Twig

• very observant. makes others feel like his peacock marks are actually eyes (which they may or may not be)
• is a nomad, sometimes spends time with clans he finds while traveling, jinx's being one of them
• ^bc of that he knows secrets abt almost every clan in the region
• ^most of them were just guesses from observing sutff and were confirmed once he confronted the dragons abt it
• only one who knows abt sanctum being a vampire and uhhh idk something else i need to think of

A chilled breeze blew eastward across the Sunbeam Ruins, leaving the entire domain ever so slightly too cool. On that wind, two things were carried that night: the faint aroma of decaying bramble bleeding from the realm of Shadowbinder to that of Lightweaver, and a small maroon fae adorned with garb he fashioned himself from bits and bobs he had collected on his travels. Just as the final hues of blush faded from the sky, the soft tinking of tiny claws on marble filled the otherwise near-silent space.

With a yawn, the nomad stretched out his wings and flicked his tail to and fro. Well aware of the rumors hatchlings passed about him behind the backs of their caretaker, the peacock-marked fae smiled. "Don't worry, my dears, I promise I don't bite," he gave a light-hearted chuckle. "Well, at least not too often." Almost in reply, few not-so-quiet whispers began to sound from behind one of the many columns in the area. The only truly decipherable voice bore a childlike drawl that instantly gave its owner away as being from the Southern Icefields.

"Children, I know you're hiding," spoke the nomad with a smirk.

"Guys, I don't think this was a very goo-" the owner of the voice was cut short by a loud thud when the snapper to whom the voice belonged fell out from its hiding place and barely two feet away from the fae.

"Um-. Uh-. Oh-. Uh-," the petal-printed hatchling sputtered. "How did you know we were here, Mr. Twig, Sir? Uh- We don't mean any trouble. Please don't eat us!"

"Now why would I do that?" remarked Twig. The snapper rolled back to his feet. "And as to how I knew you were there, do the rumors truly neglect these now?" He flexed his wings.

"What would Myrna say if he knew his charges went on an expedition after dark?"

"Well, does he really gotta know, Mr. Twig, Sir...?"

"Twig will do. You've nothing to fret over, Dizzy. I'm only here to speak to a few friends. I promise, hatchling eating is nowhere on my agenda."

With a gasp, Dizzy proclaimed "Hey! How do you know my name?!"

"Myrna speaks kindly of you often, Little One." Twig reached out with his right index claw and gingerly tapped the snapper on the nose. "You and all of his charges make quite the appearance in her letters," his voice shifted to a true whisper, "and you've always been quite a character." In his regular, gentle voice, Twig continued. "I had planned to give these all to you on my way out, but seeing as the lot of you got it in your heads to do the dangerous thing and come find me, I suppose I can give them to you now. Come on out. You're safe." He began to rummage through a basket at his side.

One by one, a parade of six more hatchlings of assorted breeds emerged from various hiding places, including two gaolers who had concealed themselves alongside Dizzy behind the previous column as Twig's right claws closed around seven rings of dark purple flowers. He then extended his claws to allow each of the young adventurers to collect a lei. "I acquired these when I was last in my home realm: The Viridian Labyrinth. I thought to myself, "Twig, I'm sure you must know someone who would enjoy these" and sure enough, later that day, Spitfire came to me carrying Myrna's latest letter and I knew that I did know at least of a certain few who might cherish them."

Once each of the dried leis had left his grasp he surveyed the group. "Now, go on home. As long as you don't wander and go straight home, I suppose I don't have to tell Myrna what happened after he fell asleep."

A chorus of appreciation rippled through the little band of younglings as they each turned and began to flutter or lope home until only Dizzy remained.

"Mr. Twig, I'm really sorry 'bout before... I really shouldn't have listened to all the stories the older hatchlings tell... You seem like a pretty nice guy an' 'm sorry..."

"Don't worry, Little One. The older kids can often be quite the storytellers. Go home. It's okay."

"Gee, thanks, Mister!" And with that, his lumbering gait followed the lead of the others.

By Cha0ticNeutral