THE GIRL

The Girl

This is even more important than the would be hero. Every story needs the daring damsel that becomes distressed. Only this story the damsel has claws of a lion, tongue of a serpent and beauty of a siren.

Linette Amber Barca was born to Duke and Duchess Barca about 17 years ago with her twin. She was the last born of pair and it was shortly after she was born that her mother passed. Of the two of them, she was the tiny one. So much so that many thought she wouldn't make it on the Isle of Guardians. After all, it was a hard life there and one as small as she couldn't endure it, right? Well, this little girl was out to prove them wrong. Tiny she may have been. Runt of the litter was whispered behind her back on more then one occasion. Nonetheless, Linette has kept her chin up and spirits high, with a flighty, cheerful warmth that has lead to quite a few friends and, subsequently, quite a bit of mischief. A fighter from birth, she is keen to prove that she belongs in this family.

And a fight she has had. All her life she's had to prove she could do what her brothers and sisters could do. Sometimes she succeeded and surprised them all. Others, well, she's had a nasty fall or two that probably would have wound up hurting her badly were it not for the healers that her father employed. But still she fights, with dogged determination to prove her worth. It often makes it so that she takes risks that she shouldn't. Headstrong and stubborn, cheerful and warm to the last that she belongs on the Isle of Guardians and that she is a true daughter to Duke Barca.

Starless locks - Long, wild, and windblown - fall in spritely spirals down young Linette's back; the top-half swept loosely astern where a single strip of golden ribbon struggles to maintain its hold.

An oval face has she, as warm and radiant as the sun itself, with a mercurial gaze that mirrors the hue and twinkle of polished amber -- the burnished brown orbs displaying a precocious charm that extends to her elusively pinched and winsomely curled lips. A single beauty speck rests below her right eye and above soft, round cheeks that gives her a vernally tender appeal; only the excitable burst of rouge at her cheeks and the natural primrose of her sweetly defined lips adding colour to her otherwise golden pallor.

A willowy, diminutive youth, the young woman's crown just reaches the chest of a grown man; her attire a quirky mixture of propriety and efficiency. A sea-green gown with fitted sleeves, a cinched bust, and gold brocade is tucked into a low slung belt on one side, exposing white trousers and brown boots; a finely crafted bow and quiver on her back.

Around her gracful neck hangs a long, gold locket that houses the Barca crest.