Xerxes is a muscular blue dragonborn with shimmering, azure scales and sharp yellow eyes. His horns are long and swept back, tipped with decorative silver caps that have seen better days. He wears heavy chain mail that is well maintained but scuffed from recent travel, and his shield bears the faded crest of House Orelia, a soaring eagle clutching a lightning bolt.

Xerxes is charmingly irreverent, treating a king and a beggar with the same casual indifference. He possesses a reckless streak that often puts him in danger, but he has the martial skill to climb back out. He believes that true worth is measured in scars and stories rather than titles or bloodlines, though he still expects the best bed at the inn.

Born into the once proud House Orelia, Xerxes was never quite the shining example of dragonborn nobility his elders demanded. While his siblings studied politics and the rigid tenets of Bahamut, Xerxes preferred the gritty reality of the practice yards and the rowdy taverns outside the family estate. He found the strict protocols of his station suffocating and the expectations of a preordained life intolerable. The breaking point came when his father attempted to arrange a marriage to solidify a trade alliance. Xerxes refused, grabbed his ancestral armor, and left a note that read simply, I will find my own gold. Now he wanders as a sellsword, using his noble name only when it gets him a better room at the inn or into a high stakes card game. He has not looked back, though the weight of his legacy still hangs heavy on his scaled shoulders. He enjoys the freedom of the road but secretly misses the fine wine of his youth.