Frank is a broad, low-set dwarf who seems to occupy more room than his height should allow. His arms are thick from decades of hammer work, and his hands have the grainy texture of old oak rubbed with soot. He moves with a peculiar combination of deliberate heaviness and sudden precision, planting each foot as if testing the floor before committing his weight. His eyes rarely settle on a person's face. They travel instead to belt buckles, boot nails, weapon grips, loose purse strings, and the nearest exit. He smells of coal smoke, boiled coffee, cedar oil, and rain-wet iron. The unexpected contradiction is his immaculate beard, combed into a glossy square and tied with pale blue ribbon, even when the rest of him is powdered black from the forge.