Ruka stands like a granite cliff moved by the wind. Broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, his skin is weathered like tanned leather and carved with faint, ritual scars that trace the story of his raids and rites. His hair is cropped close at the sides; a long grey topknot falls to his shoulder, threaded with thin strips of red leather and a single polished boar's canine at its tip. He wears a heavy bone necklace whose larger central tooth is stained with a dark lacquer; the necklace rattles softly when he moves. His hide armor is patched in places with bronze studs and small trinkets—tokens taken from fallen foes and offerings from his children. He favors a great two-handed axe whose haft is bound in braided sinew and whose blade bears nicked notches from decades of work. Unexpected element: when not in war paint his right forearm is covered with childish, clumsily stitched cloth wraps—an old bandage from a wound he treats like a talisman rather than a blemish.