Mortai

A mortai is a cloudbank miles wide and thousands of feet tall, so convincing that travelers walk beneath one drifting half a mile up and never notice. When it wishes to be seen it throbs with golden light, crackles like a brewing storm, and shows vast, serene faces across its billows, earning the name faces in the clouds. Its rare speech rolls like wind and thunder, and it knows every language.

Mortai are peaceful and usually just drift off from a mortal spoiling for a fight, though an evil creature may get a lesson instead. In battle a mortai throws one lightning stroke per round, 10 feet wide and possibly miles long, dealing 10d6 damage (save vs. spell for half). Anyone struck while on the ground must save vs. spell again or be stunned 2-20 rounds. It can keep this up all day.

It can hang a few hundred feet up or rise beyond 20,000 feet, and its speed and agility let it leave at will. No mortal weapon harms the cloud; even a vorpal sword +5 just passes through. Only spells, dragon breath and similar effects wound it. Few know of its core, a shining nimbus at most 10 feet across where its power gathers, which enchanted weapons can hit (AC -5), if anyone can find it in cubic miles of vapor under a hail of lightning.

Its mastery of air duplicates control weather (3/day), plus wind wall, whispering wind, ice storm, fog cloud, gust of wind, dust devil and control wind. Innate powers add wind walk, rainbow pattern, rainbow, aerial servant, conjure air elemental, air walk (on another) and call lightning (granted to another).

Seemingly godlike and answerable to no power, mortai stay apart from mortal affairs and never make first contact. A respectful, polite petitioner may get help, since a mortai can use legend lore at will and is always accurate, though it may answer in riddles or give part of the truth when discovery would serve the asker better. Mortai love harmless pranks on the pompous, such as a private raincloud that tags along for days or a breeze that keeps stealing a hat.

They seem to need no food or drink and leave the plane's weather alone unless they choose otherwise, though they take many cloud forms, including black thunderheads, and may drench a tiresome groundling. Three theories exist: that they are the plane of beasts itself made aware, that they are minor powers of air serving the storm gods of the upper planes, or, most likely, that each is a gathering of mildly chaotic good spirits. Some swear that long talks with a mortai reveal laughter and murmuring within, as if unseen listeners attend.