Hilda is compact and solid as a carved obelisk: broad shoulders, a torso like hammered iron, and hands callused from forging and clamping. Her beard is trimmed into precise braids threaded with tiny iron rings engraved with ward sigils. Across her left eye sits a brass mechanical lens—an artifice of gears and polished crystal that whirs faintly and occasionally emits a soft teal glow when she thinks. When she walks, her steps are deliberate and almost metrical, like someone counting out time. She often leans on a short, rune-carved warstaff that doubles as a tool for measuring magical currents. Contrary to expectation, her expressions are quick and mobile: she smiles in a flash like sunlight on metal, then returns immediately to a stern line. Patchwork soot smudges her forearms and the inside of her coat, but her braided beard and the rim of her lens are obsessively cleaned.