Hiram looks like he fell off the dwarf stereotype wagon. Thick brown beard; big nose; strong forehead; leather pants. But his sleeveless linen shirt doesn't cover up the red inkvine scar running down his right arm where his bicep should be. He jokes about how others are more uncomfortable about it than he is, and keep trying too hard not to stare.

Not that he minds. Them looking away from his arm keeps them from watching his hand, which lost none of its nimbleness in his injury.