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About Esmer

  • Rank
    Junior Member
  • Birthday 04/28/1985
  1. Kioran looks up from her notebook at the gnome reporter that has assumed the seat across from her. Holding his own booklet and a poised pencil he looks across the table and asks "What can you tell me about Urivial Beckett?" Kioran sets down her notebook, and toys with a lock of hair. "He's my commander." The gnome nods, as if he had already known, and motions for more. Kioran ponders "I think he's good at his job, I'm not really sure, he's the only commander I've ever known. I sometimes wonder what he is really like when he's not being a commander, but when I tried to loosen him up at the last party... Well, let's just say I really shouldn't have done that. That man is a lightweight, and a torrent of unresolved emotion when he isn't in control." She grimaces "ah-dung bugs, how does this work, you don't tell everyone what I just told you now do you?" The gnome responds as he walks off. "Lady, never say something out-loud that can't be repeated!"
  2. "A perfect gentleman, and a well dressed one at that!" Kioran smiles and rubs her ear with a polished finger. "I haven't really gotten the chance to get to know him."
  3. Full Name:Kioran Crane-Sunsong Nicknames: Kio Age: Approx 18 Race: Half High-Elf (of the human persuasion). Gender: Girly Girl (Her sex? Female.) Hair: A tumble of well conditioned red curls. Skin: Peachy, marred with a light dusting of ginger. Eyes: Glowing blue. Height: Average Weight: She is very toned and muscular, she looks like she wouldn't weigh a lot, but think twice about picking her up! Place of residence: Stormwind. Place of Birth: Stormwind. Known Relatives: Esmeralda Crane (deceased), Rondrizo Sunsong (Ley Walker). Religion/Philosophy: She believes in disciplined study, and the power sources of arcane magic. She lives for experience, to have fun and maintain a sense of inner-quiet. Occupation: Cosmetologist/cosmetic surgeon. Group/Guild affiliation: The Dusk Watch Guild Rank: Vanguard Enemies: Bad hair, cracked nails, and unsightly bruises from combat. Likes: Glitter, poetry, and research. She is also incredibly fond of firearms. Favorite Foods: Melons. Favorite Drinks: She enjoys a variety of stuck-up craft beers. Favorite Colors: Purple. Weapons of Choice: While she is decent at handling a sword or an axe, she prefers to use the wealth of information and knowledge from her studies to give her an edge in battle. Dislikes: Bad hair, and people who seem to be in a constant state of emergency or personal agony. Hobbies: Collecting guns, and unsuccessfully hunting. Physical Features: Effortlessly chic fringe, long pointed ears, and a gracefully powerful body. Special Abilities: Rune-mastery. Positive Personality Traits: She is a wealth of information, and takes a logical approach to problems. She has a sunny demeanor. Negative Personality Traits: Her fun loving side can create mischief. Misc. Quirks: Due to her half-elf nature she finds that armor is either too long, or too short for her, and that most often than not nothing fits her. History: She has a complicated birth, and was raised by her high elf father who has imbued her with some patterns of ley line power. She largely felt frustrated by her inability to utilize the arcane as well as her father wished, and rebelled by returning to Stormwind to take up the first profession that would upset her father. She is not the greatest fighter, the most prominent lesson that has stuck with her has been to never get hit in the face. She suffers a slight magical addiction that she doesn't understand. She keeps in regular contact with her father, and now continues to learn how to use her arcane power. When she was in Stormwind, she was gone for a few years. During that time she met her mother, and learned her trade of cosmetology and cosmetic surgery. Her mother passed away when she returned to her father, presumably to a substance dependency.
  4. An Evening Out Esmeralda saw a lot of things. From the elaborate gold gilded grate over the hole in her hardwood bedroom floor she had the vantage point of a ghost, silently watching, studying, and waiting. She watched as the patron’s fake sentiments, their manners, and their ‘free will’ crumble before a carefully thought out piece of marketing. She watched for the signs of the monster. In the beginning she wanted to believe the hope that she felt, a tiny spark long since extinguished that used to live inside. She had little reason to believe that there were more to people, or life, then bodies made out of meat and bones filing roles necessary to turn to cogs of a machine. Her role was simple. Becoming a woman was easy, if you were good at painting a face, and had well crafted accoutrements. You could really become anyone, and anyone would believe it. Esmeralda saw that you could get what you wanted from a man in a specific type of gown, with a specific look, and with a well placed hand. She saw friends backstab each other, and gossip in the lack of each others company. She watched fake smiles and empty minds questing after false status and shallow beauty, desperately clinging onto their pathetic existences that held no objective purpose. She watched a hive of insects carrying out societies orders while Maybelline Crothers carved a healthy profit out of human vanity. There was a place here for Esmeralda if she could survive it. What had it meant to survive? Well it was simple, she just needed to get through this next part. When the store closes for the night, the monster will stalk up the stairway and stand behind the door to Esmeralda’s bedroom, menacing and hating on the velvet rug dressed in silks and smelling of orchids and darkness. There was no door that could contain it, her tongue would slither under the crack, and find words that caressed a spell of unlocking on Esmeralda. A promise of a gift perhaps, or something sweet and spicy and everything nice. There was a fine line between Esmeralda’s mentor and her torturer, but both of them bore the name Maybelline Crothers. The dark ritual begun sometime long ago, feeding hate and shame nightly into Esmeralda’s heart until it broke and became empty and unfeeling. The cycle of abuse itself wasn’t very interesting, Esmeralda would be as perfect as any woman could possibly be as she was quizzed on the alchemical properties of compounds, elements, temperatures, and all things related to the science of beauty. A wrong answer would get a smack, too many, a savage beating. In the effort to avoid the wrath of Crothers she had studied so eagerly and fervently that she eventually knew no wrong answers, and was a master at creating, and applying all of the products offered at the Debutante. This was the death of hope, that by some way if she was good enough, or kind enough, or pleasant that the world would show her kindness. No, the world would only kick her and beat her and deal her a goodnight kiss with a fist sending her wheeling to the floor. The last thing she saw every night was the blackness only caused by sleep induced from too much pain. The blackness was a mercy, for a conscious mind would never survive the horrors that came after when the body was warm and unmoving and unfeeling on the floor. But not on this night. With the allies of darkness and bravery, the only friends one could find in the madness of a desperate plan, Esmeralda would escape out of her bedroom window to shim down a drainage pipe to the cobbled street below. She wasn’t running away, she was running towards the idea that if she found a way to make herself useful to Maybelline Crothers that she would stop being her torturer, and be her mentor again. After all, Esmeralda wanted a piece of the fortune promised to her. If she made enough gold, no one would be able to hurt her, and she could do whatever she liked just as Crothers did. She was going to need the means to start, and one of the serving girls that kept the upper rooms at the Debutante had often told her of a specific alley where a woman could make a great amount of coin if she had a pretty face. Her heart never even skipped a beat as she entered the reeking, filthy alley. Her heart had departed the employment of her mind long ago. The alley was lined with scraggly hags, young dirty wenches and all of them looked sick, worn, and sticky. They reminded her of a chipped set of dishes that had seen too much use and not enough careful washing or polishing. Esmeralda was a sight of terror and confusion for Stormwind’s whores. Some of them left, afraid that she was there to collect a husband and to call the city guard; most just eyed her up and down in absolute disbelief. An ugly, saggy woman with straw like hair and the shape of a fat bird with spindly legs complained that the competition was getting too stiff and that she was going to go find a busier corner. Esmeralda relished in the power she had over these women. She chose to wear a body conscious ravishing red, with a gaudy plunge in the back and the front, her arms were stacked with gold bracelets, and her heels were high. She poised herself sensually in a well lit area and waited, but not very long.
  5. The End of A Child “That will be everything Matron Nightingale, I will make sure Esmeralda gets settled in. I have to open the shop in an hour, and as you can see I am a very busy woman.” Matron Nightingale always found it difficult to give up a child that had been under her care for so long, and Esmeralda could see on the woman’s face that this was no exception. The pain and the confusion on Matron Nightingale’s face was almost unbearable to see, as the proprietor of the Debutante ushered her out of the door almost as quickly as she had set foot in. Esmeralda watched as the only family she had known for sixteen years was made to hastily exit, giving one last apologetic glance back before the door slammed shut and was locked behind her. “Well, let us get started shall we? I am Maybelline Crothers but of course, you already knew that” said the bold and vivacious store keeper as she extended her silk gloved hand to Esmer. Esmer took the woman's hand, and shook it vigorously. “Oh dear, you shake hands like a man, here this is how a proper woman greets someone worthy enough to touch her hand.” as lady Crothers demonstrated how to softly fold her hand into a delicate shape around her own. “Yes, that’s good, you just want a wisp of a touch and a light exchange. Mind you some older women, and some from other parts, prefer to be embraced closer with an alternating kiss on each cheek. Now when I turn my head slightly and lean towards you lightly peck my left cheek. Good. Now I will turn my face the other way, and you do the same to the right cheek. Good.” Esmeralda felt flushed and embarrassed as she took in this decadent woman. She had the most sumptuous looking hair Esmer had ever seen, carefully tumbled in seductively playful locks down her back and shoulders. Her dress was a rich emerald green, which lavishly embellished her body, and brightened her already fiery red hair. Her soft bust cradled a large ruby pendant, delicately suspended by a thin gold chain. Simply to behold, this woman was the most elegant thing Esmer had ever seen. Conscious that she was now staring, she quickly darted her attention away to the shop that they were both standing in. “Yes, it’s lovely isn’t it? We have everything a woman needs to feel positively regal, and to look it too.” Lady Crothers chimed with her crystalline voice. Esmeralda dumbfounded, simply nodded. She was starting to feel like the luckiest girl in Stormwind, and was astonished that she was able to get such a prestigious work placement. She didn’t at all get the feeling that taking in a ward of Stormwind wasn’t just a display of Lady Crothers power and generosity, or her latest exploit to increase her social prestige. The shop itself was not large, but it was the epitome of luxury and style. The Debutante, as Esmeralda had been told by Matron Nightingale, was an aristocratic cosmetics store that sold wondrous creams that held the very waters of the fountain of youth within them. The floor was a solid deep mahogany, with royal red carpet runners leading to the glass display cases that were hinged and seamed with gold. The walls were papered in a cream with gold and red stripes, and large ornate trimmings lined the ceiling and baseboards. The ceiling, which Crothers had just begun to brag about as she saw Esmeralda look at it, was painted by a prestigious gnomish artist who was apparently inspired by the celestial bodies. Simply put, it was an image of a burst of colours radiating from a focal point with hundreds of bright stars scattered across it. It was apparently something called a nebula, and it was simply beautiful to behold. The windows which were a mosaic of stained glass flowers were not the main source of light, as they were also heavily curtained in rich velvet toppers with silk organza sheers that were tied away from the floor on each end of the windows with a gold threaded rope with crystal fascinators dangling from the tassels. The main source of light was a brilliant crystal and bleached antler chandelier, which Lady Crothers pointedly said juxtaposed the femininity of the shop with the raw power of nature. “Don’t stand there with your mouth open girl, you must always, always make a point to be conscious of what you’re doing with your face. Someone is always judging you based off of your appearance. You don’t want to look like you’re slow, do you?” Esmeralda quickly broke out of her trance “No Lady Crothers, thank you Lady Crothers.” “Ah, little bird, you’ll also have to learn to find your own tongue. You’re a worker here, not a servant. That doesn’t mean that you don’t have to mind me, but I won’t have some silly dolt who can’t think for themselves. I am going to need you to find your confidence, you’re going to have to speak to many prestigious ladies as if you’re their equals, nay even their betters when it comes to beauty. A woman isn’t going to look up to an uninteresting, ill spoken dolt, and you certainly can’t sell to someone who doesn’t envy what you have.” Esmeralda felt weak in the knees, and her head began to spin from the sensory overload. A single tear escaped the dam in her eye. “There will be absolutely no crying, do you hear me. If you cry, I will give you something to cry about.” and with that, Lady Crothers swung her delicate hand directly and with a biting force onto Esmer’s cheek. It stung, and felt hot, but she dared not raise a hand to hold and comfort it as she forced back her tears. “Well, at least you have dignity. We can work with that.” Lady Crothers motioned for Esmeralda to stay put while she left through a curtained door, and from the echoes of footsteps Esmer gathered that the door led to stairs to the upper floor of the building. Esmer began to notice the art on the walls, which were all paintings of beautiful women lounging nude on chaises, draped with floral wreaths and silk scarves. Having never seen anyone nude, not even herself she closely examined the paintings, finding them to be an odd choice for something other women should want to look at while they’re out buying goods. “I hope I am not interrupting you, I see you’re enjoying the commissions I had done. As you can see, they’re all me and in each one I am using different products from the store.” said Lady Crothers, obviously beaming with pride as she shot back out from the curtains. “They’re unlike anything I have ever seen, but may I ask, why are they all nude. I thought only men had appreciation for the flesh.” asked Esmeralda as eloquently as a quizzical sixteen year old girl could. “No” laughed Crothers. “All women of class appreciate beauty, and most importantly want what they can’t have. It’s a strategy, you see. They see these images, and they want to be them, but they can’t and the closest they can get to it is by adopting my routine and purchasing my products.” “I see. I had been taught differently. I have so much to learn of being a woman I suppose.” thought Esmer out loud. Lady Crothers put her two hands daintily on Esmeralda’s shoulders, and pushed her gently towards a body length mirror that was revealed behind a velvet curtain as she softly spoke “Just always remember this: each woman has her special charm, and we can play on that to our advantage by ignoring it. It’s easy because beauty truly is a myth, it changes with the seasons, and with the years. Men do play a large role in it yes, but women have become so competitive with one another feeling that they exist only to be the most beautiful, and ever fearful of natures clock. Some say it’s a conspiracy men started, to keep us too busy to worry about what truly matters so that we don’t rise up against them and rule Azeroth as Queens. It doesn’t matter how it started, what matters is it’s what keeps us in business.” For the first time Esmeralda truly saw Maybelline Crothers. She wasn’t just beautiful. Her eyes were so wide apart, doe-like and deep. Her eyelashes were long and feline, her smile sweet and wickedly promising. She was almost alien in her characters, and she was a package that any woman would want to be. Her power over others was envy, a contrite and manipulative energy. After she studied Lady Crothers reflection, her eyes wandered over to her own. “Yes, that’s right Esmeralda. Now tell me what do you see?” whispered Lady Crothers. “I just see a girl.” replied Esmer, rather dumbly. Lady Crothers laughed as she unbraided Esmeralda’s dark hair and ran her fingers through it to test it’s condition and length. A hint of a grimace crossed her face, but she quickly buried it in a lie of a smile. “Well, we’re going to have to make that girl into a woman now won’t we?” she exclaimed as she manually corrected Esmer’s posture.
  6. The Overlooked Orphan “Are you supposed to be outside this early?” prodded one of Stormwind cities guards with a look about him that indicated he had little interest, and perhaps even faint disgust for children. Esmeralda looked up from her scribble book, the one she like to write and draw in, and clutched it tightly to her chest. She had lost her last scribble book to an unkind stranger who snatched it away from her, and it took months for the orphanage to receive more donations of art supplies to replace the one she had lost. “Matron Nightingale says it’s okay as long as I don’t leave the steps.” The truth of the matter was Esmeralda’s age made her one of the oldest children left at the orphanage and the chaos of the morning feeding, morning crying, morning baths, and everything about the morning in the orphanage had become a source of misery for her. Sitting outside in the dew and watching the sun come dancing across the Cathedral Square was one of the happiest parts of her day. The extra bonus was she could only barely hear the matrons attempting to pry children from their sleep, while at the same time trying to quiet the howl of babies. The guard shrugged, he had only asked out of mere duty and not out of concern. He quickly diverted his attention to an attractive woman carrying a large parcel “Miss may I help you with that?” Esmer, as she was often called, was used to being dismissed. She had on several occasions the opportunity to be rehomed with a new family, however in some way or another she always ruined it and ended up being deemed “unadoptable.” She knew that this meant she would likely live at the orphanage until the happy day came when the matrons could kick her out. It’s not that the matrons were unkind, or that Esmer was ungrateful, on contrary it was the very opposite. Teenagers are difficult beings to deal with. Fortunately that would be a few years down the road. Esmeralda had been assigned a birthday which coincided with the day that she had been dropped off at the orphanage and a name: June 7th, and Esmeralda simply because that was a name the matron who had found her on the steps had always fancied. It wasn’t entirely uncommon for a baby to be found on the steps in the morning, sometimes they came with a note with names and birthdays, but most came with nothing but a blanket. Esmeralda watched as a pretty young woman and her baby entered the square and stopped in front of the fountain. The woman was smiling, and the baby was laughing as she tossed the tiny squealing package up in the air only to catch it again and toss it laughing back up. It wasn’t unusual for Esmer to wonder what it would be like to have a mother, and today was no exception. When Esmeralda was younger she had a burning obsession to discover the mystery of her origins. She would spend most of her time running away from the orphanage searching for clues about her parents, only to be dragged back by a city guard kicking and crying the whole way. It wasn’t unusual to catch her pretending to be a spy and slinking around the streets of Stormwind playing at “gathering intelligence.” If she wasn’t running away or playing spy she was found doing the strangest things. Once she was reprimanded for poking a dead frog apart with a stick, and another time for breaking a graduated cylinder at an apothecary shop which she was asked repeatedly not to touch. The matrons could only apologize and say that she’s always been too curious for her own good. It was a strange thing not knowing if your parents were alive or dead, if you were just ill beget and unwanted, or perhaps her mother had no other choice and it was for her own good. She could eat away entire afternoons laying in the sun at the park imagining her mother running up the steps of the orphanage to collect her. This however, never happened. A young couple walked into the orphanage smiling and warm, and emerged several minutes later with a toddler girl hand in hand. It no longer pained Esmer to see other children get families as she was left behind, it was one less screaming brat to sleep by at night. “Oh goodness, how old is that one?” gasped the newly adopted mother, pointing at Esmer. “Oh that one is 14, she’s been here her whole life, I don’t know what we would do without her she is such a big help-have you ever considered adopting an older child?” Replied matron Nightingale as she was seeing the couple and the toddler down the steps as they merely just shook their heads. “Yeah well, I wouldn’t want you to be my parents either!” screamed Esmer as she raged back inside. She didn’t see the man attempt to cover his young wife’s ears, or the aghast looks on their faces, but she did hear “What an awful child” spill out of the pretty woman’s mouth.