Thromm stands like a living monolith of the deep earth. His skin is the color of wet slate, rough and weathered as if shaped by centuries of subterranean winds. His beard is a massive, soot-grey cascade that reaches his belt, intricately braided with heavy iron rings that clink with a rhythmic, metallic sound when he moves. His eyes are his most striking feature, resembling shards of polished flint that seem to catch and hold the dimmest light. He moves with a slow, tectonic grace, giving the impression that he is not walking across the floor but rather the floor is shifting to accommodate his weight. Unexpectedly, his hands are impeccably clean and manicured, showing the delicate care he gives to the holy relics he handles daily.