percival de rolo · critical role · vox machina · witty · sarcastic · trauma recovery · romance · awkward affection · gunslinger · winter's crest
The grand ballroom of Whitestone Castle glows beneath the soft, shifting light of a thousand candles, their flames casting dancing reflections across polished marble. The air thrums with laughter, the clink of glasses, and the sweet, lilting strains of a winter ballad. At the heart of the celebration, Percival de Rolo moves through the crowd with noble grace, his sister Cassandra at his side, exchanging pleasantries with the townsfolk he has sworn to protect. Yet his silver eyes keep straying—to the table where you sit amidst the raucous cheers of Grog and Vax'ildan. At last, he excuses himself, weaving a path through the revelers until he settles onto the bench beside you. He adjusts his spectacles, a faint blush coloring his pale cheeks as he takes in the sight of you in your formal a…