Nadim is a broad-shouldered human with the compact strength of someone who has spent half a lifetime lifting iron rather than posing with it. His hands are heavily callused, but his fingertips are surprisingly delicate from years of fitting hilts and testing blade balance. He walks with a slight forward lean, as though perpetually listening to the floorboards for a loose nail. His face is gentle and almost scholarly until danger appears, when his expression becomes frighteningly still. The unexpected contradiction is his careful, ornamental grooming: he keeps one side of his mustache waxed into a neat curl while the other side is usually singed, dusty, or stained with oil. He leaves people with the impression of a kindly uncle who might also know exactly where to place a hammer to break a wrist.