Rhys

Pro tip: Don't hurt the trees. It's not likely to end well for you.

Perpetually on watch, Rhys protects the local plantlife from destruction. Those found to be harming the plantlife are punished without mercy. Such anger and malice should not fit into such a tiny frame. Or any frame for that matter.

It's joked that Rhys must be part spiral, for his mood can change at the drop of a claw. One wrong move and Rhys will be at your throat, demanding an apology or your life. Seconds afterwards, he'll be eagerly asking what you think of the new flowers he's been growing on the roof. It's best not to mention that a suspicious number of them are blood-red.

That garden is where he can usually be found, tending to plants atop the highest reaches of the fortress. His goal is to eventually have flowers on every rooftop, but due to the sheer size of the clan's lair that's quite the task for a lone fae. Not that it'll stop Rhys — he'll plant every seed and fly all the dirt up there by himself, even if it takes him a million trips. (Which, considering his size, it actually might.) It's not much of a relief for the rest of the clan, who'll eventually have to decide if the possibly blood-sucking plants or Rhys is more dangerous.

Despite his love of nature, Rhys refuses to go anywhere near the Starwood Strand. He claims that there's something wrong with it; that it's an abomination of nature and shouldn't exist. Most dragons just laugh his claims off (arguably, most of Arcane shouldn't exist), but a few are considering gathering some data to see if he's on to something more sinister...

He's got an... odd relationship with Zikel. Sometimes he treats her like a stalwart ally, but other times he's incredibly distrusting. Strangely, Zikel seems to accept his distrust, even though she'd normally never stand for it. Luckily, Rhys rarely escalates this to a full confrontation. He is usually content to trace Zikel's flight paths, and make sure she hasn't been diseasing plants while nobody is looking.

While not the most disciplined member of the clan guard, Rhys is nevertheless effective. All you have to do is tell him the enemy kicked some trees on the way over, and he'll show them why they should fear the fae. You might even want to pray to the Eleven that he won't make their deaths too painful.

Rhys' favourite kind of tree is the birch. But not the birches of the Isles, the birches of his home in the Labyrinth. Those trees were tall and majestic, while the ones here are spindly and lopsided. They also give him the feeling of being watched, but Rhys hasn't been able to find any evidence that they do so. Still, he'll often turn around in a panic, only to find nothing but a few leaves falling from the trees.

Eventually, after many, many failed attempts to hug the trees of her grove, Befilia took pity on Rhys. As he was never good enough at magic to grow plants by himself, she planted a lone birch sapling outside the entrance to the fortress. Now that tree towers over the smaller dragons, and is tall enough to even cast its shade on the imperials. It's much taller and healthier than Befilia's other trees, so some other nature dragons must be helping it. Perhaps all of them do, taking a few minutes whenever they pass by to work their magic and grow the tree ever higher. Whatever the case, Rhys couldn't be happier.

Is that stuff on his claws blood, or tree sap?

---

Rhys was raised as a gladiator, drawing blood for the enjoyment of the spectators. His opponents were mostly the local wildclaws, and he gained great renown for being the smallest thing that could take on those larger dragons. But as much as he enjoyed fighting, being trapped in an arena, with the natural splendour of the Gladeveins just out of reach, ate away at him from the inside. Thus Rhys began to plot his escape.

Chaos would be his greatest asset, as there was no way he could fight the entire population of the arena at once. So he came up with a idea that only his bloodthirsty mind could come up with. He'd release a deadly horror upon the audience, an aberration that should have stayed lost to the world. Carnivorous butterflies.

He bred them in secret, feeding them with the flesh of... well, you don't want to know. It was a lot easier to get that meat than Rhys expected, though. Eventually Rhys was ready, and he released his monsters upon the stadium. The carnage was lovely, the screams a song of victory. And admist it all, Rhys was free. Free to touch the leaves of every tree, to smell every last flower.

But the butterflies didn't stop. A tsunami of colourful death, they covered the surrounding jungle, and neither plant nor beast was safe from their tiny wrath. Rhys was the exception, but that only meant he had more time to take in the horror he had wrought.

Eventually, some of the Gladekeeper's forces arrived, prepared to clean out the infestation. This was Rhys' cue to leave the scene, though he's never been sure whether he was fleeing the Gladekeeper's legion or his own shame. But he fled, a cloud of butterflies trailing in his wake. Once he'd covered enough ground, he slowed down his flight to gather seeds. If he couldn't live in the Viridian Labyrinth, he'd be taking some of it with him. Perhaps to the Starfall Isles; enough odd stuff goes on there that nobody should really mind the appearance of a small jungle.

But really, don't mess with his butterflies. It's not worth it.