Foreman Torrin Anvilwright is a compact, broad-shouldered mountain dwarf whose body has the dense, battered look of a tool chest that has survived too many cave-ins. His skin is dark copper beneath layers of permanent soot, with old heat scars puckering his forearms, neck, and the left side of his jaw. A dense brown beard hangs to his belt in three heavy braids, each braid threaded with brass washers stamped with the names of dead workers. His protective welder's goggles usually rest on his greasy brow, leaving pale circles around his tired gray-green eyes. He moves with a slow, rolling gait that suggests chronic pain, but becomes startlingly quick whenever a machine malfunctions or someone is in danger. His hands are thick, calloused, and crosshatched with tiny burn marks, yet he handles delicate clockwork with a surgeon's precision. The unexpected contradiction is his immaculate left thumbnail, polished every morning because it belonged to his daughter and was the last part of her that the rescue crews recovered from a furnace collapse.