As a highborn royal elf, a great many skills were passed on to the young princess Khaira and her five siblings, of which she was the second eldest. She was the finest in swordplay tutoring, the best in etiquette, speech, horseback riding, and most everything else, though she possessed remarkably poor magical ability by elven standards, and atrociously weak natural resistance to the arcane. As such, she was largely sidelined and forgotten about. There was plenty of time for her to fully savor the outdoors and spar with her fellow knights. She earned the respect of those below her as a competent and versatile individual, even sneaking out to join an adventurer's group on a dangerous quest on one particularly exciting occasion. All was good in her life, but it was not meant to last. As an of-age princess, her primary use was really to secure an alliance through traditional means. Which meant the usual arranged marriage assortment, and mostly fading from public view entirely, depending on the culture of the realm she married. Elven maidens, particularly royalty, are always in extremely high demand due to their longevity, fertility, and natural physical/magical boons that can pass down to their offspring. Much as she adored the pretty gowns and dresses, she always felt terribly vulnerable while wearing them, as she lacked a partner she could really trust. Stereotypical or otherwise, it still didn't sit right with her, so she did what any sane princess would do; run off into another kingdom and start life anew. It didn't take long for her to smuggle herself into a distant town, far from the reach of her old elvish home country of the Halmah Confederacy. Fortunately, in a world of unpleasant individuals who love to make money off of the innocent or gullible, there was always a need for those with a strong sword hand, so she never wanted for work, even if she would never afford the extravagant luxuries of traditional elven royalty.

It was then she learned of the Shrinkweed, the seemingly infinite fields that surrounded the city. Many tried to sneak past the toll roads, but the onyl way around them was through the six foot high violet tinted grass. The longer spent within the fields, the more one finds themselves reduced, clothes and all, bit by bit. Given that it's easy to get lost, most stumble out of the mazelike fields an hour later at the absolute minimum of around four to eight inches. Cutting a way through is even worse, as the shredded material only amplifies the process. As such, none have dared to try cutting through the stuff. Locals and animals shy away from it. Attempts to study it generally involve the apothecary getting affected, no matter how careful they are, and as a result, most refuse to stock it, and those that do are noticeably shorter. It can be refined into draughts and potions, where the darker shades of purple are the more concentrated and refined of the bunch, allowing even magically incompetent individuals to reduce someone to doll size. Recovery is agonizingly slow, as a day will only ever return a few inches at a time. Magic can, of course, ward off the effects, reverse them much more quickly, or most terrifying of all, freeze the natural recovery from continuing, forever trapping the victim in a shrunken state unless reversed. As a result, dozens of slaver and bandit camps have sprung up around the fields, luring unsuspecting visitors and capturing them as commodities to be bought and sold, eaten or used, or just as exotic pets. Fake roadsigns, paths, and nefarious traps litter the outskirts, especially during the peak tourism season where countless people go missing and never turn up found. Vertcastor, the town itself, is often cursed by harsh winters, but survives due to being a massively popular hot spring site, and those from all across the realms near and far flock to relax in unending warmth. That of course, neglects to mention that the city is surrounded by the Shrinkweed fields, and as a result has a population of varying sizes, and an overcrowded infimary full of tiny people waiting until they're tall enough to leave safely. Given that magic is near nonexistent in an otherwise backwater village, no native resident possesses the skill to recover the poor things... but at least they're safe from bandits or enemy armies in the hidden and almost naturally camoflauged town. Even tax collectors and bounty hunters often refuse to go near it for fear of being cursed, making it a popular place for fugitives to lie low or start a new, more morally sound life altogether.

Now, she is known as 'The Snow Owl of Vertcastor', a renowned swordswoman who guards the pastures and rescues unwary travelers from the Shrinkweed fields that surround the humble town from all sides but the north. She helps to guide travelers away, and rescue those that have fallen victim to some of the unpleasant banditry lurking around the town, and has saved many unfortunates as a result. Just as with the knights back at her pampered castle life, she has again earned the respect of the people. Despite having largely abandoned her old identity, assuming no one to remember who she was, she still uses her old name Khaira and isn't particularly wary of strangers.