Typhoon Dragon [Tun Mi Lung]

Biggest of all oriental dragons, a tun mi lung has a long, sinuous body armored in thick scales, most often blue-green, deep red or violet. Its eyes are dark and beady, a stringy beard hangs from its chin, and its huge jaws bristle with hooked, razor-edged teeth. Wingless, it flies by means of a black pearl set in its brain.

Whenever it can, a typhoon dragon opens with its divine wind, adding lightning bolts as needed. Otherwise it closes to melee, first casting darkness if it has the power, then tearing in with claws and bite. Its body is not built for effective kicks, but it can tail slap. Adults and older can tail slap, dealing the damage of two claws to as many foes as the dragon's age category; anyone in the sweep who fails a save vs. petrification is left stunned for 1d4+1 rounds.

From birth it breathes air and water and is immune to all air- and water-based attacks. Once per week it can call up a divine wind, a storm of tremendous force covering a radius in miles of five times its age level and lasting 6d4 hours. Small boats are capsized automatically; large boats, tree trunks and man-sized creatures each face a 70% chance of being overturned, snapped or knocked flat, and creatures thrown take 1d6 damage per 10 feet blown. Fliers are hurled back 50 to 100 feet, and everyone caught in the open suffers 1d10 damage per turn.

Later powers: darkness with a radius of 50 feet times its age level, 1/day (juvenile); and a 20-foot lightning bolt dealing 6d6 damage, 3/day from adulthood, increasing to 6/day at venerable age and beyond.

The heavenly emperor has charged tun mi lung with unleashing destructive typhoons and hurricanes, a job they relish. They are supposed to raise storms only when the celestial court of heaven orders it, but they often defy those orders and rampage along warm coastlines out of pure spite, and only celestial dragons are strong enough to bring them to heel.

Their lairs remain a mystery, though they are thought to keep opulent palaces on the sea floor, probably in remote waters, since the gentler, more cultured sea folk dislike them. Most of their time is spent prowling coastlines or circling high over open ocean at the eye of a divine wind that travels with them. They avoid all company, even their own kind. Mothers abandon their eggs on hatching, and so many young die that the subspecies remains rare. They speak their own tongue, those of all sea creatures, the lords of the sea and the celestial court, plus every human tongue.

No oriental dragon is less fussy about food: fish, gems and capsized ships all suit it. It ignores other dragons' territorial claims, and seafarers despise it.