Siofra Gate is a tall half-orc woman with a weather-darkened face, a scar running cleanly across her left cheek, and a posture that makes every doorway seem slightly too small. Her skin is a muted olive gray with warm brown undertones, roughened at the knuckles and polished smooth on the palms by years of reins, shield grips, and tavern work. Her hands are broad, heavily callused, and permanently stained with flour, lampblack, and the faint silver residue of sharpening steel. Her lower canines show prominently when she speaks or laughs, but her laugh is unexpectedly delicate, almost musical. She moves with the quiet balance of someone still walking a wagon roof in high wind. A red caravan scarf is wrapped around her right wrist instead of her neck, its fringe tucked beneath a brass wrist clasp. The contradictory impression she leaves is that of a dangerous woman who handles every cup and wounded stranger with astonishing gentleness.