. . . as Caius leads you quickly through the winding tunnels, you have time to observe the man. The first thing that strikes you is how difficult it is to guess his age—he has the face of an old man, lined and weathered, and his short-clipped hair is gray, yet he has the upright and energetic bearing of a man in his prime and his expression is one of calm, confident serenity. The gnarled hands that grip his oaken staff are still veiny with strength; the waist of his simple, roughspun tunic is cinched by a rope and, apart from his staff and the golden ring on his finger, he carries no equipment of any kind—even his feet are bare.
Caius Justinius, in his own words, is a simple priest in the service of Pelor. Those who know him well would likely use more colorful language.