Moonflower

Moonflower | The Seraph

He had called himself a seraph. An attendant to the Gladekeeper, a messenger of Her will. He had lied. Born to a ragtag group of wildclaws deep in the Shrieking Wilds, Moonflower—or that was the name he later took—was an orphan. He didn't know if he'd been abandoned on purpose or accident, but it didn't matter. He was forced to scavenge to survive, stealing from the kills of adult wildclaws and eating things most other of his breed wouldn't consider. As he grew, he learned to adapt to the environment around him.

The idea had come to him in a flash as he saw some sprites flying to the boughs of the Behemoth. Why should the Gladekeeper's servants be allowed to take what they want, just on the assumption that it would be given to Her? And if dragons believed them on just their word, on just their appearance, why not he? After all, he had been blessed with a particularly angelic visage.

It took him a week to come up with a name and a story. Moonflower, for his ethereal appearance, his crystalline body white like the petals of the flower, his wings green as the leaves. The filigree kept him from having to find a disguise. He already looked the part—no need to spend needless treasure he didn't have to garb himself in fitting robes. Once this was finished, he embarked from the Shrieking Wilds to the Gladeveins and Everbloom Gardens, places where no one knew the little wildclaw who stole scraps of meat under the nose of his larger fellows.

The fledgling clan he came upon in the Everbloom Gardens was the perfect target. Small, but growing every day, a plan to create a hatchery to send these charming little dragonlings straight to the Gladekeeper Herself. What better place to hatch his scheme?

He arrived with fancy words and pretty lies and set himself up as a king among peasants. The Gladekeeper's seraph, a messenger to be treated with respect, to be given whatever he wished, who would bring good fortune and Her blessing to the new clan. As long as he was never found out.