Short even for a dwarf but compact in a way that looks like coiled steel. Tulti's face is round with a permanent smudge of soot across her left cheek that never quite washes out; a shallow burn scar curls like a crescent behind her right ear. Her hands are stained with oil and bright flecks of polish from fuses and metal filings. She keeps her goggles perched on her forehead — lenses scratched with tiny starbursts — and whenever she walks she pats her belt where tiny canisters and odd fuses clink like a delicate skeleton. Movement is quick, jumpy, and unpredictable: she darts forward with a grin, then freezes mid-step to inspect a pebble or a notch in a wall. Contradictory detail: despite her knack for explosions and frayed energy, Tulti often naps sprawled in immaculate, folded blankets worn by her uncle; the bedding is too tidy for her outward chaos.