Dorn Embermug is broad as a brewery door and built like a furnace bellows, with thick forearms, scarred knuckles, and a chest that seems carved from old oak and iron. His beard is iron-gray at the roots and copper at the tips, braided with tiny brass rings, charred beadwork, and one black feather from the circus's banner hawk. His skin is weathered to the color of baked brick, marked with a lattice of pale burn scars that glimmer faintly when he is near open flame. He moves with surprising economy for such a loud man, every step planted and deliberate, yet his eyes are gentle and almost scholarly when he studies a fire. He wears a sleeveless burgundy tailcoat with sootproof lining, a high-collared undershirt, leather gloves cut at the fingertips, and a polished apron of treated dragonhide that should look menacing but instead has a ridiculous row of stitched brass stars across the hem. The unexpected detail is that he always carries a tiny porcelain teacup in his belt, painted with blue flowers, which he uses to sip broth after swallowing coals.