Upon the shadowed streets of the Sanctuary walks a man in simple brown robes. Though his bearing carries a poise and dignity, he nevertheless strikes a humble figure. His attire is unadorned. His robes, though clean and unmarked, are humble.
One might at first mistake him for a priest.
An hour ago, he was seated in the Last Stand, reading a book. Outside of tasks and public spectacles that had sent him outside the inn, he had spent much of his time there since his arrival. It had taken patience, but it had been a highly productive exercise. He read of Sanctuary's history, its people, its culture, its stories. And he had observed its people engaged in the daily social life of the refuge. He had spent enough time at Town Hall, the Crone, and other locations to pick up their character as well.
But an hour ago, he softly closed his book after reading its final page and set it down on the table. For a time, he had simply sat and pondered. He didn't yet fully undertstand the board - it was far too early and his position far too weak to begin moving pieces. The abject fools he saw standing on podiums in similar postiions would be lucky if death met them before public embarassment. He would be content, he thought, were it possible to remain indistinguishable from the wallpaper. Vanity was a deadly vice here.
But he had made a business deal and it afforded him activity that would be useful on many levels and for many reasons. And, as yet, his meager condition provided a distinct advantage in its commission. He was a threat to no-one and had little reason to be. He had made his neutrality perfectly clear in the right ears and, for a time, he hoped it would serve him well. There was danger, of course, but that would not change wherever he might try to walk in this dismal world.
And so he rose from his table, tucked his book away in a bag at his side as he had done before, and left the inn. His feet cast upon the gloomy paths of this 'sanctuary', he knew it would be some time before he would return to rest and relaxation. Although the settlement was small, the work would nevertheless be time-consuming.
So it is that he walks the streets. Passing from one building to the next, he observes that which is about him and chats idly with the inhabitants. He is searching for something and he isn't yet himself entirely sure what. His ignorance is dangerous and he knows that he will need to understand before he can act.
The environment through which he walks is filled with a sense of desperation and the yearning for survival. Though ill-equipped to smell it, the fear which pervades the denizens of the Underdark, which seems to hang from every wall and reside in every heart, is something he has sensed from the moment he arrived. And though he has never witnessed the true horrors of the dark which inspire that fear, he is all too aware of their existence and the scope of their terror.
As he strides dark streets, each step falling softly on the stone, he keeps running over his observations of the past few weeks in his mind. He is hardly blind to the brutality, the horror, the raw ferocity of life. Life here seems stripped of the pleasant delusions of civilization; stripped down to its most primitive and fundamental truths. It is tragic and yet fundamentally honest at once. Life in the state of nature, a nature of primal horror, could truly be as advertised - solitary, poor, nasty, brutish... and short.
But in every hardship and in every crisis, there is also opportunity. And the depth of hardship can widen the scope of that opportunity. Should one survive, and that is the greatest gamble, it is not an environment without hope.
His posture suggests a calm confidence. He does not appear to be in hurry, but rather as if time is on his side. It is as if the purpose he serves, whatever it might be, is not one in doubt.
He works his way upon the gloomy streets uncharacteristically unphased - a man with a purpose in a place that has seemingly lost its own. In cavern after cavern with not but rock for sky and miles beneath the light of the sun, he walks as if he can still see the light of the dawn.
Where he passes others, he is friendly. If they're in the mood, he might strike up small talk - typically something simple. He always shows respect.
His path takes him from one door to the next. At each door, he greets the occupants in a calm and friendly manner. If they have not the time, he simply thanks them and leaves. He approaches each person on their own level and takes cues from their own mannerisms and speech, though his own are always somewhat subdued.
He asks each if they could be so kind as to do him a favor.
It's a simple favor, really, and one most in life are easily inclined to accept. For this man, who might at first be mistaken for a priest, comes not to preach, but to listen. The favor he requests is to hear of their story and what troubles them. He asks what they think of Sanctuary and if they might help him understand it better and how they see it. Lastly, he asks what they think of the Council, of the past and the prospects for the future. As a listener, he is both patient and engaged. He indulges even those with the tendency to ramble. If they are uncomfortable, he does not press.
He asks for no payment for indulging their vanity. In fact, he thanks each for providing him the favor.
Despite hours of work each day at this, he does not lose patience or grow weary of the exercise. He seems propelled by some source of motivation that must be difficult to describe or understand. Oddly enough, it seems to replenish him. Although the stories of many are no doubt pedantic, he enjoys whatever enlightenment he can receive by them and there is something meaningful and noble even in the most desperate and mean. He is constantly analyzing - constantly seeking to understand.
As he leaves each, he takes notes. Not many, typically just enough to jog his memory later. A name, an occupation, a thought, perhaps some other detail to remind himself. It's in the evenings that he sits down to write more exhaustively on his thoughts from the day. Slowly, he pushes back the fog of ignorance, but remains unsatisfied still. He's looking for something deeper, those things that hide beneath the surface. Nevertheless, he catelogues and categorizes. He counts. The more obvious lessons are the more immediately useful.
And so he continues his task, day after day, until he can reach its completion. Always calm, always respectful, of both the greatest and most meager, he is both diligent and tireless. Assuming anyone even bothers to notice his work, it is difficult to say what he is seeking, assuming he even fully understands it himself. Given the color of his robe and his nature, one might suppose him a Deneirite seeking to record the story of the people of Sanctuary that it not be lost. If so, it would make him an odd presence in a place such as this, but hardly an objectionable one.
What's important is that he listens. He shows respect. He seeks to understand and relate.
Days in, as he walks slowly through the gloom of the dark, there's yet another person he nods to in recognition. Another there. Another idle conversation. Again, he listens more often than he speaks. Occassionally, he complements. He asks insightful questions. He seems to remember things and ask about them - children, an aching back, a hard job. His memory is far from perfect and often he needs it jogged to tell one person from the next, but he is slowly learning.
As for what he will do with the results of his work, that itself will no doubt be a chore of monumental proportions, but it is one that he will greet amicably enough.
Perhaps, should he survive, he'll even write a book, he wryly chides himself. It would be a fitting culmination.
But for now, Arcturus Darimar, scholar, continues his work.
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((OOC:
Attributes and Skills that may or may not be important:
CHA: 14 WIS: 14 INT: 17 CON: 12 Persuade: +6 Bluff: +6 Concentration: +11
Arcturus' Character Description:
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This man has what seems an average build for a human, though he bears himself with an unusual confidence for a denizen of the Sanctuary. If unobscured, his face reveals Chondathan features, dark hair, and piercing blue/grey eyes.
He speaks articulately in a calm baritone voice with a steady Chondathan accent.
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((obviously, I'd need DM approval/response))