Glen

Glen blends in. It's what he does.

Soft spoken, with a nervous grin and deft claws, the Wildclaw has taken it upon himself to care for the village's trees and flowers, moss and shrubs. He moves quietly at dawn and dusk, checking on new growth and relocating plants he feels would be better suited elsewhere. Invasive species are taken home to his den, a shady hollowed tree on the edge of town, and cultivated for indoor display. His knowledge stands in well enough for Nature magic, and the townsfolk know to bring him damaged plants they hope to save.

One or two days a week, he'll open up shop underneath his tree, selling dried, fresh, and living floral arrangements as well as seeds and cuttings he's gathered, with advice on how to coax them to grow. It's then, when he's at ease, that he truly shines: Eyes bright behind their shaded goggles, claws tapping, smile wide as he trades with travelers for new seeds and information. Perhaps it's not surprising that he tends to make more of an impression on outsiders than he does on his neighbors, around whom he usually fades into the background.

Glen has often thought of becoming a full-time florist, but that would require a larger town to support a living. So for now he leaves that dream a hobby, and spends the rest of his week tending the garden, foraging for herbs and fruits to trade, and occasionally dragon-watching in the clocktower square. He'd be startled to learn that anyone there had noticed him at all, much less taken an interest in his habits...