His name was Lord Peregrin Ventus. Once a Warden against the threat of the supernatural such as demons and dragons, his services were no longer needed as the world around him and others entered a permanent stasis. In the years that followed, his life had become more and more politically based, and as a diplomat, he was invited to every gala, masquerade and ball that the "Great Game" could aspire to create.
That was why he was here, at the Masquerade of the Great Marquis of Savannahstrad, Lord Cullen Morrigan. He was to, by social decree, dance and drink the night away. But that was the fool's job. At these engagements, 'The Game' was in full swing, and to win, you had to both step up on the ladder of power and crush every other opposing skull beneath you on your way.
He entered on the back of a steed, black as midnight, the beast itself known as Strider for it's speed and agility on the battlefield. Ahead was the portcullis of the castle, and with it, a swarm of servants came to relinquish Strider from Peregrin and have the horse moved to the stables for safekeeping. The servants were quick to take the reins of his horse, and with some reluctance, he gave the equine beast a pat on the side as farewell, before making his way into the grand garden, where nobles from houses ranging from the poorest nobles, such as the Pentaghasts, to the richest, much like the Pavus'. He could see servants milling about, and as one passed, he retrieved a drink from their held silver platter. The ale was spiced and tasted astonishing, a simple of the garish wealth of the house of Morrigan. Gazing up once, into the night sky, he made his way inside the grand castle.