There was a time and place in history where if you were born in the wrong way you were left to die, bare on the sharp shores of an angry blood-born sea. Such a place was named KadaRin after the silver moon that lay as dark and ominous as the plague of dying it swept over the large island, a place that swallowed dreams into an abyss without hope. The island was ruled by an expanse of silent ever-miserable ever-superstitious women that culted in a temple carved in the breast of a mountain that reigned over the shale-rock shores. Nothing left the island, not even the dead. And very few touched would dare to touch Her shores willingly from the outside world. KadaRin was a place for the dying and the dead. And going their was the surest way for a man to die. KadaRin was a place where women ruled and men drueled in a slow death. They came to the island by accident or by the callings of the elementalist women that bounded Her shores. They came to the island to be thrown into a torturous imprisonment to only breed with the women that could carry a child, then to be killed once their services and usefulness had run out. And the worst of Her island, in a sea of misery, was the prophecy of the race that dwindled on the brown grass hills. They were a small band of very few waterbornes, elves of water and those of sea, as if many existed still, the band was large, seemingly, for the rest that did exist in another part of the world. The prophecy was that one day a child would be born legs first, with eyes the color of the sea, one that would grow to bring all of KadaRin down to the lapping waters again. But the child must be killed, so said tradition, because of the oddity of the birth. So they believed sacrifice was the only way.

      And thus came Aluetra's existence. She was that child, born with her feet first, in an effort, she grew to assume later, to stay where she was safe. In her refusal to leave her mother in the right way, it ended in her mother's slow death. Or it could have been that the woman was intended to die, as the Priestesses saw fit. Her mother had come to the island as a pregnant slave, fleeing her death after killing a man who tried to rape her. She was gladly taken in because she was one of them. She was a waterborne and female, but more so because she was carrying a baby within her swollen belly. When the child was finally pulled from the dying woman's torn body she was quickly taken to the temple to be marked by KadaRin herself (bathed in water said to be of the moon Herself ). And as the small child grew to a toddler she was allowed to see no one outside of the highest of the priestesses, that cared for her in the deepest roots of the temple. But that did not stop a man who knew of the peril the child would live, then die in. And so he broke into the weaponless temple and stole the child away. Taking her to his own land, his own tower, Cadre, land of endless dawn. It was named so for its wild roving hills of yellow daisies that never changed with the seasons.

     She was raised by him, to know him by his chosen name Peryl. The man was a very old mage, one that kept his gifts to himself, and never taught her of his craft. He only allowed her own innate elementalist powers to blossom, giving her tidbits of knowledge about them. But to his own marveled surprise the child had more then just a skill with water, she had the power to use all four elements, but she was no hand-wizard nor did her power lie in her words, it lied deep in the wordless harmony of her song. When she sang life appeared. She gave life with each loving touch of her song.

     He watched her grow to a woman, and when he felt her old enough he gave her her first ward, a plump gray ridge cat cub with eyes as lavender as the very flowers that she, herself, grew in the courtyard's gardens. He found that in her youth she preferred to grow her gardens by hand rather then just have the glorious herbs and flowers sprout by her wordless songs. He would always smile at that.

     But sadly her world was shattered with the sharp edge of a sword. Hearing a sudden shriek of agony she fled to it within the halls, while she had been tilling the small garden. She came to find her adopted father lying in his blood, dying in convulsions of pain. A piercing tear was imbedded in his chest. Not knowing what to do, she sang softly to ease his pain. But the wound was far from her healing skills. She held him in her lap as he died, telling her in trembling whispers that she must leave. In his bloody fist he placed a medallion, a brilliant pale gem glittered in the heart of the silver that embraced the stone. A moonstone, a stone that pulsed with a light even more powerful then she could imagine. He whispered softly to her of the all that she meant to him, but even then spoke nothing of her true self, only of his love for her as his daughter. His only wish of her was to leave, and in so, keep her oathe to life and light, and to never stray to the shadows of the Moons.

      She fled as he had bidded her. Once his last breath was stolen by the act of death she buried his pale body under the very flowers she had tilled to please him. Taking with her only what little she could carry. She packed what she could not carry on her body into a large basket that she placed on her back. She took what books of herbs she would need the most, what objects she had that could fetch a price, food for her travels, no weapons, a blanket, her heaviest cloak, the falcon feather Peryl himself had worn; that she tied into her golden curls, and what else she thought she would need most earnestly. And she left with the gray furball in her folded arms. She never once glanced back as she walked leisurely over the yellow clad hills. Her tears wild in the rims of her cornflower blue eyes, threatening to stain her cheeks, but never doing so. They stayed imprisoned in those dark lashes, trying to comfort her in the littlest way they could.

     And so began her journey, never knowing what lied around the bend, nor fearing what may be. Her life was the act of walking and caring for her cat, Gidgy, who had grown large and lazy in their homeless accent through the world. An entirely different place in every way to her. She had grown for 16 years never knowing anyone but Peryl and her life of chores and endless books unto a world with no hope for her and nothing to do about it.

      But all would change as a young earthen eyed man would enter her rather quiet life as she spent her days bounding through the ridges and trails of the coastal line just north of Storm Haven. A man that would not simply open a door as before. But a man that would accend all walls just to show her that hope is more then dreams. A friend that seemed to fly on the wings of good fortune as with his every word he spoke and with every visit her smile seemed to grow warmer beyond boundary. And thus in the mists of the days that melted by as quickly as the tide across the sandy shores, she found herself not alone nor lost in that tide. She found herself simply a strand of kelp, caught in the current, to dance with more grace and joy to the very song of life. There was no path to choose nor door to open or stairs to accend or deccend. It was about change. It was simply about opening your heart and letting the warmth of true friendship fill you will all the wonders of the world.