Rild, Male Human, shadowy Rogue

You allow a moment for making your clothing as nondescript as possible. Being able to blend in has always been a priority when selecting your gear, and you've taken pains to make sure that you can be disguised from even the most inquisitive mage or other prying eye. You don't want to sneak into the city right now. You want to blend, to observe, to be one of the huddled masses. This is the beginning of your retirement.

You put a cloak over your cloak, only this brown one is unlike your shimmering black cloak and has only one function - to look plain and threadbare and suppress the magical energies that your equipment gives off. It does so wonderfully. In one gesture you've become another traveler into this great city, as poor and foolish as the next. Just the way you want it at the moment. You decide to make your way among the impoverished shanties of the outlying buildings, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells, and gaining crucial knowledge of the layout, observing in the way that only your keen mind can.

Your boots squelch in the mud. Here a grand variety of races and people talk and walk and fight among each other, every single one of them with the kind of problems that only the truly poor possessed. You could change the fates of all of them with a single sweep of your palm; giving out more gold than any would see in their lives no matter how high they rose and probably upsetting the economy of the city for generations. Instead you trudge along with your apparently mundane garb, listening through houses and walls with ears that could discern a pin dropping in a crowded Dwarven meadhall during the festive hour.