A lean, broad-shouldered human man with warm brown skin, a narrow face, and alert hazel eyes flecked with gold. His black hair is cropped close at the sides and left longer on top, where it curls naturally over one brow. A thin scar crosses his left palm, and a faded ink mark shaped like a three-pointed knot circles his right wrist. He dresses in a well-maintained leather jerkin beneath a dark green traveling coat, with bright red thread sewn into the cuffs as a private sign of remembrance. His lute is plain at first glance, though its neck is carved with tiny geometric patterns and one repaired crack runs across its soundboard.

Mosi is observant, quick-witted, and disarmingly sociable. He treats conversation like a card game, always watching for the hidden tell beneath someone's words. He is generous with food, stories, and second chances, but he dislikes pity and becomes theatrically cheerful whenever anyone gets too close to his grief.

Mosi Kethari grew up above a cooper's shop in a crowded river district, the second son of a family that measured every meal against the week's honest wages. He learned early that a quick hand could lift a purse, but a well-timed joke could make the owner thank you for the privilege. By sixteen, Mosi was working as a runner and lookout for a loose association of burglars, smugglers, and counterfeiters. He became their reader of ledgers and locks, using his sharp memory to spot forged entries and his voice to distract guards. His first real song was not written for an audience. It was a coded verse used to warn a crew that a warehouse had been watched for three nights.