The doors swung open, and in walked a man who seemed to command the very air around him. Tall and poised, he moved with the grace of someone who knew precisely how much attention he deserved and how to keep it. His olive-toned skin gleamed subtly in the light, highlighting the fine lines of his sharply tailored robes, dyed in deep violet and threaded with silver filigree. A high collar framed his strong jaw, and from beneath it, a perfectly trimmed mustache curled just enough to be dashing, but not arrogant, though he certainly didn’t lack the latter.

His hair, dark and swept stylishly upward in a carefully arranged wave, added to his striking silhouette. But it was his eyes, steel gray and keen, always watching, always calculating - that truly drew attention. They glittered with a mix of amusement and intellect, as if he’d already sized up everyone in the room and was privately deciding who was worth talking to.

He paused, one hand resting easily on his hip, the other gesturing as he spoke, dramatic, but never clumsy. There was confidence in every step, every glance, every perfectly chosen word that slipped from his mouth with a Tevinter lilt, smooth and rich like velvet over steel.

Dorian Pavus didn’t just enter rooms. He arrived, as if stepping onto a stage that had been waiting for him.