Casting Call

Angelica Bridges



Standing at a height of 5'11", this woman is rather tall. She has Titian hair whose color is somewhere between flame and blood depending on the light and amount of time she spends in the sun. It's usually pulled back into several long thin braids threaded with tiny, chiming bells, each tied off at the end, while the rest remain plain amidst the free hair. They fall down like a blanket of vines down her back almost to her bottom, tickling it with the loose tips. She's a creature who looks delicate by the way her full lips are shaped with a cupid's bow and her brows are perfectly arched. Her ears are small and her fine-shaped nose forms a face that is oval in shape. It's her eyes that are the prettiest part of her features: long lashed, they're large and almond-shaped, feline due to the tilt, yet are a grey that borders on that of stormclouds.

A white peasant shirt sits upon her torso and falls to her hips, where it rests atop the pants she's wearing. The neck is unlaced to prove that her cleavage is quite impressive, the laces falling down to each side of the open throat, and leaving criss-crossed lines to enhance her decolletage. Around her waist and coming up over her shoulders sits a forest green corset of some heavy winter material, with a matching vest containing pockets for storing whatever she needs. As well, a fur-lined cloak with a tarnished gold clasp is at her throat, swirling around her in black waves, complete with a hood to cover her head with upon inclement weather. Thick breeches of dark green cloth hug her from waist to knees, threatening to prove she has few inhibitions about showing off her sinuous legs and hips. A belt is at her waist to hold the front-laced pants in place, but the wrinkles at her knees show that they're longer than they first look. A second belt is for a short-sword, while a dagger sits at one thigh by the sheath. From the knees down, dark brown boots with soft soles and fur clasp her rounded calves and hide the pants she's wearing within them. They're not shiny, but look well-worn at the very least. What appears to be a dagger sits peeking from the tops of each. These boots allow her to move very silently, bringing out her natural grace. At one shoulder is the double knot of a Wingleader twined with green for her lifemate, and the patch for Thunderbird sits close by.


Beauty comes with a price, so they say, and Kiri knows that especially well. Her father, Kiran, and her mother, Avani, were born Traders and lived in a medium sized caravan. Her father was part of the council in due time, and her mother was one of the women who made sure things were kept running around the campfire in the evenings. Avani wasn't her husband's first wife; Kiran had been espoused to a woman before, one who birthed him Niki, before she did something that got her Shunned. Thus sent from their society, and henceforth no longer a living person for the caravan, it became a thing of the past. Like their Romani predecessors from Terra, Kiran and his extended family in the caravan do not speak of their dead. Kiran fathered Ranni on another woman of the Trader caravan, but then married the much-younger Avani once she came of age. With her, he had another four children: Vanki, Kiri, Kivan, and just recently, Ivanka. Avani, however, wasn't all looks - she was born to a woman who had been accepted within the society much as Kiran's own mother had been, strawberry blonde and pale with blue eyes. It had been Avani's dream to dance, to go to the Harper Hall and become a Master of the craft - but an accident on a runner when she was twelve left her near-crippled and fit only to be a wife. Her bitterness faded in the ensuing years, especially as her children came into her life.

Kiri was born with a shock of red-gold, Titian hair like flame and blood that began like the faintest of fuzz atop her head. There was a wealth of it in due time, and Avani, surrounded by her step-sons and natural ones, immediately coveted her daughter and began to teach her a woman's ways. She taught the young girl to sew, to mend, to cook, to clean, to sing, to look her best, and to dance. Or tried to at least. Kiri, despite her mother's best attempts to make her into the creature that she should have been, defied nearly every attempt with a headstrong quality that had older heads shaking in amusement - both of her parents had been strong-willed as children, and it would serve that their firstborn daughter would show signs of it as much as her brothers. When Avani would teach, Kiri would listen and learn - but then conveniently "forget" the lessons later in order to play in the mud, help with the runners, or wrestle with her brothers. She grew up tough as a turkey cob as a result, sporting her share of bruises, cuts, scrapes, broken bones, and scars - thankfully, none of them debilitating as her mother's had been. Avani finally resigned herself to a life without a dainty daughter the day that Kiri, teased by one of her brothers into a rage, plowed into him and had him wailing with a bloody nose for it at the tender age of eight.

This wasn't to say that she didn't learn to read and write as best she was able, nor that all of her mother's lessons in girlish behavior went unheeded. Harpers weren't common, but they were common enough that they spent time in the caravan more than a handful of times to help with education of all kinds. Her mother always made sure they felt so at home they wanted to come back, a gesture of respect from her for her lost dreams. In the end, it was the dancing that took with Kiri, from a young age, and it was what she excelled at - mostly because her mother finally counted herself lucky and focused much of the girl's attentions on it with a practiced hand. By the time the girl got old enough to notice boys, around ten or so, she was developing into a beautiful sylph of a young lady that had more than one young man, and older one, interested in courting her when she was of-age. That was about when she began to ask her mother for quiet instruction on the proper application of makeup and clothing to look like a girl, much to Avani's delight. When Kivan was born, Kiri was expected to help with him, which she did with an older sister's exasperation - but also protection.

Just before she turned twelve, Renegades set upon the caravan. Though she'd had a fairly tough life before, always on the move and sometimes finding lean times in between settlements and indulging in risk-taking alongside her older brothers, who had begun to train for guarding duties, Kiri had never had a particularly dangerous time of things. That changed with the attack, for it was there that her innocence was lost alongside every notion she had of being safe. They hurt her in ways that she never spoke of and never had to speak of, causing grief to her father and brothers since they couldn't find the culprits and avenge her. Kiri decided that it was because she had been too pretty, looking older than what she did, rather than the fact that she had just met a particularly twisted individual. Even before her bruises had healed, she had picked up a weapon with the cold and stony demand that her father and brothers train her how to use it in her own defense. There was little they could do to convince her otherwise, and thus they consented. Avani wept for the daughter she had lost, and for the trials that the young lady would find herself facing along this much-harder road.

The one solace was that Kiri still danced. The Renegades hadn't killed that ability in her, nor had they destroyed that desire. If anything, Kiri defiantly dressed herself as prettily as she could for the campfires at night as if to spite their memory. If she had to be too-pretty, then she wanted to be too dangerous to touch - and, as she grew older, a darker edge inserted itself into her personality that wanted them to try, taunted them to try, to see if they would take the bait and be summarily beaten for it. She wasn't terribly aware of this desire for the longest time, but when it finally was pointed out to her by an angry young man of the caravan, Kiri accepted it. It became her own personal challenge, in a way: if a man could best her in this frustrating venture, then she was his, fair and square. She had lovers that tried and failed, of course, and by the age of twenty, most of the men in the caravan kept a clear distance from her. She had taken up a position in the guard lines after six turns of training, the equivalent of a Senior Apprentice ready to test herself against the world. So far, she's yet to be tested; however, she does still wrestle, she does still get into slobberknocker brawls (often backed up and then removed by her brothers, much to her dismay), and she does still dance. She loves runners, draft and racing, and can gamble with the best of them.


Name Relation Location Position
Kiran father unknown: Trader caravan junior leader
Avani mother unknown: Trader caravan wife and mother
Niki half-brother (+8) unknown: Trader caravan heir
Ranni half-brother (+6) unknown: Trader caravan guard
Vanki brother (+4) unknown: Trader caravan guard
Kivan brother (-6) unknown: Trader caravan horse trainer
Ivanka sister (-15) unknown: Trader caravan child


Pama Pomegranate Margarita Bronze Braithe

Tinged toward a ruddy color, the bronze hide of this flit has fire burned hue that illuminates his hide and allows the coloring to hide his imperfections. A slightly too narrow head, atop his rather squat neck and then across blocky shoulders and the rest of his thick body, with his overlarge haunches and wide, short tail. Slightly paler wings, edged along with flashes of seeming crystalline brilliance where the color fades away along his wingspars and at his very trailing edges.

Braithe is banded with the colors of Fort Weyr.

Braithe is 2 Turns, 11 months, and 16 days old and is 57 centimeters in length with a wingspan of 91 cm.

Time Flung Lord Holder Blue Doc

There has never been a purer color blue than this diminuative firelizard's hide. Bathed in liquid indigo, his tiny features are alive and overflowing with excitement. His graceful neck and curved back culminate in a wave of etheral blue mixed with the tempest of an oncoming storm. Long, agile little wings whirling with arctic blue flame and pure ultramarine energy unfurl from his back like veils of moonlight draping his lithe and fit body. The barest dusting of diamonds scatter glistening crystals over his midnight blue neck and flanks. One odd distinguishing mark, one of his front paws has an underlying layer of gold. The same barest hint of solar glow forms a barely visible pair of heartshaped marks over the center of his chest, signs of his loyalty and passion.

Doc is banded with the colors of Fort Weyr.

Doc is 2 Turns, 5 months, and 20 days old and is 47 centimeters in length with a wingspan of 76 cm.


Elegance in Form Green Safernith