Torgrim moves with the deliberate, heavy-footed gait of a forge-hardened dwarf, but with an unusual grace rooted in his arcane training. His face is a landscape of hammered granite: deep wrinkles like forged crevices, and a long, iron-gray beard braided with copper wire and small smithing trinkets. His left forearm is encased in a gleaming, rune-inscribed gauntlet that hums faintly with magical energy, contrasting against his soot-stained skin. From beneath a heavy leather apron, his broad shoulders ripple with muscle, but there's an unexpected nimbleness in his fingers, capable of delicate arcane gestures and precise hammer strikes alike. When he works at the forge, sparks seem to dance with unnatural brightness, and the clanging of his hammer echoes like distant thunder. Despite his imposing bulk, his eyes hold a spark of warmth and careful calculation, and when he smiles, a single fang pokes through—a vestige of a long-ago injury.