Age: 26
Race: Neru'Abar
Gender: Female
Orientation: Straight
Height: 6' 9"
Linnea often describes herself as being too tall. Her lithe and slender limbs are long and toned, her body light as she has hollowed bones in order to fly. Long, thick black hair curls about her slender shoulders, blue eyes a startling contrast to her pale skin. She has a small nose and large lips, a delicate-appearing envy to other avians. Her fingers are long and skilled, and Linnea can make just about anything with them. Linnea keeps her father's sword strapped to a belt at her hip. It is a longsword, and seems to almost glow in the light, swirls and patterns decorate it's handle. It is named Kaladar. She also carries a dagger. This is held in a sheath tied to her thigh, hidden in case she gets into a sort of trouble. Being a sort of avian, Linnea can converse with sky creatures. Her almost constant companion is a hawk, named Halifar. This bird enjoys perching on her shoulder and following her in her endeavors. The pair speak together through their minds, and have a deep connection. If Linnea is ever in danger, Halifar is ready to attack her foes. Linnea has two clothing choices. She wears either a long black dress of silk, which was dearly won. she usually wears with it a bronze chest plate, or Linnea will don a baggy white shirt (the bronze armor is worn in battle), brown leggings, and brown boots trimmed in fur. She almost always wears brown leather gloves to keep hands warm and ready for work. Her mid-back length hair is most always worn down and free, but when in combat, Linnea pulls the thick hair into a strap of leather.
Linnea is a quiet sort, not the type to go running into a place and voice her opinions. She thinks long and hard before saying anything. Very smart and sharp-witted, the woman keeps those thoughts to herself, unless they are direly needed. If provoked, though, Linnea is incredibly skillful with her sword, and will fight. Her large wings give her flight, and her height gives her advantage. Bravery. Linnea thrives off of it. All that she does is difficult, but she finds a way, and doesn't ever back down. Don't ever underestimate Linnea, as she is a worthy adversary. She may look delicate.... but she is far from it. Linnea loves to work with her hands, to create, to help. Though her hands have killed, they have hurt, they have battled, they are gentle when need be. Linnea is creative, she is swift with a pencil and is a natural artist/scribe. She is also prone to violent emotion. Linnea is quiet, yes, but she has moments when others' emotions affect hers. If someone is angry, she is. Sad, she is sad. Her emotions are more often than not, her downfall. She loathes her inability to steel herself against this. Linnea's favorite pass-time is to fly. Stretching her immense wings is a pleasure, and to feel the wind in her face, the sunlight dancing in her hair is sheer bliss. Occasionally, her quirky nature will take over and she will hover in the air subconsciously, just to feel the power of her wings.
Linnea speaks of her history, as she is the best at relaying it:
When I was... sixteen, I had the privilege of becoming an apprentice to a well-renowned sword-smith named Galrigan. He was incredibly stern and I was terrified of him. My parents sent me off to live in Galrigan's stables. Myself, three boys, and one girl lived in that stable for two years, learning everything we could about sword-play and smithy work. Galrigan and I eventually became friends, despite my fear of him at sixteen. When I turned eighteen, I graduated from being an apprentice, and my Father and Mother came to congratulate me. My Father gave me his sword. I can still remember the look he gave me, a small smile lighting his old face, extending the weapon, saying, "It's like was never made. This is for you, my daughter. Treat it well, and make us proud." I had choked up, I recall, tears slid like diamonds down my mother's and my own face. They both hugged me tightly, us three standing in the sun-lit courtyard of Galrigan's home. My Master watched from nearby, chin up, obviously proud. The other students, my friends, watched with jealousy, knowing I was the best in our class. After goodbyes and many more tears and gifts, I left. I was an adult, and a strong woman. Why stay in my tiny village of Neru'Abarians and sit around? Why become a house-wife, never to stretch my wings and swing my sword with a powerful arm? I had heard tell of war, wizards, and thrones. So, I set out to find my fate. To find out why I was created. There has to be a higher purpose for me than waiting. In my town, I was the only black-winged one. The others had bright, tawny, gold, white, or almost blue wings. They were tan and happy, golden-haired. My pale skin and dark features frightened them. So, I set out to find purpose. There has to be some reason why I am different. Isn't there?
Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.
Faced with what is right, to leave it undone shows a lack of courage.
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