Grinder moves like a weathered stone gate: deliberate, slow until something pushes him, then terrifyingly inevitable. He is an ogre with a clean-shaven head except for a braid of tiny silver bells threaded through a strip of hair at the nape. His face bears a faint, paler scar in the shape of a crescent over his left cheek that puckers when he smiles — which is rare. His tusks are filed to points and polished; one is capped with a brass ring engraved with a tiny ship. His uniform—tailored to his broad shoulders and long arms—fits like a ceremonial coat: dark slate wool with a slightly iridescent lining that flashes star-flecked blue when he turns. The coat's cuffs are immaculate, and the brass buttons bear the Rockrat's emblem: a squat rat gnawing a meteor. Contradiction: despite his enormous, hulking frame and the crude war-torn scars, his uniform has perfectly kept cuffs and is never rumpled, as if he treats the coat with a tenderness he does not extend elsewhere.