Short even by dwarf standards with a mountain-forged stoop from years on terraces. Skin creased like dried river clay over knotted muscles. Their braided beard is streaked silver and mineral dust, woven with tiny metal tiles that chime softly when they move. Their left forearm is encased in a hammered iron vambrace fused to old ward-stones; veins of faintly glowing runes run across the stone, pulsing when they touch masonry. They favor a heavy wool coat salt-streaked at the hem and a slate-colored hood. Unexpectedly their hands smell faintly of wildflowers and old pipe smoke, an incongruous softness against their granite face.