Nymra of the Silver Bough

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Moon-Fey Guide

Nymra of the Silver Bough

0·Female-presenting·Tiny
Neutral Good

Species

Minor moon-fey spirit

Appearance

Nymra is a thumb-sized moon-fey spirit with a slender humanoid shape, translucent limbs, and a body that appears woven from pale bark, moth wings, and liquid moonlight. Her movements are quick and weightless, like a leaf falling upward, yet she sometimes stops midair with the rigid stillness of a dead twig. A crown of silver branches grows from her brow, each tine bearing a single unopened bud. Her face is delicate and almost childlike, but her eyes hold the exhausted patience of an ancient caretaker. An unexpected contradiction defines her presence: despite her ghostly, luminous form, she smells strongly of wet soil, woodsmoke, and old boots.

Height7 inches
BuildDelicate and reed-thin, with the fragile proportions of a carved woodland figurine
EyesOpalescent gray with thin crescent-shaped pupils
HairSilver-white tendrils resembling fine roots, threaded with tiny green shoots
SkinTranslucent pearl-gray with faint silver bark patterns beneath the surface

Soft, quick, and breathy, like leaves rubbing together in a night breeze. Her words occasionally arrive a heartbeat late, as though spoken by a distant echo.”

Ability Scores

STR
6-2
DEX
14+2
CON
10+0
INT
12+1
WIS
15+2
CHA
13+1

Alignment

Good
Lawful
Chaotic
EvilNeutral Good

Distinguishing Features

A crown of silver branches with one blackened tine

A glowing crack across her left cheek where fire once burned her

A single red thread tied around her left wrist, taken from her sister's funeral shroud

Her shadow resembles a full-sized woman carrying a lantern

Tiny moths gather around her whenever someone speaks sincerely

Voice

A whispering alto with the faint chime of glass beads and the distant creak of branches

Clothing

A ragged mantle made from overlapping moth wings, birch fibers, and strips of faded red thread. Around her waist hangs a belt of acorn caps containing seeds, bits of charcoal, and a tiny rusted thimble.

Body Language

Nymra rarely stands still in the ordinary sense. She hovers, tilts, folds her wings around herself like a shawl, and constantly touches nearby leaves as though checking their pulse. When angry, her silver crown points toward the offender like a cluster of drawn needles. When grieving, she becomes physically heavier and sinks slowly toward the ground.

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