Foxglove

Foxglove was human… Once. 

Long ago, he was tricked into making a deal with a fae. And traded a fox pelt to be shown a way to the Feywilds, where he could find a shortcut home.

True to the word of the deal, the fae did show him a way into the Feywilds. The agreement, however, did not include being shown the shortcut. Much less being shown a way back to Mundus.

He died that winter, his body twisted beyond recognition by the Feywilds. Clinging desperately to his shawl, knitted hood, and crocheted scarf: Gifts given to him by his spouse to keep him warm while away from hearth's fire.

He re-awakened in spring; a corpse animated by fae magic. And wandered the Feywilds searching for a way back to Mundus.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, months into years… And years into decades

At some point, he realized the truth: Even if he did find a way home… There would be no one there to greet him. And he laid his human identity to rest.

It was that Spring that he finally embraced his existence as a fae. Adopting a new name; Foxglove. The flower he most enjoyed seeing bloom after each cold, dead, winter.

Throughout his time stuck in the Feywilds, Foxglove has become attuned to a subtle magic. Akin to the comfort and warmth of Hearth's fire at home, he has found that there is a magic woven into every thread of a garment gifted to a loved one. One that keeps the heart warm when away from home.

It is this magic, that allows him to brave each winter and see Springs's magnificent bloom. So he can experience nature's rebirth in the wake of Winter's thaw; watching the flowers of Spring bloom in the rotting loam of Autumn. A cycle he has come to celebrate: After all, living things are destined to die. But not all potential life is destined to be born.

With the recent deterioration of the Feywilds, Foxglove has finally managed  to slip through a crack back into Mundus.

As a fae with, technically, origins in this realm, he has found himself aligned with the Court of Shikari. Mundus is his home. And having finally found a way back after all this time, he refuses to see it ruined. It is with them, that the seeds of camaraderie have bloomed so beautifully into the blossom of found family.

Somewhere, deep in the deteriorating Feywilds, still lies a crude gravemarker. On it, engraved clumsily is the name:

“Ilthion Caeran.”

The self-dug grave it overlooks is empty. Surrounded by wild foxglove plants that bloom year-round.