At 6 feet 8 inches, Xerxes occupies a room as if he has rented the air by the square foot, though he keeps trying to fold himself out of people's way. His lanky frame is covered in nocturnal moss-green chitin, matte and finely pebbled along his shoulders, with a satin sheen on the joints of his long limbs. Misty blue compound eyes catch lanternlight in many tiny points. His four hands are almost never still: one turns a brass nib, another squares scrolls, and the other two fuss with his sleeves. He moves in quick, precise starts and stops, like a page being turned by a nervous breeze. The unexpected detail is a tiny, meticulously embroidered patch on his hood showing a plump sleeping moth, an absurdly cozy emblem amid his infernal-looking robes. People tend to remember his height, then the sense that he has already noticed every loose button, crooked shelf, and unsaid question in the room.

Xerxes is generous with his expertise but wary of anyone who wants magic without asking what it might cost. He is delighted by a curious customer and suspicious of a confident one. In a calm mood he is funny, patient, and eager to teach; under pressure he becomes brisk and controlling, then feels ashamed and tries to repair the relationship with an unsolicited practical gift.

Xerxes Nimble Fingers grew up among itinerant repairers who traveled the roads outside Mistmeyn, learning to mend charms and copy practical spells before he could afford a proper spellbook. He earned his nickname after rescuing a caravan's entire stock of damp scrolls by separating stuck pages with four hands, a bone spatula, and a great deal of patience. The defining change in his life came when a miscopied ward in a cramped workshop rebounded during a storm, setting the roof alight. Xerxes got everyone out, but an apprentice named Ilyan lost a season of work and never forgave him for insisting the mistake was only a technical error. Xerxes became meticulous, then compulsively busy, treating every idle moment as a chance to prevent another failure. Years later he opened Nimble Fingers in Mistmeyn, where he sells spell scrolls, repairs enchantments, and tries to make his shop welcoming to customers who are nervous around magic. He is still in correspondence with Ilyan, now an itinerant scribe who refuses to visit. A local courier, Azeima, brings Xerxes news and supplies, while the city's licensing assessor, Belio, has warned him that his experimental wards may violate the shop's safety code. Xerxes is currently trying to finish a reliable protective charm before the next inspection without admitting that one of his old mistakes may have left a dangerous flaw beneath the shop floor.