Life Story
Those exalted mages, whom the world calls sages, proclaim that the world exists in manifold layers, each resting one upon the other. They hold that the world wherein mortals reside is termed the Living Realm, while the realm inhabited by the Divine and the Archdemons is known as the Spirit Realm. And of the faeries, it is posited that they inhabit the Faerie Realm, a realm situated in the very interstice between the Living Realm and the Spirit Realm.
The Faerie Realm, the World of the Gods, the Land of Unfading Youth... The legends of these otherworlds remain etched into the lore of every land across the great continent. And there, within the emerald depths of a certain frontier forest, stands a monolithic stele, its face etched with the legends of the faerie folk.
In those woods of old, there dwelt a folk highly skilled in the arts of restoration, who were known as healers. Among their number was even found a faerie healer. The name of this faerie was Anemone.
Even among the fae folk, Anemone was exceptionally curious, and would frequently cross over from the Faerie Realm to frolic in the Living Realm. One day, while in the Living Realm, Anemone was mistaken for a pixie, those fae who bring naught but harm to men, and struck by an arrow. It was there, lying wounded, that a healer came to the faerie's aid.
Under the healer's care, Anemone's spirit returned apace. Deeply moved by the healer's art, Anemone resolved to become a healer as well.
Anemone went before the Elder of the healers and made a heartfelt plea. Though bewildered, the Elder nonetheless accepted the faerie. All who would learn the lore of healing were welcomed, whatever their kin—such was their way.
Though faeries are small and reft of strength, in places rich with mana they require no sleep and feel no fatigue. With a diligence surpassing all others, Anemone labored until the arts of healing had been mastered.
There were hardships as well—times when the faerie lacked the strength to press a wound to stop the bleeding, or was unable to support an injured human and fell alongside them. Yet, through the gathering of deep lore, Anemone blossomed into an exceptional healer, able to wield the healers' restorative remedies, miraculous in their power.
Thus it was that, on a day like any other, a dark tiding came unbidden.
Into the neighboring lands there came a Greater Warped One, whom the world knew as the Witch. Into the eaves of the forest, the Witch sent forth her fell brood to do her bidding. It seemed her purpose was set upon those lands where the mana of the world flowed in its ancient fullness.
The lord in that era called for the bravest of heart to take up arms against the Greater Warped One, and a plea for aid was delivered unto the healers of the forest to bolster the strength of the host. Upon hearing these tidings, the light of eagerness kindled in Anemone's eyes, and the faerie stepped forth to offer service.
"Getting to help the great heroes—I'll be a character right out of the old stories!"
The Elder of the healers sought to stay that eager spirit, saying the hour was too soon for such a thing, but Anemone was not one to be governed by the caution of others. Concealed within the wains and baggage of the host, that small faerie stowed away in secret, and so came to journey in the company of those who went to battle.
The battle against the Witch grew to a fury beyond all measure. Both the men of arms and the casters of spells among the allies fell in their turn.
Amidst that ruin, Anemone alone knew no weariness. The woods, deep-laden with mana, sustained Anemone, pouring their power into the faerie without cease. Anemone unleashed the healing power of the faeries without restraint.
Flitting across the field of strife, Anemone mended in the twinkling of an eye such grievous wounds as would have left any mortal broken and spent. Heartened by the aid of Anemone, the allies felt hope rekindle within them, and once more they flung themselves into the battle against the Witch.
Yet that rekindled hope endured for but a single day. Though drowsiness and fatigue had reached their utmost height, that miraculous healing compelled their limbs to labor on. Though the mages grew still as their mana ebbed, the fighters were yet driven to fight on. The strike force lost sight of the moment when they might withdraw.
They craved sleep, yearned for rest, even just to fall where they might—yet however much the strike force longed for such an end, the faerie healer came in winged haste, banished their slumber and restored the endurance that was spent. Ere long, it became clear to them: they saw that no respite would find them in this world, nor any healing of their weariness, until the Witch was utterly overthrown. The host pressed on in battle, fighting as broken marionettes. After a week of struggle, the Witch was struck down, but the hearts of the victors knew no gladness.
But Anemone, whose deeds were as a tempest upon the field, was caught up in dreams. Surely the hearts of those companions would be filled with a great thanksgiving. Doubtless there would be a summons from the lord of the land, and praises sung in honor of deeds done. With a heart kindled in eager hope, Anemone waited for that hour to dawn.
But though the days grew to a week, and the week to an expectant month, still no visitor came calling upon Anemone. At the last, patience utterly spent, Anemone went forth to look in on those companions. And there, the faerie found only companions whose spirits bore grievous hurt. Some there were who, beholding Anemone, let forth cries of anguish. For all who yet possessed the strength of limb had long since fled the village.
Not only those companions, but all the folk of the village—whensoever they beheld Anemone—were smitten with a sudden fear and avoided the faerie. Anemone, unable to understand why things had turned out this way, flew away in tears.
Though it seems the faerie went on to become an adventurer, there is no record of Anemone's later fate, even upon the stone monument.