An otyugh is a grotesque, bulbous creature borne along on three sturdy sturdy legs, its eyes and nose set along a vine-like stalk that snakes from the top of its bloated body. Two rubbery tentacles end in spiky, leaf-like appendages that the otyugh uses to shovel food into its gaping maw.
An otyugh buries itself under mounds of offal and carrion, leaving only its sensory stalk exposed. When an edible creature happens by, the otyugh's tentacles erupt from the filth and grab hold of it.
Otyughs make the most of any opportunity to ambush and devour prey. They use a limited form of telepathy to urge sentient creatures toward their lairs, sometimes by pretending to be something else.
Otyughs tolerate bright light only when considerable stores of carrion or garbage lie within reach. In the wilderness, they dwell in stagnant swamps, scum-filled ponds, and damp forest dells. The scent of graveyards, city sewers, village middens, and manure-filled animal pens attracts them to civilized areas.
Since otyughs lack concern for anything but food, their nests sometimes accumulate a variety of treasures shed from their victims and mixed among the junk.
Sentient subterranean beings can coexist with otyughs, emploring them as garbage disposals. With such plentiful sustenance, otyughs grow fat in their wallows, unmoved by any other drive or desire. This sedentary gluttony makes them reliable guardians. As long as it is fed, an otyugh refrains from attacking other creatures. However, would-be otyugh masters can easily underestimate the quantity of waste, carrion, and meat necessary to keep an otyugh from wandering off in search of food. More than one "trained" otyugh has eaten its keeper after devouring all the waste in its wallow.