Kaelen moves with a rhythmic, heavy thud of his left boot, a reinforced iron-shod prosthetic that gives him his name. His face is a map of pale, jagged scars and sun-blasted skin, dominated by eyes the color of wet slate that never seem to blink. Despite his heavy, practical armor and the rigid posture of a career soldier, he possesses an unexpected grace in his hands, which are long-fingered and move with the delicate precision of a watchmaker. This refinement is jarring against his otherwise rugged and battle-worn exterior. He carries an aura of suppressed violence, like a spring coiled too tight for too long.