Torrin is a broad-shouldered, exceptionally stocky dwarf whose body seems built around a massive iron core. His skin is dark copper, permanently roughened by mineral dust, steam, and decades of chemical work. Thick iron-gray hair hangs in several heavy braids, each one stiff with a faint metallic sheen from years of soot and oil. His beard is dense and soot-dusted, tied near the ends with brass wire and weighted with tiny engraved valve charms. His deep-set hazel eyes are shrewd and watchful, but his expression becomes unexpectedly gentle whenever he examines a damaged tool or frightened apprentice. His hands are broad, grease-stained, and crosshatched with old work scars, yet he handles delicate glass ampoules with a jeweler's precision. He moves with a rolling, deliberate heaviness, like a pump beginning its cycle, then can suddenly lunge with startling speed when a pressure line ruptures. The contradictory impression is unmistakable: he looks like a living battering ram, but listens to machinery with the tender concentration of someone hearing a loved one's heartbeat.