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Character Age: 32
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Specialization: Necromancer
Occupation: Pariah
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Joined: 13-November 17
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Dorian Pavus

Mage

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Nov 24 2017, 01:27 AM
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<h2>20 Drakonis, 9:40</h2>


The sun was high in the sky, shining its mid-afternoon rays of warmth down onto the market below it. Dorian strode down the crowded cobble paved street with his characteristic boldness wafting off his person like a fragrant perfume. He and Felix had always joked when they were younger that the key to sneaking around in plain sight was to be confident in what you were doing; no one would suspect that you weren’t supposed to be there. Despite the fact that theory had only been practiced sneaking extra sweets from the kitchen of his estate, Dorian found that no one paid any heed to a finely dressed and charming vagabond walking among them. Whether it be because he held himself with the same rigidness and air of sophistication the upper class adorned in fine threaded silks held, or because they were too busy commanding their slaves to purchase or carry their purchased items that they didn’t even notice a strange newcomer striding through, he didn’t particularly know or care. He had a small purse full of coin in his pocket and limited time to use it to his advantage if he wanted to leave Minrathous at a decent hour. He’d been wandering around that area for a few weeks; if an acquaintance of his family had seen him, word would have gotten back to his father by now, and that was the last man Dorian wanted to see.
<p>
He wasn’t a fugitive, per say. Dorian was a grown, exquisitely crafted man (both in looks and abilities, if he did say so himself) who made some poor life choices and, from what the entirety of the Tevinter Imperium would assume, had chosen to run from his ever growing list of problems instead of staying to confront them head on like the honorable Enchanter he was supposed to be. The reality was entirely different, however. Dorian Pavus merely saw his homeland for what it really was; a twisted society bright and beautified with works of magics to hide the ugly taint of oppression weaved into its culture like a wool blanket. An empire built on slavery enforced by the strictest hand where the blood flowed like a river under the foundations, the stench rising up from the gravel and making his nose twitch. A country full of snakes, of liars, and people who didn’t know that this way of life was wrong. A country he still loved, and had chosen to run away from because running away, at the moment, seemed to be the only chance to find a way to fix it. He just needed to decide where to go.
<p>
Dorian stopped at a small corner where a vendor had set up a supplement shop. He had limited funds at the moment, but traveling alone required one to have plenty of health and mana potions stocked up in case of emergencies. He smoothed his dark locks of hair into their desired place and flashed a playful smile, bantering playfully with the shopkeeper for a lower price for a bulk purchase. The arrangement turned out in his favor so he paid and left with a parting thank you, stuffing the procured items in his satchel and scanning the streets for other necessities. He detested buying food to travel with for fear it would go spoiled before having a chance to eat it, but he allowed himself to buy a few portions of dried beef to last him until he got to the next town, hopefully having a bit more coin by then to buy himself a decent meal and proper lodging. He turned back into the square, smiling and stepping through the crowd for his next purchase, carefully eying the sun to keep track of time. He couldn’t risk spending another full day in Minrathous.
<p>



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Nov 17 2017, 03:27 AM
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<h2>16 Cloudreach, 9:28</h2>

It was a cool evening, but not unbearably so. Just enough difference that, as the sun fell below the ancient weathered stone walls of the city, Dorian began to miss the warmth of the sun’s rays kissing his honey-colored skin. All around him, towering street lanterns alit with magical flame, aiding the dwindling light of the sky to help passersby see their way home. The endless bustling of Minrathous should have amazed the young mage; even in the late hours of the night there always seemed to be people, be it humans, dwarves, or elves, doing some kind of activity, whether it be a social function based on the expensive, fashionable silks adorning faceless strangers or a timid slave running mysterious errands for their master, suspicious and guilt-ridden based on the way they notably avoided eye contact with him. Despite his apparent curiosity, however, Dorian didn’t allow himself to partake any enjoyment out of the capital’s nightlife; he was here against his will, after all, a forced student under the Order of Argent. He hated it with a passion, counting down the days until he could leave the dreadful, soul sucking prison. Where he would go was another matter, one he intended to figure out when the time came.
<p>
There was a curfew, but Dorian was in habit of breaking it almost every night, as the magisters knew well enough. His outright disobedience had earned him a reputation as a “hopeless nuisance”, and nowadays sneaking in had become more of a chore than it had been when he had first arrived with heightened security measures being set in place to catch him in the act. Despite the strict discipline the school was known for, however, because of Dorian’s father’s high status in the Imperium, more often than not the magisterium turned a blind eye to his misconducts. Dorian didn’t care either way; the disobedience and agitation he caused the school were his passive aggressive quips at his father for sending him here in the first place. So, despite having absolutely nothing to do, Dorian was determined not to return to the circle tonight, contentedly leaning against the cold stone, storm-colored eyes gazing lazily out onto the square of people as he munched on a half eaten apple, a second one stashed away in his pouch for later.
<p>
His clothing was simple; his causal, armless robe adorned with silver buckles going down the front and dark trousers secured around his hips and thighs by matching straps. It hid his family’s wealth but showed he wasn’t a homeless beggar, and when trying to be inconspicuous, bland clothing that held no status was key. However, his dark tresses suggested upperclass; styled by magic at the top of his head, cut short at the top and shaved closer on the sides, it was a style that was unique to him yet not something surprising for a young man of high social status in the capital. In a hurry to leave, he forgot to muss it up and now, having been out for several hours, saw no point in doing so. He gave a one armed shrug, bringing his shiny red apple to his lips for another bite, glad he hadn’t grown out his mustache yet. If he was any more handsome he’d start attracting people over, and he couldn’t have THAT now, could he?
<p>
He didn’t have any plans, per say, he just knew he didn’t want to be found. He was content to wander the maze of the city, maneuvering around the buildings that rose like towers from the ground with the help of magic, suggesting gravity was but a suggestion and not a law. Though with magic, he mused, there really were no laws. At least where Tevinter was concerned.
<p>
@Fenris


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Nov 14 2017, 12:44 AM
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<h2>16 Drakonis, 9:41</h2>

The worn wooden door swung shut behind him, the ear-splitting creak of the aged pine drowned out in the bustle of the makeshift tavern where folks were chatting, singing, and laughing amongst themselves, unaware of the inner turmoil of the newest patron. Dorian had only been at Haven for but a couple of days, but he felt his life was enriched by a few years at least-no thanks to the very recent incident where he and the newfound elven Herald of Andraste Vela Lavellan had time traveled into the future where Thedas was completely ruled by whom the former Magister had called the “Elder One”.
<p>
It was a strange feeling, Dorian mused as the bartender snatched the coin he set on the counter and, with a sneer, filled up a mug of ale and slid it across the counter towards him, not caring that a decent amount of the bitter liquid had sloshed out onto the polished wood. He figured seeing someone you used to care for become so utterly blinded by greed that they turn completely unrecognizable would be commonplace for him, having seen it befall his own family. When it had happened to his own father, the mage had fled his home, not once looking back at his former life or allowing himself a chance to regret his decision. Now, in this completely new and isolated village, having traveled for weeks across foreign land and dirt paved roads, Dorian had seen it again with his former mentor. Not that Dorian could fault Alexius for the change; his son was dying, and he scrambled for a lifeline that could change his fate. If someone Dorian truly loved and cared about were fated to die, would he have done the same thing?
<p>
No, he wouldn’t. Dorian knew better than anyone that you couldn’t change fate, whether it be in the past, present, or future. The animosity he faced when he came to terms with his true self, the double life he’d been living to charade his faults from the public eye, the burden of being the puppet his father wanted all to covet-it was what brought him there, at that exact moment, in that run down old tavern, a part of something greater than himself. It was why Alexius was imprisoned to await trial, Felix, a dear old friend, was sick and condemned to die, and Dorian Pavus was at Haven, far, far, far away from home, about to get as heavily intoxicated as the limited coin in his pocket would allow him. Funny, how fate worked sometimes.
<p>
Haven was a lovely place when you squinted; the icy frost layering the mountains balanced out the stone-cold glares of the villagers when their eyes met the young Tevene’s, the unspoken knowledge that, despite the fact he had helped their Herald save the future, he didn’t belong there and they didn’t want him there. The thought made him slam back his foul tasting ale, waiting for the longing for the fine wine of Tevinter that had settled itself in the back of his mind to be numbed by the buzz of the low-grade alcohol. He had expected this kind of treatment, being a mage of the Imperium, but he chose to stay, not really caring what the others thought about him. Vela, the first kind face to show him any form of approval since his arrival, had asked for his help. After what they had been through together and what he learned of the rising leader, he felt the Inquisition was something he could stand behind. It was a little shaky, of course, like a child learning to walk on their nearly rubber legs for the first time, but he knew that it would eventually evolve into a force to be reckoned with, and he wanted to be a part of it. To show that not everyone from Tevinter was an evil, lying, propaganda fueled blood mage that books had made them out to be. It wasn’t working yet, but he was fine.
<p>
The alcohol just made him even more fine.

<p>
@VALASAN
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Nov 13 2017, 01:44 AM
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<h1>Dorian Pavus</h1>
<h2> 32 . Pariah . Mage . Rafa Rech</h2>
<h3>JordiePie . EST . Discord</h3>
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<h3>Info</h3>


<ol>Birthdate</ol>
19 Parvulis 9:11

<p>

<ol>Race & Nationality</ol>
Human - Tevinter
<p>

<ol>Alignment</ol>
Chaotic good

<p>

<ol>Family Members</ol>
Halward Pavus-Father

<p>


Aquinea Thalrassian-Mother

<p>

<ol>Weapons</ol>
Staff - Expert

<p>

Hands - Advanced

<p>

<ol>Abilities</ol>
Primal
<p>

Entropy

<ol>Specialization</ol>
Necromancer

<h3>Freestyle</h3>

<b>Appearance</b>: Dark, storm gray eyes, tan, fit, well structured and toned body with immaculate grooming. Witty and charming by nature, his seemingly carefree and flirtatious attitude conceals an emotional burden carried upon his shoulders since his youth. Taught to be ashamed of aspects of himself he could not control, his bravado of confidence and control shroud the truth from outsiders, playing the role his family and culture demand him to play. Alcohol becomes means of escape; means to forget.
<p>

<hr><p>

So this is what it was like to truly be on your own.

<p>
Resting in the countryside as the stars looked down from the night sky glimmering in their laughter upon the frustrations that plague the heart and mind. To be cold and hungry without means of fixing it in this vast wilderness. In time it would all pass. With dawn and the sun crowning over the hillside the cold would begin to fade. In time the hunger would subside as long as enough distraction was provided till the next small and untasteful meal could be obtained. For only so much could be given to a man without a name, without coin.
<p>

That had been the first mistake in fleeing from Tevinter but time had been of the essence. There was no offering of snatching away some gold in order to make this trip as luxurious as possible. No, as through youth and the most recent weeks life would continue to be a struggle. Even in this distant land known as Ferelden a life would not come with ease. Yet no matter what happened this place offered a better life than what would have been should he had stayed in the place he so desperately wished to call home.
<p>

Back in what seemed like another world. To the place that gave an origin story to this rather pitiful existence. Unwelcoming to one such as himself. Those beliefs had been made abundantly clear in the voices that echoed in the abandon mage’s mind. They called within the background of recounted events to the actions a Father was willing to take towards change. Even now, in this distance, the fear was still present. It festered within and refused to give way in the tides that brought Dorian to this moment. There was nothing that could be done which would change anything.
<p>

Nothing would stop him from taking matters into his own hands now. Anything and everything was to be done to survive this so called fucked up life. An existence constructed upon a platform that was crumbling apart, fracturing in each moment a lie spouted from his own tongue. Those lies were once meant to be a comfort. But now there was no peace to be found in the lies, told to a self in order to lift a fallen spirit, for a heart was too broken to be mended by such falsity.
<p>

A place that had once been thought to be a home, a place which still trapped his heart, couldn’t be forgotten. But he so desperately wanted to survive in this new world that would become a temporary home. He had to succeed. How else would a Father be shown what a so called mistake could really do? How else would he outlive the ire of a man who wished to resort to the unthinkable to ‘fix’ what was judged by so many to be broken?
<p>

Palms rose to press to sunken eyes and press back emotions that dared to try to rise to the surface. This was nothing a false confidence could hide forever. Though while in another’s line of sight there would be nothing that stopped him from trying to suppress these fears. The thought that such a man could reenter his life should he be found. Nothing, not even the alcohol, could reduce that feeling that weighed against his chest. It was suffocating, it was painful.
<p>

Yet out here there was nothing to hold onto, all that was offered was the unfamiliar and it would do nothing to assist in fighting back that continuously building sensation. For fear circled like buzzards to carrion who carried nothing but mockery upon their tongues. They carried the voices of those unmet as if to promise nothing but chastising words upon one who already felt lost to this place yet refused to show it. Refused to ask for guidance although it may have been needed. And just behind all of that there was the question that reverberated from everything, had this been a mistake?
<p>

Perhaps it was.
<p>

But was that not the true meaning of freedom? To be so lost that one must desperately wish to take command of their own life? To let impulse be the only guideline run upon. Allowing those metaphorical fingers to interlace with the awaiting palm of the frantic soul so it could give that much needed tug to keep going. Delivering the call to move forward and not surrender despite the obstacles a world continued to throw in the road. One can only ride upon the claims that happiness and peace came at a cost.
<p>

Well, dues had long been paid and there wasn’t anything left to show for it.
<p>

All that could be done now was hope that what remained undiscovered was better. To live upon the belief that this moment was needed for a better future. Cursed with the good and the bad of the past just so this exact time could be lived. Brought to the last hump in this ongoing road of stress and weariness. It was all that could be asked for.


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