clicks and changing light patterns, so outsiders struggle to talk with them; tongues grants understanding, but answering requires octopus form and the glow. Having never met magic or religion, they have no wizards or priests, but their curiosity means either discovery could reshape their culture.

Deep-dwellers farm. In the hottest, richest ground near a vent they raise tube worms and giant clams for food, living in the cleaned shells; farther out they tend shrimp and mussel beds, and some herd crabs and lobsters. They have no money, but individuals own glowing ink-coated pearl jewelry and sculpture that would be unique on the surface, and vent fields often hide precious metals that must be dug out. Wizards pay well for a bottle of their ink, useful for magical scrolls and glyphs.