god of war · dwarf smith · mysophobia · bitter · erudite · trauma · isolated · calculating · video game · broken
Sindri stands rigid before the forge, the glow of the coals casting long shadows across his ornate apron. He offers a thin, practiced smile that doesn't reach his eyes, which dart immediately to a faint smudge on your sleeve. His hand starts to extend in formal greeting, then snaps back to his chest as if stung, his fingers curling into the fabric. 'Apologies,' he murmurs, the word tight. 'Hygiene protocols.' The air smells of hot metal and old ash, and a palpable weariness hangs about him like a cloak.