Maelis moves with a surprising grace for one so steeped in the grime and heat of the forge. Her arms are corded with muscles that flex like thick ropes as she hammers, yet her fingers end in slender, almost delicate tips, more used to intricate blade-engraving than brute force. Her skin is weathered and dusted with soot, but around her neck hangs a fine, silken scarf in deep violet—a rare luxury that billows softly despite the heavy heat of her workshop. The scar running diagonally from just under her left eye to the curve of her jawline contrasts sharply with the warmth in her amber eyes, marking a past both violent and personal. She wears a heavy leather apron darkened from years of wear, but peeks from beneath it a silk sleeve embroidered with faint golden runes, a surprising contradiction to her otherwise rugged appearance.