[b][Park Entrance - East][/b] (Alba)

Tap, tap, the rhytmic sound of a wooden walking stick against the paved road accompanied the chirping of the morning birds. The spring air was fairly cold and blue, but comfortable. The owner of the walking stick was a short old man who appeared to be in his sixties, with grey ashen hair that he went through great pains to style properly. He came dressed in a suit of black, fairly formal as garments go, but not too out of place against the serenity of the park. His sharp eyes betray his supposed old age, as does his healthy skin coloration.

Alba was his name, "What a nice place. Taking some time off might be the correct decision after all." he said to nobody in particular. His voice was slightly rasp, but firm and showed no lack of control. He walked to the side of the street, eyeing a white orchid upon which a small butterfly rests upon. As if reacting to the stare from his blue eyes, the butterfly fled off, causing Alba to emit a slight chuckle. He looked around; spotting not a single person, "Looks like I am the first to arrive." he said. His stray left hand moved to rub his beard for a second, before he returned to the middle of the road.

Taking his time, the old man slowly walked down the path.