Branlow is a mountain of a dwarf, though his stature is bowed by years of tunneling. He is perpetually coated in a thick, shimmering layer of anthracite coal dust that has filled every pore and wrinkle, giving his skin a metallic, obsidian sheen that reflects the hearthfire of the Miner's Grin. His left eye is currently swollen shut, a blooming violet and necrotic yellow bruise cutting through the black grime. Despite his dirty exterior, his hands are surprisingly well-manicured, a necessity for a card-sharp. He moves with a slow, grinding deliberate speed, like a tectonic plate reconsidering its position.