And Down Goes a God
When Elgar'nan was murdered, Esmé inherited a small portion of his magic.
You're able to draw upon your anger or the rage of others to make yourself stronger.
On 5-15-24 I redeemed an All Levels Reward token split between my characters.
Esmé gained 21 mastery points on top of the 15 she started with.
On 7-27-24 I redeemed an All Levels Reward token split between my characters.
Esmé gained 4 mastery points.
Esmé Lachance was born in the Ferelden city of Denerim in the year 9:22 to a conman and a disgraced Orlesion doctor. Her father, Veston, was an alchemist of some renown in certain underworld circles – while her mother was an expert surgeon. Esmé’s upbringing as their only child was unique. Her curiosities were indulged and encouraged with the best tutors and books. At least, those could be bought by a family with money but little standing.
After the Blight, the family’s fortunes grew as her father made more of a name for himself in the coastal drug trade. As a young woman, Esmé made the sort of friends to match, a rougher crowd that her privilege insulated her from. She learned to cut a purse, to pick a lock, to bribe the city guard, and in the process grew an over inflated opinion of her skills. It was all a great game, until it wasn’t.
She stole from the wrong person. A smug young merchant’s son, far more observant than he appeared. She was caught, hurt, and carted off to a sunken jail cell in short order. There, she became fast friends with her cellmate Ceren Brynmor, a ranger arrested for smuggling. Promises were made: Help me get a message out and my family will help us both escape.
Ceren’s eagle companion was the key, sent into the city again and again with a scrap of dirty sackcloth bound to his leg and returning to roost on the jail’s roof in the evenings. Esmé fared increasingly poorly as, in dank and dirty conditions, infection and fever set in. She remembers the rescue as a delirious blur: an explosion that rocked her bones, the pale frowning face of her mother, the bite of the saw, and the nauseating rocking of the ship.
By the time her fever broke, she and Ceren were well on their way to Kirkwall with little more than the bird and their stinking selves. And a letter, full of regret. Esmé would live but she couldn’t go home, not without bringing dangerous scrutiny to her parents’ door. Perhaps, in a few years, it would be safe enough to risk it, under a stranger’s name …
Until then, Esmé was on her own. Almost. Except for Ceren and the eagle, Andor. After so many years of calamity, at least Kirkwall was the perfect place to hide.
During her long recovery, Esmé found herself pathetically, infuriatingly, dependent on her new friend. She begged for books and things to do around their shared Lowtown shack while Ceren found work as a blade – or bow – for hire. Months and then a whole year slipped by. Ceren met interesting people and brought them around: a boisterous qunari with the best cupcakes, and a crafty mage. The latter helped Esmé get back on her feet, quite literally.
When the idea of forming their own fighting company came up, Esmé found she could deny Ceren nothing, certainly not after depending on her for so long. And of course, they’d all need potions and someone to look after them. The House of the Salamander for formed, all parties signing a simple contract.
Except they never can agree on what kind of salamander it should be. Wandering, or red, or ...
