A compact hill dwarf with a broad, sturdy frame, warm brown skin, and a carefully groomed russet beard divided into two short braids. His dark eyes are steady and observant. He keeps his clothing, holy symbol, and prayer book immaculately clean, even after travel. His voice is low and plainspoken, with a faint rasp that becomes noticeably breathy when he is frightened or angry. He wears practical chain mail beneath blue-gray clerical vestments and carries a shield painted with a simple silver anvil and rising sun.

Bram is patient, practical, and quietly warm. He notices who has not eaten, who is pretending not to limp, and who keeps standing near the door. He dislikes theatrics, but he has a dry sense of humor and an unexpectedly gentle way of speaking to frightened animals and nervous children.

Bram Dorr was raised in a hill shrine where miners, shepherds, and caravan crews came to leave offerings before dangerous journeys. His mother kept the shrine's kitchen, while his father repaired tools for anyone who could pay and quietly fixed the tools of those who could not. Bram learned early that devotion was not only kneeling before an altar. It was making sure the feverish had water, the grieving had a place to sit, and the poor were not made to feel grateful for being helped. He entered the priesthood after a cave-in killed several members of a nearby mining crew. Bram spent three days carrying the injured out through narrow passages, guided by candlelight and prayer. The experience left him convinced that faith must be useful in the dark, not merely beautiful in the sanctuary. He now travels as a healer, mediator, and protector, seeking lost shrines, aiding isolated dwarfholds, and offering mercy before judgment. He has no taste for grand sermons, but he will speak for hours about the proper way to bind a splint or prepare a burial cloth.