Vorundr is a broad, weathered dwarf with the posture of a man who has spent decades leaning over ledgers, winches, and railings. His beard is iron gray at the roots and coppery at the ends, braided into three cords with brass tags stamped from old cargo seals. His skin is rough as salt-cured rope, scarred at the knuckles and along one jawline where a splintered chain once tore across him. He moves with a measured, irritating quiet, as if every step has been rehearsed in a counting house, yet his hands are callused like a stevedore's. The contradiction is impossible to ignore: he dresses like a meticulous magistrate, but his coat smells faintly of lamp oil, brine, and wet stone, as though he has just climbed out of the deep sea itself.