Edgar

Edgar is officially Bumbley's right hand and key advisor, any further insinuations upon the nature of their relationship is usually met with amusement or disgust. He's hardly a leader either, preferring his station as a dragon of the people, per say. His friends and children would fondly call him oddball. His friend Sirocco would cackle and say he's absolutely batsh-t, still the most trustworthy dragon this side of the Twisting Crescendo, but yes, batsh-t. Bumbley would say he's eccentric. None of these things have stopped the whispered nickname that has leaked into his reputation among other clans- The Mad King of Moths. The reasons why vary from story to story- a feral hatchling raised among the insects, a dreamer who flew too close to the light, the last one standing soaked in viscera amidst a massacre of weirdly vicious bugs, a dragon that just really likes fluffy clothes- the range gets a bit buckwild honestly. If you asked him about it, he'd laugh and offer you some tea. You'd get a rambling, mumbled story about his past. Its too insane to be true, but it just has to be- before you'd know it Edgar would be launching into a happy, fevered rant about how proud he is of his kids. And just like that, you wouldn't even remember a word of the first story. Not a gesture, not a syllable. It wouldn't seem to matter to you. All things would be a little fuzzy right then, you would find you don't seem to care about some yarn about The Mad King Of Moths. You'd be a little more interested in how Edgar's familiar had taken to blotting out the light, with a wingspan three times its' master's size. Its' made things quite dark. Oh. You're back outside, your knapsack heavy. The sun is so low in the sky, you can't believe it. You look in the satchel- tea? Huh. What were you doing? How did you get outside your nest? Why do your own wings seem so strange to you?