Compact, near-motionless posture typical of duergar, but with theatrical gestures when dealing with clients. Skin folded like weathered leather, faint soot from pyres clinging to eyebrow ridges, and a thin silver filigree spectacle perched on the nose that slides down when they lean into gossip. They wear a perpetual half-smile that reads as both invitation and threat. Their hands are small and nimble, stained with ink and grease from ledger work. Unexpected element: when alone and relaxed they hum an old Sharn street lullaby under their breath, betraying a softer memory beneath the leer.