Of an average height and a wiry build, possessing a youthful countenance that lacks even the beginnings of a beard, Mikkelus nevertheless carries and conducts himself as an adult. Judging by his face, he must be a young adult, barely old enough to have completed his apprenticeship. His handshake, however, reveals well-disciplined, work-hardened hands, marked by hot metal and unrelenting forge-fire. Exposure to the elements while sailing his open currach has left his skin deeply tanned, and the highlights of his short-cropped chestnut locks have been sun-bleached to a coppery glow.
A journeyman metal-smith and stone-carver, Mikkelus prefers to make, maintain, or mend items for everyday use. Often singing while he works, he crafts tools in the understated style most often associate with dwarven work, letting the inherent strength and beauty of the materials, not frills and ornamentation, speak for the work. For that reason, the eye alone finds his work plain and unremarkable, more suited to barter than outright sale.
The craftsman's hand, however, finds something quite unexpected. The skilled
hand finds his tools to be things of beauty and wonder. Comfortable,
well-balanced, a joy to hold and to work with in every way, these tools become
an extension of the craftsman's skills. A craftsman uses such tools every day,
and tools such as these practically beg the craftsman to fully test their skill,
to create masterpieces.
For all of that, however, he neither creates nor offers to maintain weapons
or armor. If asked, a sense of sorrow accompanies his polite but firm refusal;
he offers no further clue as to whether he does not make such because he cannot,
or because he chooses not to. Mikkelus offers no hint as to why such a
request or his refusal might be grounds for his sorrow. His stalwart refusal
to speak further of the matter somehow seems more dwarven than human..