Soryn moves with a fluid grace that contrasts sharply against the mechanical clinks of his steam-powered prosthetic left arm. His sharply angled half-elf features are framed by a chaotic mop of copper-red hair, streaked with black oil stains from long nights in his workshop. Copper goggles with shifting lenses rest perpetually atop his head, their lenses reflecting odd geometric runes when caught in light. His right hand wears delicate fingerless gloves embroidered with arcane sigils, while wisps of faintly glowing vapor snake upward from intricate tubing embedded into his arm and running under his skin — a bizarre fusion of eldritch energy and steam tech. Despite his often distracted gaze, there’s a spark of fierce intellect and melancholy simmering just beneath his surface. Unexpectedly, his voice carries a warm lilt of old-world nobility, contradicting his otherwise gritty, soot-smeared appearance.