Chapter One
On the Eve of Battle

He had spent the last few days attempting to not be angry at his father for commanding him to stay behind and mind the castle. Malcolm was a young man of twenty-three now, second in line for the teyrnship after his brother Fergus. Despite being four years his senior, Fergus was the most stately of the two brothers – one more to use words than the blade of a sword. Malcolm could be called quite his opposite – rash, impulsive, and daring to the point of exasperation. But as far as fighting skill went, Malcolm knew well that he had his older brother beat.

Needless to say, the young warrior was most displeased at being left behind.

As duty dictated, however, he would stay behind and see to it that the affairs of the Couslands in Highever would be managed. After all, with both the Teyrn and his immediate heir off to battle, someone had to.

"At least the smell will be the same!" The voice and laughter of his father greeted him as he made his way into the entrance hall to greet their guest, Arl Howe, as per tradition. "I'm sorry, pup; I didn't see you there. Howe, you remember my son?"

"I see he's grown into a fine young man. Pleased to see you again, lad." The sharp features of Arl Rendon Howe met his. Malcolm knew that those beady eyes were those of a friend, one who had stood alongside the Couslands to defend and serve Ferelden for quite some time.

But when Rendon Howe looked at him, Malcolm couldn't keep a little shiver from going down his spine.

"And you, Arl Howe."

"My daughter Delilah asked after you. Perhaps I should bring her next time." The elder man said cheerfully.

Malcolm remembered Delilah. She was a stunning woman...but never really much his type. Unfortunately he had the pressure of both the Arl and his parents..."hinting" that this might be a good path for him, so he supposed he would have to play the bit for the time being.

"I'd like that."

"Good! She goes on about your prowess as a warrior!" The Arl gave a cheerful laugh. "I think you've got an admirer, young man!" Perhaps Delilah's disposition toward him had changed since he had last seen her.

Malcolm remembered, two summers ago, when he'd been in the company of both his father and brother in Amaranthine for a tournament. At the time, Delilah hadn't seemed at all impressed. Perhaps that had changed.

"At any rate, pup," His father spoke up, breaking him from his reverie, "I summoned you for a reason. While your borther and I are both away, I'm leaving you in charge of the castle."

"Is that really necessary?" Malcolm fought the urge to groan at his father's words, knowing it would do him no good at this point to protest.

"This is no needless task. I ask you to take on a great responsibility." The teyrn said, stern as ever. "Only a token force is remaining here, and you must keep peace in the region. You know what they say about mice when the cat is away, yes?"

Malcolm only nodded.

"There's also someone you must meet. Please...show Duncan in." Malcolm blinked, unaware that they had another visitor, turning to see as the man entered from the other side of the hall. He was tall, dressed in white robes that Malcolm thought marked him as a mage until he recognized the armor and the two and dagger at the man's back.

His raven black hair was arranged into a ponytail, and his complexion clear as his dark eyes looked out at the world about him. They were dark, like Howe's, but they had a warmth to them that Howe's did not have. Looking into Howe's eyes were like looking into a starless night, pitch black and cold, not the feeling that this man gave at all.

An exuberance, tempered by wisdom. Malcolm had to wonder, if he had met the man sooner, if that light would have been even stronger.

"It is an honor to be a guest within your hall, Teyrn Cousland." The man's voice was deep, rich.

"Your lordship," Howe sputtered out, clearly as unprepared for the new arrival as Malcolm had been, "you didn't mention that a Grey Warden would be present."

"Duncan arrived recently, unannounced." Bryce Cousland gave a auditory shrug. "Is there a problem?"

"Of course not," A moment later, that surprise seemed to fade off as Howe continued with a laugh, "but a guest of this stature demands certain protocols. I am...at a disadvantage."

"We rarely have the pleasure of seeing one in person, that's true. Pup, Brother Aldous taught you who the Grey Wardens are, I hope?"

"They defeated the darkspawn long ago." Malcolm replied almost automatically. He had not exactly been a model student, but when it came to tales of great battles and brave heroes, Malcolm paid apt attention to his tutor.

"Not permanently, I fear." Duncan spoke up.

"Without their warning of the darkspawn rising now, half the nation could have been overrun before we'd had a chance to react." Bryce brought up. Malcolm knew that was true enough from the tales he had heard. The Blights came when the darkspawn, tunneling down in the Deep Roads, unearthed an archdemon. The Grey Wardens had always been the ones to fight such beasts when they rose, always in battles to the bitter end.

Epic, grand in scale, a battle that would make any warrior a living legend.

"Duncan is looking for recruits before joining us and his fellow Wardens in the south. I believe he's got his eye on Ser Gilmore." Malcolm knew Ser Gilmore, his father's commander and one of the bravest knights that Highever had to offer. He would certainly be a good choice to be a Grey Warden, there was no doubt in Malcolm's mind.

"If I might be so bold, I would suggest that your son is also an excellent candidate." Duncan said, and Malcolm stared as he looked back to him. Him? A Grey Warden? It was most definitely an interesting prospect, thinking of the conflict he would see. Fighting alongside others to battle the terrible horde of darkspawn and send them screaming back to the Deep Roads.

Putting his blade through the neck of the archdemon and standing on its bloodied and beaten corpse before a cheering crowd as he was proclaimed the hero of the age! He could not hide the light from his eyes at the thought.

"Honor though that might be, this is one of my sons we're talking about." Bryce said pointedly, emphasizing his point by moving to stand from Duncan's right to between him and his youngest son.

"Is there some reason I shouldn't join them?" Malcolm blurted out.

"You did just finish saying how the Grey Wardens are heroes, old friend." Howe put in his two coppers.

"I've not so many children that that I'll gladly see them all off to battle. Unless you indeed to invoke the Right of Conscription?" Bryce asked. Malcolm knew of that, as well. In the lands where they were revered, the Grey Wardens could invoke the Right of Conscription to recruit anyone they saw fit – from the lowiest beggar to the highest of Kings. Duncan could literally walk into the palace of Denerim and conscript King Cailan himself into their ranks.

"Have no fear," Duncan said, his hands raised in a gesture of placation to the teyrn, "While we need as many good recruits as we can find, I've no intention of forcing the issue." Malcolm fought to keep the disappointment from his face. His one chance to see some action...gone. 'Easy come, easy go, I guess...' Malcolm thought.

Seemingly pleased with that answer, Bryce turned once more and took the spot he had stood in before. "Pup, can you ensure that Duncan's requests are seen to while I'm gone?"

"Of course," Malcolm replied.

"In the meantime, find Fergus and tell him to lead the troops to Ostagar ahead of me." Bryce said.

"But I'm not done talking to you..."

"We'll talk before I leave tomorrow." Bryce said, with a tone that said there would be no argument on the matter. "We must discuss the battle plans in the south. Be a good lad and do as I've asked. We'll talk soon."

That was always what he'd been told. Talk soon. Despite Duncan's statement, Malcolm knew he wasn't going to be a Grey Warden or even get to go to battle...not this time. Giving a respectful bow to both Arl Howe and Duncan, Malcolm departed the way he'd come to go and seek his brother.

"They you are!" A familiar voice caught his attention, and Malcolm turned in time to see the familiar strawberry blonde haired figure in a fine suit of chain run up to him. "Your mother told me the teyrn had summoned you, so I didn't want to interrupt."

"Hello to you, too, Ser Gilmore." Malcolm said, looking to the man who had done quite a bit of his training in combat. Though only a few years older than he, Malcolm knew that Ser Gilmore had more than proven he was worthy of his status as a Knight of Highever.

"Pardon my manners, my lord." Gilmore replied hastily. "It's simply that I've been looking all over the castle for you." Before Malcolm could ask why, he continued. "I fear your hound has the kitchens in uproar once again. Nan is threatening to leave."

'Clavicus...' Malcolm sighed as the thought of his Mabari crossed his mind. "Did the dog get into the larder again?" He asked, knowing that that could be the only thing that could have raised Nan's ire so.

"No matter how the maids try to keep him out, he always finds a way in."

"I suppose I should go and collect him, then."

"That would be wise, before Nan tears down the castle walls." Gilmore said. "You know these mabari hounds. They listen only to their master, anyone else risks having an arm bitten off. At any rate, your mother would have me accompany you until the matter is settled. Shall we?"

"To the kitchen, then." Malcolm said, turning to head off that way with his companion.

"Just follow the yelling." Gilmore joked as the two headed that way. When Nan was unhappy, everybody knew by that. A few moments passed as they headed down the stone path to the kitchens, where the bent, old frame of Nan was berating two Elvhen servants.

"Get that bloody mutt out of the larder!" Nan snapped.

"But mistress, he won't let us near!" The female elf protested. She looked shaken, more than a little terrified at the prospect of dealing with the hound. Malcolm guessed she had been in there once already.

"If I can't get into that larder, I'll skin both of you useless elves, I swear it!" Nan was non-plussed by her plea, and her ire still more than a little raised by the mutt rolling around through the larders.

"Err...calm down, good woman. We've come to help..." Gilmore began gently, but was immediately cut off as the old woman spun around to face the knight and the young lord.

"You! And you! Your bloody mongrel keeps getting into my larder! That beast should be put down!" Nan raved, turning her attention from Gilmore to Malcolm now.

"I'm sorry he's bothering you, Nan." Malcolm said, his hands raised in a supplicating manner. Nan had been his nanny growing up, hence the nickname that she still bore to this day. She'd been with the family for years and Malcolm had learned quickly that the best approach was to do what she said...quickly.

She had no fear or reverance that she faced two armed warriors. And she certainly had no patience for Clavicus's antics.

"Just get him gone!" Nan snapped. "I've enough to worry about with a castle full of hungry soldiers!" Without waiting for a response, she spun around to look back at the elvhen servants. "You two! Stop standing there like idiots! Get out of the way!" They moved quickly, leaving the wooden door to the larder before them.

Malcolm came in first, Gilmore behind him, and they caught sight of the almond brown Mabari that had become a constant companion of Malcolm's sniffing the stone floor and pacing about the room. He did not even seem to notice the pair of men who had just entered, barking at some sacks lined up against the wall.

"Look at that mess," Gilmore sighed, "How did he even get in here?" At the knight's voice, Clavicus seemed to notice and turned, barking happily and wagging his tail at the sight of his owner.

"...are you trying to tell me something, boy?" Malcolm asked right after Clavicus barked yet again. With that, the beast barked excitedly, spinning around on the spot.

"He does seem like he's trying to tell you something." Gilmore spoke up, then stopped, cocking his head slightly to the side. "Wait, do you hear that?"

Malcolm did not have time to answer, but had heard nothing until he heard the squeaking of...rats! Coming from the corners of the room, they seemed frenzied and charged at opponents several times their size. The predictable response came as Malcolm, Gilmore, and Clavicus took to exterminating them.

A few minutes later, Clavicus was barking merrily and covered in blood, while both Malcolm and Gilmore were checking their blades for knicks. "Giant rats...it's like every bad adventure story my grandfather used to tell."

"Maybe it was just a coincidence?" Malcolm asked.

"Doubtful. Look at the garbage they got into...your hound doesn't eat like that. He's much more finicky." Gilmore said, a statement that Malcolm knew to be true, despite the almost skeptical-sounding growl from the hound. "But seeing as you've got your mabari well in hand, I'll be on my way. I'm to prepare for the arrival of more of the arl's men."

A wonderful reminder that killing some rats in a larder was likely going to be the most action he would see. 'Thanks, Ser Gilmore. Thanks a lot.'

"Thanks, Ser Gilmore." Malcolm said nonetheless for the assistance in the bout and as Gilmore left to further attend to his duties, Malcolm walked out of the larder with Clavicus.

Of course, the charming face of Nan was there to greet them. "There he is, as brazen as you please, licking his chops after helping himself to the roast, no doubt!"

"Actually, he was defending your larder from rats." Malcolm said once his former nanny took a pause in breath. "Big ones."

"W-what?" The elvhen serving woman spoke up. "Rats? Not the large, gray ones?"

Malcolm nodded.

"They'll rip you to shreds, they will!" The male elvhen spoke up.

"See? Now you've gone and scared the servants!" Nan sighed. Malcolm knew it was really a no-win scenario. He was more concerned with just getting himself and his Mabari out with their skin intact. "I expect those filthy things are dead?"

"My faithful war hound made sure it's safe." Malcolm couldn't resist embellishing it a bit. Clavicus had, after all, been the first to know that any rats were there to be attacked.

Nan just sighed dismissively. "I bet that dog led those rats into there to begin with." Clavicus cocked his head to the side, issuing a pitiful whine. "Oh, don't even start with the sad eys! I'm immune to your so-called charms." Another whine, and Nan sighed. "Here, then," She took some meat that had been taken from the pork roast and tossed it onto the floor before the dog, "And don't say that Nan never gives you anything! Bloody dog."

Clavicus's jaws closed upon the meat, loudly chewing and swallowing the chunks before issuing a satisfied bark. Nan looked back to Malcolm. "Thank you, m'lord. Now we can get back to work." With that, she turned to give orders to the serving staff and Malcolm did not need to be told twice to get out of the kitchens.

This was his home, he'd grown up here and knew every part of Highever Castle like the back of his hand. So it was nothing at all once he left the kitchens to head up the path towards the rooms of himself, his brother, and his parents. Along the way, however, the sight of Eleanor Cousland and three others she spoke with got his attention.

"...and my dear Bryce brought this back from Orlais last year." His mother was saying. "The marquis who gave it to him was drunk, I understand and mistook Bryce for the king." The four shared a laugh at that as Malcolm approached with his Mabari companion. "Ah, here is my younger son. I take it by the presence of that troublesome hound of yours that the situation in the kitchen is handled?"

Eleanor always acted as though she were disdainful of Clavicus, but Malcolm knew all too well that she had a fondness for the hound that rivalled his own. "Yes, Mother. Nan is back to work as we speak." He said, deciding not to speak of the rats he and Ser Gilmore had encountered whilst in polite company (and hopeful said company was not aware of the blood on his boots).

"You've always had a way with her. Darling, do you remember Lady Landra? Bann Loren's wife?" Eleanor asked, turning to her companion in the yellow dress. It was a woman of about Eleanor's age, an old friend of hers that Malcolm recognized straight away.

"I think we last met at your mother's spring salon." Lady Landra brought up, though Malcolm did not need the jogging of his memory. He remembered the woman had a bit too much wine and was making comments of a...sallacious...nature to him before the end.

He decided it wouldn't be proper to bring that up in polite company either. "Of course, it's good to see you again, my lady." Malcolm gave a proper greeting of a sharp incline of the head towards her.

"You're too kind, dear boy. Didn't I spend half the salon shamelessly filrting with you?"

'A bit more than half, my lady...'

"Right in front of your family, too." The voice of the only other man standing in the area came up, someone Malcolm recognized a little better when he pictured him out of the robes of nobility, into combat armor, and with a blunted sword in hand.

"You remember my son, Dairren? I believe you two sparred in the last tourney." Landra spoke up at her son's words. Malcolm, of course, remembered quite well. Dairren was a fair hand with a sword, that was not exactly where he was most proficient.

"And you beat me handily, as I recall. It's good to see you again, my lord." Dairren gave a bow his head, this time towards him.

"And you, Dairren." Malcolm said, not wishing to appear unfriendly.

"And this is my lady-in-waiting, Iona." Landra gestured to the third woman, and Malcolm realized why she – standing a bit shorter than either Lady Landra or his mother – stood out so distinctly. She was an elf. Blonde hair neatly arranged into braids, coming down to just above the shoulder, sparkling blue eyes that were as amazing clear as a flawless sapphire...and a surprising amount of curves for an elf. "Do say something, dear."

"It is a great honor, my lord." Iona spoke up. "I have heard many wonderful things about you."

"Don't look now, Eleanor, but I believe the girl has a crush on your lad." Landra half-turned to Eleanor in a conspiratiorial whisper that was not, in fact, a whisper.

"Lady Landra!" Iona's cheeks flushed bright pink.

"Hush, Landra. You'll turn the poor thing scarlet." Eleanor chuckled.

"Perhaps we should speak alone sometime, Iona?" Malcolm blurted out, getting his mother staring at him and a surprised look from both Iona and Dairren.

"As it...pleases you, my lord." Iona's cheeks were no less flushed, but she's quickly mastered the stammer in her voice.

"I think, perhaps, I shall rest now, my dear." Landra spoke up, getting Eleanor's attention away from his son's words and back onto the here and now. "Dairren, I will see you and Iona at supper."

"Perhaps we'll retire to the study for now." Dairren offered. Iona nodded to follow him, both giving their bows to the teyrna and her son before leaving.

"Good evening, your Lordship." Lady Landra bowed as well before turning to speak with Eleanor once more. "Oh, Eleanor, I just remembered..."

"That is a wonderful dog! He seems very noble and intellegent." Iona's voice came, and Malcolm realized that she had stopped and was now petting Clavicus, who seemed all too happy for the attention as her head brushed through the fur at the top of his head.

'Best wingman you could ask for.' Malcolm thought as Clavicus wagged his tongue happily.

"Greetings once again, my lord." Iona said, realizing who she was speaking to, withdrawing her hand from the dog's head. Clavicus, his part played, walked around in a circle once before flopping unceremoniously to the stone floor.

"Good evening." Malcolm said with a smile, fairly certain it was getting close enough to supper to call it the evening. "You are very pretty, if I might say so."

"My lord is very kind." Iona said, the pink in her cheeks becoming more prominent as she accepted the compliment. "Thank you."

"I think we should get to know each other better." Malcolm said.

"Aren't we doing just that?" Iona asked. "What else did you have in mind?" Her body posture, however, was far more open...inviting. She knew exactly what he meant, but had no wish to speak above her station - or, at the very least, that was the impression that Malcolm received.

He wasn't sure exactly why beyond the physical, but he found he rather did like Iona. She had a...strangely soothing presence that was more agreeable.

Plus, a teyrn's son involved with an elf? Oh, how the tongues would wag...

"Something...more intimate, later on in my room?" He suggested. Again, Iona's cheeks were flushed. This time, nearly full on red as Eleanor had warned Landra a moment earlier. Even so, a smile was on her lips as she stammered once more. "I...I see. I think I might like that."

Malcolm smiled broadly.

"If I come to your door once everyone is asleep...would that be agreeable, my lord?" Iona asked.

"Please, call me Malcolm." The young lord said.

"Until tonight, then." Iona said, going off now with a bit of a happier stride in her step, Lady Landra tailing after her following the discussion of whatever she and Eleanor had spoken of.

With that, Malcolm turned to his mother.

"You should say goodbye to Fergus while you have the chance." She told him.

"Did you know there's a Grey Warden here?" Malcolm asked, without so much as waiting, so giddy at the thought.

"Yes, your father mentioned that." Eleanor said, then her look turned from neutral into a far more suspicious one, even – dare Malcolm say – twinged with a little fear behind her eyes. "You haven't gotten it into your head that you want to be recruited?"

"Father wouldn't allow it."

"Nor I. And I do realize that you didn't answer my question." Eleanor told her youngest son pointedly. "There's enough here at the castle to occupy you. I don't need you off chasing danger like your brother."

"Why can't I go with Father and Fergus?" Malcolm asked, disdainful of the whole business. He wanted nothing more than to be riding alongside his father and brother and going out to kill the dreaded darkspawn. He had no less right to fight than either of them, or any of the soldiers that they'd be taking with them.

"I know it's difficult to stay in the castle and watch others ride off, but we must see to our duties first." Eleanor told him, her authoritative tone reaffirming Malcolm's belief that he would get nowhere in trying to negotiate. The argument was over before it had even happened. "You understand that, don't you?"

He wanted to say that he could make a difference, wanted to bring up the question of what would happened if they fell without him out there. But he knew it was all fruitless, all of it. Even if he could convince his father, Eleanor Cousland was an iron rod. She would not bend or break and he would have to live with it.

"Yes, I understand." The youngest Cousland said, defeated.

"Trust me, you'll get your chance for excitement soon enough." His mother told him.

'Sure, sure...plenty of songs are written about the ones who stayed home while everyone else went off to fight. Thanks, Mother...thanks a lot.'

"I should go." Malcolm said, not voicing his thoughts once more – a tactic he had picked up from his time with Nan.

"I love you, my darling boy. You know that, don't you?" Eleanor asked him.

"I'm hardly a boy any longer, Mother." Malcolm said, a token bit of defiance coming. Not as much as he would have liked, but it was enough.

"Indeed." Eleanor said nonetheless cheerfully. "I turned around and here you are, a fine man in your own right. But that doesn't mean I have to like it." She gave a smile. "Go do what you must, then. I will see you soon."

"Goodbye, Mother." Dismissed, Malcolm made his way up the stone path to their rooms. He stepped through to the hall that branched off into the rooms of himself, his brother's, and his parents'. Fergus was, as expected, speaking to his wife Oriana and their son, Oren.

"Is there really gonna be a war, papa? Will you bring me back a sward?" Oren, his nephew, was asking. Oren reminded Malcolm of himself at the ripe old age of seven. Adventurous, rash, and not quite knowing when to be all that quiet. 'Well, one of those three things changed about me, anyway...' He thought, amused, as he stepped in to hear the conversation.

"That's sword, Oren. And I'll get you the mightiest one I can find, I promise. I'll be back before you know it." Fergus laughed, squatting down to ruffle his son's brunette locks of hair.

"I wish victory was indeed so certain." Oriana spoke up. "My heart is...disquiet."

"Don't frighten the boy, love. I speak the truth." Fergus said. His eyes turned to see Malcolm entering the room. "And here's my littel brother to see me off." He said, standing and turning to face him, a half-turn to his wife brought some more words. "Now dry your tears, love, and wish me well."

"No darkspawn could harm Fergus!" Malcolm laughed, clapping his brother on the shoulder, reinforcing the boundless optimism that Fergus was trying to instill in Oren.

"He is as mortal as anyone, despite his refusal to believe." Oriana was, needless to say, less than amused.

"Now love, no need to be grim." Fergus chided.

"I bring a message," Malcolm interrupted, "Father wants you to leave without him."

"Then the arl's men are delayed." Fergus sighed. "You'd think his men were all walking backwards...well, I'd better get underway. So many darkspawn to behead, so little time!" That was one credit Malcolm had to give his older brother. Even if Fergus was not on par with him, when Malcolm heard him speak of defeating the darkspawn, he believed the man could charge right up to the horde and end them himself.

When you were Fergus Cousland, why in the Void did you need an army?

"Off we go, then." Fergus said, gently taking his wife's shoulders into his hands. "I'll see you soon, my love." Oriana said nothing further, just embraced her husband as though she were trying to memorize the very feel of his body, seeing as he would be gone for such a time.

"I would hope, dear boy, that you planned to wait for us before taking you leave?" Bryce Cousland's voice travelled in from the hall as he and Eleanor came into the room.

Eleanor came up, a hand resting against the pauldron-less shoulder of her eldest son. "Be well, my son. I will pray for your safety every day you are gone."

"Fergus will be fine." Malcolm did his best to reassure his mother.

"I keep telling you that, no darkspawn will ever best me." Fergus laughed away their mother's worries much as he had his wife's.

"The Maker sustain and preserve us all. Watch over our sons, husbands, and fathers and bring them safely back to us." Oriana recited a bit of a prayer.

"And bring us some ale and wenches while you're at it!" Fergus blurted out, earning a laugh from Malcolm, a chuckle from Bryce, and exasperatedly looks from both Oriana and Eleanor. "Err...for the men, of course."

"Fergus! You would say this in front of your mother?" Oriana was aghast as her husband's sudden crudeness.

"What's a wench?" Oren, who had been forgotten until that moment, spoke up and got the attention of the others in the room. "Is that waht you pull on to get the bucket out of the well?"

Adorably, adorably naive. He would learn.

"A wench," Bryce spoke to his grandson, "is a woman that pours the ale in a tavern, Oren. Or a woman who drinks a lot of ale."

"Bryce!" Eleanor's exasperation at her eldest son's, and now her' husband's, words was not yet done. "Maker's breath, I swear it's like living with a pack of small boys!"

"I'll miss you, Mother dear." Fergus chuckled, embracing his mother. "You'll take care of her, Malcolm, won't you?" He asked once the hug had broken off.

"You can count on me." Malcolm said. Another wonderful bracing slap back to reality, the fact that he would be here to help take care of her...and not out on the field of battle once more. 'I could use some ale from a tavern about now...' He mused to himself.

"Oh, good. How thrilling to know I'm so well-taken care of." Eleanor said, with no vague hints of sarcasm in her tone.

'You're really not making it better, Mother.' Malcolm thought.

"Enough, enough. Pup, you'll want to get an early night." Bryce broke off the argument before it could happen. "You've much to do tomorrow."

"Right, of course." Malcolm said, nodding. "Good bye, Fergus." He said, as one final goodbye to his brother. "And the rest, I'll see you at supper." Malcolm then turned on his heel, Clavicus at his heels, and left the room.


A/N: And, at just over 5,100 words, Chapter One is concluded. Yay. Yes, the Origins are important to set up the backstories and motivations. Yes, there's going to be more than one. Two, in fact, that I have planned, merging the two opposing Wardens I had in Origins into one story, so that I might be able to use it in later stories as well.

And yes, this story will follow the same story as Origins, but there will be some differences as we go on. I'll do my best to get as evenly balanced with the companions and such as possible, as well as some of the NPCs to be encountered.