Ungracefully tall and lanky, this young girl-thing seems awkward and unbefitting to her frame; all 5'10 of her knobby, bony body screams her full submersion into puberty. Androgynous at first look, any hints of budding femininity are lost to the straight and narrow hips and nearly flat chest. She is sans luscious, flowing tresses; her mousy brown hair is sheered short into a pixie-cut, which falls haphazardly to the nape of her neck. Remnants of childhood remain fresh on her face, with ruddy, chubby cheeks, auburn doe eyes framed by soft, untamed eyebrows and a full, plump set of lips. Her most masculine devices are sported by a strong, boxy jaw, and crooked Roman nose that juts awkwardly from her face, giving her an unseemly, angular, mannish appearance. Despite her thin frame, she is tanned and healthy.
All for simplicity, Iasri dons a light green tunic; yellow threads embellish around the neckline and along the sleeve hems, which bell outward at her elbows. Shirttail is tucked deep into a pair of worn blue trousers, which are hitched tightly to her waist by a plain brown belt. Simple, but equally dirty trompin' boots are nothin' special either.


Iasri's parents were simple folk; her father had grown up in a small cothold that was a protectorate to Keroon Hold. There, her family had flourished as workers of the land and runner stock, and for as long as their family could trace their lineage back; beast crafting had always been in their blood. Her mother and father were simple, never had the drive or the encouragement to further their education past what they knew; Thyells, her father, worked as stable hand, and her mother, Oena, did her duties as diligent wife and nanny to the broods of resident children.

Iasri was the second child of five, and coincidently, the only girl of the whole batch. Far from coddlers, her parents looked upon her arrival as just another occurrence. By then their first son was eight turns old, already immersed into the chores of the cothold; by the time Iasri could walk, she was treated no differently. Each morning, the brood was expected to rise before the break of dawn and help their father muck out the stables, fodder the stock, and replace bedding. The commodity the cothold helped produce was far too valuable to waste manpower on other frivolous tasks, and Iasri was treated less and less like a girl as she grew older. Instead of helping her mother with each subsequent brother born, she would wake early to help her father shovel hay or clean out the stables. Life became less about the growth of her personal identity, and more about the tasks at hand.

By far, biggest influence in her young life, had always been her elder brother Thyen, and their relationship emerged from the beginning as a close one. Treated more as a little brother than as a little sister, Iasri had never known the feeling of being protected or excluded from an activity; if she wanted to roll with the big boys, she would have to take a few lumps along the way. Wrestling, fighting, spitting, and any other nasty activities that young boys partook in, Iasri was not far behind. So it wasn't surprising that when Thyen took a keen interest in a career in jockeying, that his little sister jumped on the bandwagon as well.

When Thyen turned 16, he left the cothold to join the residents of Keroon to help with the thriving runner trade. He had hoped to try his luck at racing, because he had been a natural at taming runners- a real "horse whisperer" if you know what I mean. He was short, and he was tenacious, and clearly eager to leave for opportunities afar. His absence wasn't something Iasri enjoyed; he was her big bro', her mentor, and he had a strong hold on her interests. But she didn't fret his departure, rather taking his leave as an excuse to dream bigger. One day, she'd join her brother on the race track. It was a given.

Two turns later, news arrived of Thyen's sudden death. You could know everything and a day about them runners; breed them, ride them, raise them and literally adopt them as your own children, and yet, there was no guarantee for predicting their behavior. Young greenhorns such as Thyen were always cocky about riding etiquette, and when he was given a skittish mare to work with, he had misjudged its temperament and had lost control of the reins. Scare the wrong beast, fall the wrong way, and one person's luck could ultimately run out. A freak accident they said; and in an instant, Isari was suddenly without her big brother.

Her father had told her once that things happen in life without explanation. But if you dwell on the worst of a situation, life will surely leave you behind. Thyen's death was grieved for sure; it was a shame, but the situation stirred something new in Iasri that hadn't been there before; it was determination, one that was fueled by her own individual wants and needs rather than by someone else's. Her brother failed in achieving his life long dreams, but young Iasri promised herself that she'd achieve her own-Her life, she realized, no longer had to follow the path of others.

Recently, Iasri has been traveling with her father to Keroon Hold for month long stays, to lend a helping hand in fostering the birthing season and breeding season of new beast stock. There, she was known for her overtly eager and insistent nature of helping out whenever and wherever she could. Catching the eye of a resident Journeyman Herder stationed at Keroon, Iasri was approached about the possibility of joining the ranks of young apprentices of the Herder Craft. Nearly tickled pink out of her skin, Iasri was more than compliant to say yes.


Remember the saying that a picture is worth a thousand words? If that saying could be embodied in a person, Iasri would probably come close in replicating the meaning of it. She's obviously quiet, but not in the sense of shyness. She had always been taught not to waste words. If you want to convince someone of something, do it in your actions. Too many words waste too much of people's time.

Driven by dreams and aspirations and goals, Iasri displays an avid drive. She's tenacious, persistent, and sometimes, even annoyingly so. You know the kid in class that asks too many questions? Is always hovering at the professor's door after class lets out? It's true she's probably extremely fatiguing to most with average patience, but can you blame her? She's got dreams!

Iasri is also not the smartest bulb in the box. She can't read or write, and counting isn't her forte. This causes her to have an extremely large inferiority complex. She doesn't want people to laugh at her slight drawl, her simple clothes, and her lack of worldliness. She knows runners; shards, she grew up with them, but any technical nit and grit is beyond her grasp, and she'll definitely struggle through her studies.

And last but not least, this young adolescent is quite confused with herself. She's five foot ten, possibly still growing, boyish and not at all feminine. She has yet to understand the concept of the emotional split between men and women. She's not shy around boys, and doesn't even realize they exist in any romantic manner. No crush, no admiration, just chummy chum chums to get into trouble with. Maybe one day she'll wake up and realize her gender but the way things seem now, probably not.


Name Relation Location Position
Thyells Father Small Keroon Cothold Stablehand
Oena Mother Small Keroon Cothold Nanny
Thyen Brother Deceased Jockey
Four Younger Brothers Brothers Small Keroon Cothold


blue Rock
Like the pale gray-blue of an early morning sky, a delicate swathe of icy cobalt layers the body of a lithe firelizard, elegantly formed with an elongated face, round-shaped muscles, and a proud posture befitting he alone. The brisk shade encloses all of his form but a few small patches; darker azure, almost black gracefully splashes the fore of his face, the edges of wide-set headknobs, wide, short paws, and the entirity of a tail longer than one would expect of a dragonet his size. The eyes set into the darkness of his face elongate as well, thinning into two perfectly shaped jewels that peer about with the intensity of a feline waiting to strike.

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