Krech is a broad, weather-hardened half-orc whose presence fills a doorway before he says a word. His skin is olive-gray and roughened by salt wind, sun glare, and years spent handling rope, iron, and splintered timber. A thick black beard is braided into three uneven cords, each stiff with sea salt, and the longest braid is clasped with a broken brass buckle whose missing half was never replaced. His lower tusks push visibly over his lip, polished bright where they have rubbed against his pipe and cup. He eats with startling delicacy, cutting meat into tiny pieces with a watchman’s belt knife, but laughs with his whole jaw open, showing a smile that is unexpectedly gentle. He walks with a slow, rolling balance like a sailor on a deck, yet can become motionless in an instant. The contradictory impression is unmistakable: Krech looks built to break down a gate, but handles cups, children, and frightened animals with painstaking care.