Faelis moves with a deliberate, almost mechanical precision, like a finely tuned clockwork device. His frame is slight but sturdy, draped in a soot-streaked leather apron over once-crisp, now faded blue academic robes woven with subtle rune patterns. His spectacles, thin-framed and slightly crooked, shimmer faintly with an azure glow, revealing magical currents invisible to others. His hands bear small burns and callouses from years of forges’ heat, yet his fingers move with surprising grace. Despite the gritty workspace, the faint scent of lavender oil clings to him, an oddly calm contrast to the acrid stench of hot iron and burnt parchment. His hair is streaked with premature silver, emphasizing sharp cheekbones and a narrowly trimmed beard that twitches when he grumbles. Unexpectedly, he wears a single elven earring shaped like a twisted sigil — a relic of his mother’s lineage — that seems to softly hum when wild magic is nearby.