Short and squat with knotted muscles like twisted rope. Scars run like crooked rivers over his dark, soot-streaked skin. He wears a crown of sharpened tinkerings and dented metal salvaged from ruined stoves, perched askew atop a shorn head. One cheek bears a pale surgical stitch where a rival once split him open; the stitch is threaded with red thread and a single black bead. His left forearm is wrapped in scavenged leather straps studded with coal fragments that still smolder faintly. He moves with a lurching swagger that alternates between theatrical boisterousness and sudden, vicious quickness. Unexpected element: despite his raucous bearing, he often pauses to polish the little black bead on his cheek as if it were a delicate keepsake.