Dankmoor was a town with as much excitement as its name suggested. If one squinted their eyes and peered closely enough at a map of Ferelden, they may have been able to spot it: a tiny dot of a fishing village on the far outskirts of Amaranthine. For generations, the same families lived in Dankmoor, the fishermen and their fish wives, cleaning their fish guts and bearing brutal lives at sea. Occasionally, a scandalous event would shake the village, like a fish wife being caught in bed with another man while her husband was aboard his ship, or every decade or so an unfortunate family would birth a mage child who needed to be taken to the Circle Tower. Ultimately, even if the villagers of Dankmoor were overworked and not necessarily happy, they were comfortable with their mundane lives away from the blood and strife that captured the rest of Ferelden. That is, until the Raven’s Nest Inn opened. Alaia and Eneko immediately drew suspicion when they arrived in Dankmoor. The village hadn’t had new residents for half a century. If they were fishermen, their presence may have been warmly received, but the dark-skinned twins with their tattoo-laden bodies, pierced faces and strange language were unlike anything the people of Dankmoor had ever seen. They apparently came from Rivain, which may as well have been another planet. There was even gossip and rumors that the twins didn’t believe in the Maker, as no one had ever seen them step foot inside the small village Chantry. The Raven’s Nest Inn drew all manner of people, foreigners from distant lands, refugees seeking shelter from the Blight, dwarven merchants with only the finest weaponry and jewelry, who would never think of stopping in a village as poor as Dankmoor under normal circumstances. When a woman claimed to see elves in the Raven’s Nest of all things, without the accompaniment of human masters, it nearly incited a riot in the village. Then the Blight spread its dark wings, and would have raped and burned Dankmoor to the ground, if the pair of condemned innkeepers hadn’t been there, staffs raised in their hands; raw, powerful magic at their command. No one would ever forget that night, how the outsiders saved them, the chaos and terror blazing through a village whose quiet, and insignificance had always been its protection. From then on, the people of Dankmoor tolerated the Rivaini twins, no matter how strange they still were and the deadly implications safeguarding two apostate mages presented. You’d never see a local occupying the tavern again, only Andraste herself knew the goings on that happened in there, but henceforth the Raven’s Nest Inn and its patrons were left unperturbed. Before a gruff templar in gleaming silver armor came riding through Dankmoor, and it looked like he was there to stay.