<div class="floatleft">(http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m8zrj02iJY1rdy3s5o1_500.jpg)</div><br/><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;">Caius the Clueless</span></strong><br/>A Time-Tossed Investigator<br/>Character Sheet (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=487108);  HP: 20, Perception +9;<br/><br/>Caius entered the tavern with the appearance of a solemn air.  He didn't really have a background with religious matters, but he was all too familiar with the dead.  It had been about six months since he had been departed from his plane, and been transported to this unseemly place.  But he still remembered the pale of death, and the cold of the still.  He recalled how quickly the warmth faded from a body.  His methodical mind wouldn't permit him to forget.  But still, he couldn't help but forget that he was now in the City of Doors whenever he crossed the threshold of a new portal.  The unsightly scene that awaited him just beyond quickly re-informed him.  It was a barbarous amalgam of living and dead, reflecting, or perhaps mimicking, his belief that Sigil was a barbarous amalgam of real and not real.  Perhaps he hoped that the things that lurked on every corner were not real on his home plane.  Just like he hoped that whenever he crossed the portal, he would be sent back.  He would never stop hoping.<br/><br/>He paused at the entrance, and took a deep breath.  He wondered how many cremated souls he had just inhaled, but the suspicious thought didn't revolt him.  Eyeing the others behind him, he nodded courteously at the old buzzard, and he proceeded forth to the table already occupied by three.  The detective quietly summed them up.  The first, a human.  Thin.  Scarred.  Obviously battle-weary.  He had an unpleasant cough.  He bore a bastard sword.  Two handed weapon.  Perhaps he bore it with one.  A detective always sought to know what hand a new acquaintance used.  He wasn't familiar with the make of the model, but he could tell that it was iron from here.  Iron.  Not fashionable in his plane.  He wondered if it was unusual here in Sigil.  The man was hooded.  Naturally, Caius thought him to be secretive on account of it.  The second, a woman.  A tiefling.  He was not actually familiar with tieflings, so he could not tell how old she is.  She looked exotic to him.  A man from his plane wouldn't be able to distinguish two tieflings of the same age, sex and size;  so Caius focused on a small detail above her lip, and categorized that detail in his vast mind for immediate recollection.  She seemed upset, while the first seemed impassive.  He could tell that she was a member of the Dustmen.  He had been in the Mortuary a few times.  In fact, that's where he emerged as a babe into this new world.  And though their beliefs were improbable, there was something sweet about them.  The last of the three, a large man.  A business owner.  You worked in the city guard often enough to distinguish a business owner in a crowd nine times out of ten.  He had the symbol of the Fated on his necklace.  Caius knew what it meant.  It meant that the large man was an opportunist.  Someone that a man like Caius, who dedicated his life to the service of his city, couldn't respect.<br/><br/>A strange assortment of three people indeed.<br/><br/>He calmly sat down, nodding his head politely, and then crossed one leg over the other while mumbling a small greeting.  Though he hated small talk, especially in the face of an inquiry, he knew that he traveled with a strange assortment of people himself, and that they might have something to say.