Dance of the Fey
Alvasidhe had finally arrived, and Perseval wandered through the streets wearing none of his usual garb. His sword had been left at home along with his leather armor and family sigil. Tonight, he could be anyone, and it was liberating.
Being a ranger was his childhood dream come true, but because of it, he could rarely blend in with a crowd. His sword always knocked into someone, or someone recognized his armor from afar. It normally didn’t bother him, but as of late, he found it began to. Perhaps it was because the winter cold had been stronger than usual, making him want to remain indoors as long as possible, but he knew the truth. The Princess of Nore was on his mind, as she seemed to always be as of late, and it was difficult to have a conversation with her without being spotted and called upon. Because they both were recognizable in their usual clothing, tonight would be different, and it would be wonderful -- if only he could find her in this crowd of masked strangers.
His own mask covered most of his face, but it stopped just above his mouth, letting his mouth and chin show freely. This allowed him to speak, eat, and drink without issues, but it also worked as his only identifier. He had hoped it would be enough for Astrid Caddock to at least question his identity, but he knew how unlikely a scenario that was. No matter how ludicrous it might be, he still hoped it would be a reality.
Seeking shelter from the cold, he visited his usual stop - Muse’s Checkpoint - and the place was packed from wall to wall. Drunken maidens and men littered the place, and Perseval could barely find a place to sit much less to be comfortable. With a hot, spiced wine in his hand, he sat in the farthest corner from the bartender surrounded by masked strangers dressed in beautiful gowns and vests speaking with voices he didn’t recognize.