Ester is a bleachling gnome whose skin is pale as old parchment with faintly iridescent veins that shimmer like mother-of-pearl when struck by light. Her face is small and angular with sharp cheekbones and a perpetually furrowed brow. Where most gnomes soften their features with expression, Ester's visage is carved from determination and brittle humor. Her hair is cropped short into a jag of platinum spikes that look like paper shreds, and she wears a lamellar cuirass modeled after ancient legionary armor—overlapping plates polished to a cold, dull silver but stained near the breast with faint circles of inked scarification. The lamellar sits oddly on her small frame, rigid and formal, giving her the odd impression of being both formally military and personally self-mutilated. When she moves she uses a dancer's economy of motion—short quick steps, then abrupt stillness. An unexpected element: she hums children’s lullabies under her breath while she sharpens her axe, a discordant tenderness at odds with her ruthless bearing.