Rod Stewart (Type VI½ Demon)
FREQUENCY: Not rare enough
NO. APPEARING: 1 (thank all the gods of the Pantheons of Good)
ARMOR CLASS: 0 (no class)
HIT DICE: 8½ + ½
% IN LAIR: 15% (not nearly often enough)
TREASURE TYPE: A small, pathetic pile of platinum & gold records, and a pity Grammy perched on top
NO. OF ATTACKS: 3
DAMAGE/ATTACK: 8½d6 + 8½
SPECIAL ATTACKS: Screech, stench, tasteless clothing
SPECIAL DEFENSES: +2 or better to hit
MAGIC RESISTANCE: 10%
ALIGNMENT: Pure, malevolent, sticky black EVIL
SIZE: M (well, a certain part of him is S, but I don't want to dwell on it)
PSIONIC ABILITY: Nil
This hideous manifestation of evil and untalentedness is so despised that not one respectable creature on the lower planes will even admit to knowing it. Ancient, demented, source of the phrase "no-talent ass-clown," it wanders the realm of Hades, with occasional world tours, the coming of which are dreaded more than the Apocalypse.
Every round it can kick three soccer balls at any target within 30 yards. These attacks are made at -8 to hit (this abomination is about as much of a jock as Andy Dick); if, by some miracle, it actually hits someone, the soccer ball erupts into a fireball, doing 8½d6 + 8½ points of damage to the target of the attack only.
Along with the standard demon abilities (see Monster Manual, pp. 16-17), it has the following special abilities:
- Its aged, leathery skin cannot be struck by any weapon less than +2
- In order to keep his hideous hide flexible, Rod Stewart constantly sweats a noxious chemical that has the same effect as the secretions of a troglodyte (MM, p. 97)
- Once every five rounds, it can emit a screech identical to the keening of a groaning spirit/banshee (MM, p. 50)
- If encountered outside his lair (a dank, slimy hole in the armpit of the earth, aka England), he will be wearing circa-1970s clothing. Any character viewing him in this clothing must save vs. petrification or be affected by a Tasha's Uncontrollable Hideous Laughter spell (Unearthed Arcana, p. 54), lasting 5 + 1d4 rounds.
Veteran adventurers will tell novices: "If you hear it coming, drive a stiletto into your eardrums. If you see it coming, gouge out your eyes with a melon baller. You'd have a better chance against a squadron of rabid balrogs."