𝐖𝐈𝐓/𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐌.

" 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙞𝙘. "

[archonoclasm]

𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝘾𝙍𝙀𝙀𝙋 𝙄𝙉𝙏𝙊 𝙈𝙔 𝙎𝙆𝙐𝙇𝙇.

Dorian Pavus, an altus mage of talent, charm, and revelry hailing from the wicked, heretical, and mystifying Tevinter. How do you do?

This is an independent and private roleplay blog for Dorian Pavus of the Dragon Age series. Themes of slavery and homophobia will be present. A carrd will be established at a later date. For now, click the pages on my blog page or this pinned post's read more to view both my rules and Dorian's about. A verse in Baldur's Gate 3/DND is available.

Heavily affiliated with: @toherdemise, @vigilant-cleric, @rubistella, @breathandshadow, @relentlessgrief.

___________________________________________________

RULES.

This blog for Dorian Pavus is private, independent, and unaffiliated.

More details are as follows:

I. Godmodding will not be tolerated. However, for setting up a scene, generic set-ups may be pursued i.e. catching Dorian reading a book. Go crazy.

II. I will write only with mutual followers.

III. Do not expect immediate follow backs.

IV. This is a selective blog. I will only follow blogs with characters I find Dorian can interact with. Second, the blog must have a rules and about page. Additionally, an emphasis in writing must be present meaning there should not be frequent out of character content. If I find there is a lack of interest/interaction, I will softblock.

V. I ask that you unfollow with a hardblock. 

VI. Shipping is open though not the priority. I only ship with one variation of any canon character. I will not ship if you are already shipping with a Dorian. This is for my comfort.

VII. On the topic of shipping, this blog is open to NSFW interactions. My writing partners should be +21.

VIII. Let me know of any triggers you may have, and I will tag my posts accordingly. I read everyone’s rules pages; however, things may slip my mind. I personally do not have any triggers.

IX. I practice mains. I may interact with numerous portrayal of a certain character, but a main will remain my priority as well as the default of that character in my writing of Dorian.

X. Don’t interact if you write with geracht (Danny) or goldfanged (Ana), both of whom avidly support my abuser. Beyond them, I have a mental DNI of my abuser themselves. This is a hard boundary. I will NOT make exceptions.

Out of character, you can call me Dean. I’m Viet and +30. I also write Gale Dekarios @ recitedemise.

___________________________________________________

ABOUT.

Name: Dorian Pavus

Birthday: 12 Frumentum, 9:11 Dragon

Age: 30 (Dragon Age Inquisition)/ 42 (Dragon Age Veilguard)

Gender: Cis Male

Race: Human

Martial Status: Single

Sexuality: Gay

Current Residence: Tevinter

𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋.

Height: 5'11" 

Build: Muscular, lean

Hair Color: Black

Eye Color: Grey

Markings: N/A

Piercings: N/A

Notable Conditions: N/A

Substance Use: Alcohol, and a lot of it, often to cope with stress.

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘.

MBTI: ENFP, the Campaigner.

Moral Alignment: Neutral to Chaotic Good

Positives: Charming, sociable, a visionary.

Neutrals: Witty, dramatic, and thick-skinned.

Negatives: Proud/haughty, vain, and emotionally maladapt.

Fun, cheeky, and all with an ever, ever wagging tongue. What’s there not to love? Dorian Pavus, a firecracker of a Tevinter mage, is as undeniable as his strapping ensembles and his exquisite grooming. However, for all his debonair front, there is a man of endless depths wresting admirably to keep all those unsavory layers tucked away.

He’s afraid. He believes deep in his heart that so many of his hurts, his pains, his tragedies were his own doing – and worse yet, that the tragedy of others, too, were his responsibility. Alas, his walls are high, a nigh on bulwark or keep, and his skill at deflection is unmatched, admittedly, as is his talent in flirtation and the gift of gab.

Approves of: Pro-mage sentiments, a twinge of spice (flirting and/or a war of wits; live a little!), and general understanding to his predicament.

Disapproves of: Anti-mage sentiments, criticism against the Tevinter Imperium (harsh and unconstructive ones, at any rate).

𝐎𝐂𝐂𝐔𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

Necromancy specialization. Holds true throughout his life as a mage.

Tevinter Pariah/ Wandering Mage. Self-exiled, Dorian wanders far from his home of Tevinter in search of a higher calling. During the events of Dragon Age Inquisition, that evidently means – oh, he’s not sure – delivering the world from the massive demon-spewing tear in the sky…and something about Corypheus, an ancient darkspawn and self-proclaimed god, helming the Armageddon project. 

Magister. After the events of Dragon Age Inquisition, Dorian becomes a magister in Tevinter spearheading the movement to end slavery.

𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘.

Dorian Pavus, son and heir to the venerated House Pavus of Qarinus, was born in a golden, autumnal afternoon in the harvesting month in Tevinter. From an early age, he had flaunted – and with no small amount of pride – a remarkable ability for magic, earning himself both the admiration and the envy of all aspiring mages his age.

Recognizing his talent, Dorian’s parents ferried him off to study at the Circle at Carastes; however, after an incident where his action rendered another boy injured, the fiery little Pavus son was ferried Circle to Circle in an attempt to rein his behavior and nurse his talents. Unfortunately, Dorian’s taste of rabble-rousing was not to be so easily stemmed. Desperate and after numerous consistent short tenures across numerous Circles, Dorian’s father sent him to Minrathous to attend a smaller school with a flair for stricter practices – and more unforgiving. Three months after beginning his lessons in this new establishment, Dorian was later found drunk, fumbling, and downright pitiful in the elven slums by Magister Gereon Alexius, who, entertained by his antics, was convinced to lead Dorian to the Gilded Quarter rather than call the templars. While in the carriage, it was there that the conversation they struck so impressed Alexius who decided to appoint the young mage as his apprentice. Under Alexius, Dorian began to find his footing, his mind sharpened, his talents whittled, and his life feeling, for the first time in Maker knows when, at last on some respectable trajectory.

Unfortunately, on 9:35 Dragon, Alexius’ family was attacked by darkspawn while on a journey, Alexius’ wife dying in the incident as his son returned blighted by the taint, doomed, as all the blighted are, to inevitably die. For two years, Dorian worked tirelessly beside Alexius to find a cure for his son, even coming to learn a way to bend the fabric of time itself after arduous experimentation. Alas, Alexius was lost, mind and heart riddled with guilt and desperation, and after a rather intense argument, Dorian left his mentor in 9:37 Dragon to return to a life of revelry and drunken debauchery. Humiliated by his behavior, Dorian’s parents sent Lord Ulio Abrexis who took Dorian to be brought back to his estate by ship where, upon arrival, he was kept as a veritable prisoner for months. During this time, his preference for the company of men, too, created greater friction between Dorian and his father in particular who, desiring an heir and an image of a perfect son, engaged in talks of blood magic to permanently alter Dorian. This shattered their already deeply strained relationship. Upon discovering his father’s intentions, Dorian fled his estate, a pariah by his own merit and his own choice.  

At that point, he longs to prove the quality of his country, aiming to right the wrongs of Tevinter as well as to, well, save the world, apparently. Oddly enough, he managed to do just that, helping the Inquisition to stop Corypheus from flooding the world with darkspawn during the War of the Elder One.

Afterward, returning back home, Dorian, later to be appointed magister, goes on to fight for the dismantling of social injustices in Tevinter.

[blacknighted]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐈 𝐑𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘, I lost everything. I'm never going to do that again. — An independent Henry of Skalitz from Warhorse's Kingdom Come: Deliverance series. Narrative themes include seeking revenge, being orphaned by war, and unwavering, unerring loyalty. Set in 1403 Bohemia with fantasy verses available. Content warnings include discussions surrounding homophobia and PTSD. Read rules and about before interacting. Promo credit.

[archonoclasm]

I continue my rpg hell, but Hans in his confession scene with Henry in KCD2 is so Dorian coded. Dorian being absolutely terrified but taking the plunge anyway... Not saying how he feels exactly beyond 'it would break me if I lost you' because more is just too daunting. His lover getting up to leave and Dorian's flash of panic. 'Don't let this moment slip by you. I don't want there to be things unsaid between us. Unknown.' Dorian pulling them back for a quick kiss before they quickly pull away. The immediate knife in Dorian's gut. The, right, you fucked up. You did what you said you would never do again and hoped for more despite knowing more is not meant for you. The quick 'I'm sorry' and the witty words already bubbling in his head. The words Dorian's making as his escape, THEIR escape should they so desperately need it. The escape to pretend this never happened and we can continue just being uncomplicated heroes here to ave the world.

Them proving Dorian wrong. Them locking the door and marching right back for a proper kiss. Dorian melting into it immediately — at once, on command. AHHH.

[archonoclasm]

First, the air was chilled. And then suddenly, heat.

Now, clinging to the corpses drips the scent of petrichor.

There'd been so much ferocity. And so much spite.

"Inspiring you, am I?" A voice, crisp and silky, rumbles out the bedlam. Dorian. He emerges from out the fluttering plumes, the thick miraging waves of lighting-smolder, and turns to regard them. Brilliant. A groomed pillar of ruin. "Better to commission a portrait, I'm afraid. I can't always be here for the gawking — not unless you ask very nicely."

Maker, what a riot. / OPEN.

[starrover]

“I turned to laughter, hunger, a body broken by desire, sighs that burned, breath that left me panting.”

— Philip Levine, from “Long Gone March,” Poetry (March 1987)

[archonoclasm]

"Watch yourself, magister Pavus. You interrupt my prayers way too often for a mage standing in tackling distance." Oh, he was delighted to see Dorian, and very voluntarily gave up his devotional activities to hear his voice. But would he admit to it? Never. He would not concede victory so easily. Besides, the Thayan appreciated their back-and-forth just as much, did he not?

"Tackling distance, he says! How delightfully rustic."

Dorian looks to him. Leant against the doorframe, he oozes an image so unfathomably haughty. Smiling, he can scarcely contain his jovialty, the warbling in his belly fluttering in a tempo both saccharine and bright. My word, he has done this so often, playing handsome men like ribbon at his finger — yet, this back-and forth between them feels disasterously foreign. Like a dingy, Dorian feels himself all unmoored.

And yet: Dare the swells, something tells him as he leans off the door.

"Then in your charmingly boorish estimation, what exactly is the name for this?" He'd call it begging distance. He'd call it going to your knees to pray to god distance. Oh, that palm on Ashen's chest with that smile gone devillish — with a light shove, Dorian guides him carefully to the hard of the wall. "I notice you're watching me as well. I suppose it can't be helped. Let's be thorough about it, your Reverance."

Hear, hear! He indeed thrilled in this back and forth.

[kingcholera]

W a y   o f   t h e   N e c r o m a n c e r  💀

[veilstr1der]

feynirin grimaced visibly upon mention of the gods, reluctantly conceding to dorian's claim. ❝ well, it's horrifying when you put it like that. ❞ he said almost as casually. if he let himself linger on the odds of his success, let alone his survival, he imagined the fear might choke him alive, but he didn't have the luxury of doubt. the world was being threatened, and in his possession he had the only weapon in existence that could put an end to the evanuris.

❝ exactly. might as well have some fun with it. and you're doing alright so far on that front. ❞ feynirin said with a grin. varric's tall tales about the inner circle of the inquisition had been varied, split between impossible grandeur and comedic reprieve. ❝ what? is the political intrigue getting boring? ❞ feynirin asked. he wouldn't pretend to understand what it was like to navigate the labyrinth of the magisterium as he had the political skills of a druffalo.

❝ as funny as it would probably be to watch me get us lost, i think i'll leave the navigating to the local. ❞ feynirin said and offered dorian the address. ❝ did you hear about the venatori excavations in arlathan? apparently they've stored some artifacts here in minrathous. rumor is one of the relics belonged to followers of ghilan'nain. ❞

[archonoclasm]

It was meager, but to Dorian, it may as well have read like a quavering fault. He couldn't imagine what it it felt like to walk with all the weight of the world upon his shoulders. To but trip and falter and risk perhaps their future... Head canted, his companion, dear thing, bestowed him a look. "Oh, I've gone and darkened the mood haven't I? Look at the bright side. You antagonizing higher beings like their cantankerous, ill-mannered child really does makes you rather relatable. In fact, you remind me of myself should that inspire you at all. Even down to the great hair. There are worse things to be."

Like him, he was suggesting. Like their strange Magister Pavus was their valiant Feynirin! Gosh, were there no better word to fling upon this anarchist, baffling, at the very least, would wear him like a suit. Still, he needn't ask him what he's heard, a friend as Rook was of the world's sloppiest gossip. But to think of his youth that'd been so much simpler... Huffing a sound, Dorian leads them around the bend of a sputtering fountain. "Just alright, he says. You're proving a difficult man to please," he ribbed. "But you try feigning interest hearing about the fifth spurned viscount of the bloody afternoon. Walking with a choosy Veil Jumper is far more interesting."

Indeed! Address now in mind, beneath what appeared to be a fresco winked with lights, a whole ceiling of lanterns guided their way. "I might have. I hear more than I care to about the Venatori," Dorian answered with a scant gleam of his eyes. "See those shadows down the alley there? Five sovereigns they're our friends. Do you suppose they've altars reserved for us beside the artifacts?"

[miidnighters-a]

"Go after what you want then, do you? I like it."

Amusement is clear in the tilt of Barty's lips. He's used to banter with patrons, of course, but not all of them are as quick on the return like this. It makes for a fun evening - perhaps even more of a flattering one than he might have enjoyed otherwise.

"Ah, see. To me, you're just another patron. A handsome one, sure, but so far, in here, all you've done is accept a drink." All that to say, Barty knows of the rumours surrounding him (how could he not?), but he doesn't put much stock in them. Maybe it's because he hears too many other things about the nobility, but Barty takes the reports of someone who abandoned it all with a grain of salt. Maybe it makes him a hypocrite to use those whispers, spoken in his tavern, to pretend like he knows nothing at all.

Maybe it doesn't matter. Dorian is welcome here, in any case.

"Perhaps. It hasn't steered me wrong yet, though." A shrug, before his face relaxes into a grin. "Barty."

[archonoclasm]

"Of course you do. You're a man of taste. You can understand why, then, that I hesitate to let others enjoy what I can enjoy myself."

Meaning him? Goodness! Always so sharp, isn't he? It's all good fun, Dorian, this clever, winsome ribbing that would make a nun flush. So what if he indulges in spite of all who's decorous? Head canted, Dorian Pavus is not so aligned.

No, he likes drinks and teasing and handsome witty men that could laugh and quip. Smiling, he keeps his sights on Barty as the other patrons glower. "And distract you from your host of adoring patrons. I would apologize, but then I would have allowed you to make me a dishonest man, and what sort of Red Wizard would I be to let that weigh on your conscience? Even I couldn't be so cruel. I'd have simply turned you into a toad."

So strange. He doesn't scare, certainly doesn't startle, and... Well, Dorian leans into the counter, more than a little bit piqued. He's heard tale of you, too, Curious Bartender. "Dorian. You do have the means to defend your fine establishment if ever it came to it, don't you? Don't tell me you simply charm them into submission. It's a very unorthodox approach. I can't imagine why it isn't catching on."

[archonoclasm]

@inquisiture asked: ❛   patch .   help  my  muse  patch  up  a  wound . / 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃  &  𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐅𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄: still accepting.

"It's not going to scar, is it? Unlike you, my profile wouldn't benefit from some roguish wear and tear. I'm better off a polished stone. Imagine me a diamond."

Oh, Dorian! Does the whining ever stop with you? No, the truth mocks. His gums keep flapping. Still, it's all he can think to do as he's saddled there miserable with the paling of the evening. Already, the stars have broken beautifully as they prick the stretch of the twilight with dots of silver thread. It paints the hour like poetry, all rolling posie hilltops and gold waves of honey, but the drip of his bleeding encroaching on his vision? To the void with them, he thinks. Damned that bloody ranger and who'd nearly shorn his brows!

If only he'd been paying attention. If only his head was blaring like a storm. If only he'd told her why the pangs were worsening... If only she knew about the his father's wretched ritual.

There's the druffalo in the room, and Dorian frowns hard. "Are you quite finished?"

[coldjustness]

The response brings a curl of her lips, a mutual amusement reflect in the brighten of her inquisitive gaze. "That depends on the stiff breeze, Magister." There is the roll of her fingers across the pommel her scepter, the acting walking stick while she moves with a balanced step between prosthetic and heel to place herself in front of the seat across from him. A palm comes forward with the twist of her hip to settle right into the chair and a proper smile is given.

"And the weather, I suppose - if the papers are anything to go by." Yes, the ever strained dynamic that Neve had with them would never cease to amuse, or bemuse depending on the day, the Detective. There is a proper of the scepter against her chair - strategically placed. "However that is a sentiment I am sure you understand, between you, me, and a mutual friend." Those that were the Shadow Dragons, and the powerhouse that were behind their name - that is, the Viper and Maevaris herself. 'They are always biting at the bit for blood. But they wouldn't be such interesting read without scandal, now would they?"

She was no longer in the ranks of the Shadow Dragons, but she will always consider them more friend than foes, more partners in protecting Docktown than rivals. It was a promising future for their factions. Her own finger touches the bishop - a graze of her own touch before she moves to right the pieces across the checkerboard. The pawns were always her favorite. "So that's a yes to a game then, oh honorable Magister?"

[archonoclasm]

Ah! Dorian's eyes crescent delightfully. Seating himself after her -- a proper gentleman, who'd have thought it! -- the magister would appear so criminally at ease. "Nothing so dramatic, of course. I'm sure the mere suggestion of a sabbatical would be enough to have you stumbling and clutching at your pearls. Perhaps you'll even find yourself in your bed just this once," he offers jovially. What cheek! "But if that's not quite enough, I've certainly other ideas that would surely scandalize."

Incredible. And of course, scandalizing folk would be his talent. Allowing her the first move, Magister Pavus proves himself as unorthodox as they come. He supposes that's the reason for their meeting, her overture of support to his controversial policies. Rooting out slavery and leveling out the classes, and, as it would appear, demanding she relax. Strange. It's times like these where he applauds his foresight, and casually, the magister reaches over and fiddles the cevze. "That word's becoming such a blur, you know." 'Scandal'. "One can only hear so much about slanderous affairs and plans to usurp the throne before the controversy loses all its luster. I'd quite like to hear the scandal of sharing an ice cream by the dock to be frank with you. Perhaps even with one of those cherries on top! Now, that'll really get me talking."

But she's right, he acquiesces, beset with the weight of politics as he is. No, he, like Neve, will always be toiling -- and alas, the same holds true of their more cautious Dragons. ('You should be careful with her, Dorian. You do know what you're getting tangled up in, don't you?') Waving Mae's voice away, he offers Neve some coffee. "Even away from all the skulking, you suggest the gentleman's game. I shouldn't be surprised. Are you perhaps sizing me up?" Seeing if he's as...diplomatic as the rest?

[rvolving]

it is no skin off his back. in fact, halsin has faced worse accusations -- from the mage himself, even. in this very case, halsin believes himself proven right. yes, for once he may know better, if only for having been afforded a few more years of trial and error himself. he'll admit as much, his tone one to assuage any rising tempers: ❝ i do not mean to tell you how to live your life, only that some decisions may have more of my support than others. ❞ may dorian make of that what he will.

                   when dorian softens, halsin does doubly so. ❝ i would hope you can speak openly with me. i am not so easily offended. ❞ no harm done between them, rather curiosities aired which best be pondered at a later time. halsin will not forget to pick up this thread under less dire circumstances. for now, he seeks to offer a different sort of comfort: one which stems from having felt much the same. ❝ it has been a gruelling journey, indeed. i wish you could have seen these lands before the curse. they used to be truly splendid, once. ❞

[archonoclasm]

A few years is a delicate turn of phrase. Really. Undoubtedly, Halsin's endured rather a few more centuries over this finicky boulevardier, but Dorian's in a speedrun to do all that's wrong and possible. With a smothering of a snort, him making his decision seemed to Dorian a mercy. "Are you sure? Everyone else certainly has. I can pen you in to take your rounds humbling the evil Red Wizard if that's more your thing." Imagine the revelry they can make out of it! "I think you'll find I can be quite agreeable."

And he drinks. Ah, the classlessness of the West and its piss-warm ale! Ignoring the thunking of the floorboards -- the tieflings have taken to dance, it would seem -- Dorian drums up what he can of a genial nature. "Yes, I'm coming to realize that. Problem being, of course, that one must first somehow get through your thick skin and considerably strapping hulk to hope to sour your sensibilities. I'm sure a life roughing it out must have prepared you for that sort of thing. Not to offend you, of course, but even at its height, I'm sure our lodgings remained delightfully rustic." Dorian frowns, picking at his arm's trappings. "I have rot in places I hadn't even known I had. Been to many dark and dank places, have you?"

[archonoclasm]

RAMON READ DORIAN'S LETTER IN VEILGUARD!

This is such a gift. I love how soft and emotionally open Dorian gets with age. I love that we now get to put his voice to the words on the page. The abject yearning and sincere love, affection, the overt message and confession that he misses you terribly and this is the best he can do without getting to touch you, kiss you, put his mouth on your temple and feel the warmth in your skin.

He's no longer frugal about his public displays. He isn't insecure or scared of his expressions anymore. He no longer blanches at gestures of love, and he wants you to know how much he cares for you, thinks of you, adores you, and wants to say it in every way he can with every word he can muster with all the time he has left with you. His...amatus!!

[archonoclasm]

"You have two left feet on a good day, and you should know that one misstep on a very fussy marquise's kitten heels is likely to lead to several wars."

Maybe more than several considering their luck. Arms folded, Dorian levels them with what he hopes screams a very perfunctory 'withering Magister.' Considering some snorting from afar, he can only imagine he'd done depressingly splendid. Oh, to come venturing the climate of this mannerless land...! Of course they can't dance. Of course they can't.

By all that's still half-way decent: "You do know what you're doing, yes?" / OPEN.

[derangedrhythms]

I am a man of passions, capable of and given to doing more or less outrageous things for which I sometimes feel a little sorry. 

Vincent van Gogh, from ‘The Letters of Vincent van Gogh’ ⁠— Theo van Gogh - June 1880, tr. Arnold Pomerans

[archonoclasm]

@sanctifisol asked: ❛   read .   silently  read  a  book  alongside  my  muse . / 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃  &  𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐅𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄: still accepting.

Later, he'll blame it on the drink. At the very least, he isn't a moping sort of drunk, he supposes, entirely given over to hemorrhaging his heart, but the wave of thought that goes baffling his senses? It's weighty. Considering his glass, he turns it slowly it in his hand.

Really, he had nearly been turned. Serana sat beside him had been wrought herself. In ways, they aren't disasterously dissimilar, a reality that cores him a little more than little. How horrible. Hearing the whisper of her novel with its turning pages, Dorian can feel horror-grief-rage.

It's snowing rather harshly, and it's been a year since he'd left.

"I'd suggest satisfying another appetite entirely, but I'm not exactly sure I've your type," Dorian announces without preamble. Blood. He's pink in his throat and his world's half-spinning, and Serana's like a rose sat suspended in time. "Beyond myself, of course. I'm everyone's type—" exactly right! "—but now I must know: does the Inquisition's other Tevinter crave anything else?"

[youramatus]

I am, however, not leaving your quarters empty-handed. It’s a matter of pride.