Qwirglin moves with surprising grace for a creature built like a plump, web-footed amphibian. His dense chocolate-brown fur is velvet-soft but streaked with metallic copper flecks around his shoulders—remnants of years spent welding and crafting armor plating in battlefield trenches. His broad, flat duckbill is an unexpected canvas, often smeared with grease or smeared with colorful warpaint symbols. His eyes are sharp and inquisitive, gleaming a bright amber that flickers with a soft inner light during twilight. Despite his martial role, Qwirglin wears a patchwork of battered working robes, with oversized gauntlets clanking faintly when he gestures. Strangely, his movements blend animal quickness with the slow mechanical grinding of one perpetually tuned to the clamor of war machines, creating an unnerving rhythm. An odd contradiction: though habitually stoic and calm, his left foot always taps little coded beats under the table, an unconscious nervous twitch.