Magrin is a broad-shouldered dwarf with the dense, compact build of someone who has spent a lifetime walking mine galleries and counting ledgers by lanternlight. His beard is braided into three thick ropes bound with copper wire, though the braids are stiffened with a faint sheen of varnish that makes them look almost lacquered. He wears a tailored merchant's coat over mail, its velvet cuffs immaculate while the hem is stained with coal dust, as if wealth and labor have been stitched into the same garment. His left boot is polished to a mirror shine, while the right has a cracked toe capped in iron, an odd mismatch he insists is practical. He moves with a precise, economical sway, like a metronome that learned to walk, and every gesture feels measured except when he laughs, which is sudden, loud, and unsettlingly warm.