There is a place in the Feywild where butterflies are born. They carpet the landscape, rolling hills whispering with their wingbeats. Mossy ruins gently undulate as a thousand thousand uniquely patterned wings sun themselves on every surface.
Visitors must move softly and slowly to not disturb the butterflies' slumber. A twitch or yell would sent a sudden cloud of colours, a horde of dazzling shapes and stripes, rising into a haze of maddening confusion. Surely no mortal mind would survive untouched.
There is a place in the Feywild where butterflies are born, and they do not welcome strangers.
This die has the follow flaw:
Minor oversanding of the 19 face