Breakdown.
They jested that he was far too weak minded for such a damning skill and Dorian Pavus scoffed for he was a man who saw power in himself in ways no other could imagine. Yet to be given a challenge that was so deafening simple? Perish the thought! Dorian, Scion of House Pavus, was going to master Necromancy.
Best two-hundred sovereigns he’s ever won.
Despite what power a Mortalitasi can bring, the skill of necromancy was not normally picked up as an honest skill; it was considered a trade skill in the bigger cities of Tevinter. It was a skill used by apothecaries to aid them in learning of the death of a magister or prepping a body properly for its funeral. Many of them teach their magic to others coming into this craft, for someone of Dorian’s status it was considered ridiculous and outlandish. The power wasn’t seen as something that could be potentially useful in a fight.
But it was flashy, and that’s what caught Dorian’s eye. A morbid talent, yes, but it was gorgeous to watch. This was becoming to be a great challenge in his opinion.
He’s learned how to work his smile to get what he needs—attention, satisfaction, and during this time, education. You see, he loves to learn. It’s really pushed when someone says he not good enough to handle it. And with his wit and dashing smile, sucking up to formaldehyde scented apothecary was no problem. He presented himself well enough as a student willing to learn and not once hinted at his status or wealth. Dorian needed the books to learn and found the people to teach him… even if he preferred to teach himself.
“Bah, necromantia! Why would you want to learn that?”
“To be feared.”
He looked deeply into what he had agreed to—watched what he was going into. The sight of the spirits rising into the air. The way the wisps danced so brightly in blackness. How corpses lifted with life as growled with anticipation. For Black Magic, this was gorgeous. Gives a man shivers just thinking about it.
This was a challenge taken a couple years before meeting with Alexius. Slowly learned and gradually perfected, Dorian took pride in constantly choking through the most boring of tomes to grasp onto such a beautiful power. It was weird; however, his nights were cluttered with question of where he darted off to in the dead of night and why he was so tired come morning. Many assumed, during that time, that he had gone back to his mischievous ways of sleeping around again, but no. Not at all. Dorian had found himself neck deep in the catacombs, learning at the side of assorted necromancers—all of them learning under false names and invisible backgrounds.
He regrets nothing of what he’s gathered from this experience. Dorian still holds a light friendship with the old apothecary that mentored him. Aquila is the name the man remembers him by. Valthienius is what he remembers of the old man. Kind old coot, he was. Damn good at what he does.
This is how he found himself so immersed into Tevinter Necromancy.
It was a mysterious power to him. A quaint talent that grasped people with legitimate fear. Many knew that the Mortalitasi could raise the dead, but they never thought it were any threat. They were corpses! What could a corpse do that would frighten any person? More than one could assume. They could raise a blade and slice multiple enemies before the spirit grew too weak within the decaying body. The souls summoned could wreak unholy havoc among the masses without harming the summoner. One spirit could keep the summoner on his feet when his power depletes to make sure he survives. And it may take a lot of mana, but that man could become a one man army.
He’s got goosebumps from the thought of it.
Necromancy differs from nation to nation but the combat portion stays relatively the same—however, the take on the combat is always different depending how the person perceives the talent. For Dorian, he sought out for flashy and fear. And by the Maker’s grace, that’s most definitely what he went for. Dorian cared for respecting corpses as they should be, but he held no care for communication with them about their problems.
For some, Necromancy could be mixed with Blood Magic; sapping the health and life essence from living being to restore youthfulness (or so the old stories go). Others used more casual terms of their ports of magic. For example carcass and body manipulation mixed with a bit of telekinesis brought bodies to “life.” Fresh corpses, cleaned and ridded of their noticeable wounds, could prove worthy distractions if the summoner was strong enough to get them moving. As long as no one could see the magic behind the puppetry, the mage behind it all was fine.
However, with just a handful of years behind him and a light falling out with his clandestine lover at the time, he fell off soon before meeting with Alexius, just soon after joining the circle ran by the Order of the Argent. The drinking returned full force… just when he assumed his depression had finally calmed family matters grew worse. He couldn’t delve into scheduled meetings to see Relinius to ease his mind. There was no safe place for him to hide anymore—not with Halward breathing down his neck again.
It was hard taking a year off of his studies and not seeing Relinius to get better once again. Yet, as things picked back up, his habits subsided with the intentions of becoming better and impressing his scholar of a lover. At Alexius’ side, he could learn without fear again, which meant slinking back into the shadows and into not only Relinius’ embrace but the hold of his mentor’s once again. Dorian was going to master Necromancy if it was the last thing he’d ever do.
Mastering combat necromancy at twenty-three, just months shy of his twenty-forth birthday. Shortly after that he became a fully fledged enchanter to the Circle of Minrathous. Life is doing swell—even with the secretive meetings with his lover and his mentor (or at least as much as they can meet for lessons).
He was titled as a successful (or at least one who could teach others) necromancer years prior, but after the fall out with Alexius in 9:37 Dragon and the debauchery of him finally getting caught with Relinius, Dorian literally packed his bags and pushed away with everything with the high hopes that he could help Gereon Alexius. Once leaving Tevinter officially, he found it a bit easier to slide back into things. No longer had there been mercenaries hunting him down for his father, nor were there people slandering his name because they heard of his behavior. Here he found it comforting to see Thedas—stopping in Nevarra was a highlight to him.
Seeing traditional Mortalitassi in their natural light made him feel more at home than his own homeland. Dorian wasn’t judged here for his skill—in fact, roaming the border cities before hiking his way across city states to Ferelden brought excitement. They wanted to teach him. They urged for excelling necromancers to learn more of their craft. He had never felt so alive with their enthusiasm. These strangers, unknowing of who this man was, wanted him to perfect his craft.
And with a satchel of as many books as he could physically carry without the exhaustion, he made that promise. Dorian was going to become that one man, ghost-slinging army. The months spent in unknown, back water Nevarran cities is what brought back his extreme desire for doing what made him happy—and shockingly, necromancy made Dorian pleased with life.
Now, here’s where things divide—In Hushed Whispers or Champions of the Just.
“Dorian did, in fact, go south to Ferelden to follow his mentor. The exact details of what became of him are unclear, save for the fact that Magister Alexius had given his support to a cult of Tevinter supremacy, in exchange for their aid in healing his sun. It seems that Alexius and his son both died and Dorian joined the Inquisition in its showdown against the Cult. The news led to a degree of widespread notoriety and fame for Dorian within the Imperium, much to his family’s chagrin.”
Siding with the Mages is only a hint of his true potential. Dorian requests aid from a group of strangers in hopes that it gets him a moment to bring his friend to his senses. He doesn’t speak much of his own past. His skill is shouldered while others are raised above his. He just wants to help.
Upon escaping Haven with the rest of the Inquisition (either if he’s not introduced into the companion squad or during the companions moment of when they fled) is when he thought it was a better moment to show what talent he actually holds. They had to survive, even if they were split up briefly and throwing corpses of red lyrium monsters back at them was one way to do it.
However, siding with the Templars brings a different tactic.
Redcliffe is pretty much overrun. Felix is dead. Gereon is dead. And there is nothing he can do about it anymore, but he’s fairly angry over the whole ordeal. He saw these beasts kill his mentor—his brother as well. And all he could remember was that with his training they pushed for a calm mind. A relaxed, meditative mind brings strength in disorder. Magic is heightened by emotion, yes, but necromancy brings hostile beings in a world they should have left. There are no demons. There are only vengeful spirits… and Dorian only wants what is best—the elimination of these cult seeking monsters and to prove that he is worthy enough to stand at the Inquisition’s side.
Dorian ran from Redcliffe. If Halward’s Tevinter mercenaries can’t catch him, he’d be damned if the Venatori did.
What isn’t seen is that raw power that can be seen with extreme, untapped depths that necromancy could deliver. Sick with possible lyrium poisoning, tired from over magical exertion, Dorian Pavus walked a battlefield with the dead. Corpses stumbled behind him, blade high as they pushed an escort to make sure the man made it to the doors of Haven. He may have been ill, fighting what he could to physically beat any and all Venatori that came after him, but once those doors opened to allow him entry, the corpses fall and the enemy is slain.
Despite what he’s learned, they must not know how strong he is—not yet. He’s too tired to keep fighting. They’ll get the best out of him when he can stand again.
At Skyhold is where one of three things may occur if the Inquisitor is a mage. If taking up the Necromancer specialization, the Inquisitor can ask him to teach them as much as he can. Dorian, with excitement (as long as the approval is high enough), will do it. Which would bring nights of constant study and training, but he’s as jubilant as can be about the situation. This goes with requesting that Dorian take side with the Mortalitasi Necromancer, Viuus Anaxas. He does alert the Inquisitor that their talents are vastly different. If the Inquisitor is fine with it, Dorian does agree to aid Anaxas. Otherwise, he remains fairly neutral towards the choice.
*(This is keeping the idea that specializations are already taught to companions despite the Inquisitor getting it only at Skyhold. Companions have their skills at hand already.)
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