Finnegan (Finny) Warbler

Finnegan (Finny) Warbler

Finnegan Warbler, Concertinist Extraordinaire!

Relatives	Mother: Safflower Warbler Father: Wheatly Warbler Younger Sisters: (Twins) Taurlin and Tenneah Warbler
Languages	Common, Aarakocra, Auran, Elvish
Affiliations	N/A
Aliases	Finny
Marital Status	Single, but is open to Suggestion
Place of Birth	Xender City
Date of Death	N/A
Place of Death	N/A
Species	Aarakocra (Puffin)
Gender	Male
Height	5'8"
Weight	86lbs
Eye Color	Gold

Finnegan (Finny) Warbler is a Puffin Aarakocra who is also a College of Whispers Bard.

Physical Appearance

Finny has handsome but strikingly gold eyes, He is about 15, 5 foot 8 inches, 86lb Puffin Aarakocra. His plumage is a silky black and bright white - being that he is a puffin, and his beak is bright orange with a little bit of black and white striping. He wears a red-feathered headpiece pinned to his head and a white scarf slung around his neck at almost all times. He has a few scars, but mostly it's his hands that are calloused from years of training with instruments.

Personality

Finny is honestly quite friendly. He grew up in a happy home with a loving set of parents, and a set of young infant pair of twin sisters whom he adored. His family gave him the choice of his career - to which he almost instantly chose the life of a musician. Finny trained under a master for a large portion of his life - enjoying the freedom of music and song. He exudes this joy in all he does, both on the battlefield and at home.

History

Finny honestly had a fantastic childhood. His folks were loving and caring, he has siblings that are young adults now, and quite frankly - he couldn't have it better. He trained under a fellow-feathered master of music, only known as Professor Cuki Gander, who allowed Finny to grow and flourish as a student. They traveled frequently, learning new songs from around the region and making new ones up about local tales for the stories that lacked music. This was a happy routine, all up until Cuki suddenly disappeared in the night, leaving his unfinished music behind. Finny was old enough at that time to go out on his own, and therefore decided to locate his missing mentor - or at least write a song worth the legacy of his missing mentor's presence.

He has wandered into the Feywilds, he gained a few things here and there, but honestly found the muses there to be... too chaotic to compose for. Anyways, he prefers the rich history of his home plane, and seeks to record the stories of history and its heroes!

Languages

Common, Aarakocra, Auran, Elvish - (Though is keen on learning more for more music variation!)

Powers and Abilities

Finnegan puts power behind his words - literally putting money where his mouth is. If he says he can do it - he will without a doubt make sure it comes to fruition. Those who face against him, beware - those fingers will work magic, and not the kind that plays fair. The feywilds have offered him a few tricks up his sleeve - so messing with him too far is ill-advised.

Attacks and Weapons 

As a resident spell-slinger, his favorite word is "No". Being able to put his enemies at a disadvantage gives him amusement, and being able to neutralize them at the same time is even better! He carries a lovely longsword on him that he prefers not to use, but it's definitely not just for show if things get messy.

Songs and Stories of his Travels, the Retelling of a Wandering Bird Bard:

Among the Faeries - My time within the Seelie Court:

It was a year after I had left to search for Professor Cuki Gander. I had been looking through his unfinished compositions, and found one telling of a doorway to a fantasmal realm of the Fey. It took much time to decipher - but eventually I had located the doorway. I stepped in, amazed by the wonderous landscape and creatures. It was just as my mentor had described it, full of lush colors, teeming with life and magic to the point that I had to take a day to accustom myself to the sudden influx of surrounding innate strength of the weave here. I had relied heavily on my Mentor's notes and song scraps - eventually stumbling upon a vast castle a few days into exploring this realm's majesty. I was small compared to it's grandeur - the gardens eerily perfect yet wild in growth. It's paths and gazeboes appeared empty - to which I treaded carefully. Still... something about that place had a - a pull, like a melody you can't remember the name to but it's on the tip of your tongue. I followed the pull, hoping to get the answer to why such a lovely place like this could be simply abandoned.

From the gardens, I entered a grand entrance hall, faelights glittering among precious jewels and artesian architecture. I wandered the entrance to the palace - again, finding it empty and devoid of activity. Room after room was fully furnished and without a hint of dust, dining rooms set for a grand entourage, ballrooms set up for a ball that would put the wealthiest of mortal kings to shame - the orchestral pit prepped with the finest of instruments. Finny's stomach dropped at the sight, how this building felt like a shell filled with ghosts of what once resided here. He quickly continued his exploration, looking for any sort of inhabitant. The deeper he wandered into the palace, the stronger that pull for an answer became. He passed by dozens of kitchens, an entire wing for servants, libraries that made Xender's Hanging Archives look tiny in comparison.

A Journey of Music and Collecting - My Contract with the Bogge, the Unseelie Courtier:

"Collect for me, Nine Seelie Names,

Complete my song, O' Feathered Folly,

Three small gifts, To guide this Game

That your return, Shall make me Jolly.

Your timer unknown, your race begun,

you'll escape your cage, fly from the Queen's grasp,

So long as the part is played, your song is sung,

Lest I return you within my clasp."

After the Bath - Encountering the Bogge:

As Finny rests in the bathhouse, his friends leaving, he watches as nearby greenery grows into thick rooted vines that grow along the edge of the bath close to you, vines dark and rotted coated in a thick black char. You hear a voice in your mind: "You have made some interesting friends within the courts...." Finny nearly has a heart attack, reminding himself of his captor’s conditions. He mutters quietly to the entity that watches him from the shadows. "I make no friends within them. It would be wise to avoid stirring the waters, Baron of Fear." The Bogge speaks, its voice giving the feel like it’s smiling with many teeth. "I am not so sure that is true." A small feather floats up from beneath the water, the same one Finny gave to Sir Yewvane Eedryll.

Finny glares. "What alliances I make in the Material plane are none of your concern. I own three of your needed names, you will get what we agreed upon. Her Majesty's claws are far more harrowing than my want to be free of you."

The Bogge continues, "You should choose your words wisely little bird. One should watch their tone when speaking to me. The wrath of the queen pales in comparison to what I may wrought on your soul. I am the trees, I am the forest, I am the land. Fear me for I am ancient, and you are nothing."

Finny dug deep, trying to dredge up the mask he wore while in Her Majesty’s clutches. "Ancient as you are - you have little hold on me. Just as you speak to Her Majesty's son, I too will expand my spider's web. The faster I get your names, the faster I can rid myself of your Fae Court games and you can proceed in tearing Her Majesty's crown off her head.” He tried to walk back to the Tavern, "I would ask that you leave my associates out of this. Your business is with me - and I will use the Court of Seasons to my benefit to rid myself of Her Majesty's leash."

A spear of the rotting vine shot for Finny, a threat and a promise. "You're nothing, without me....."

Finny stepped out of the way, turning his back to the beast."Break my wings if you want. I'm sure you wouldn't be half as creative as Her Majesty's twisted mind." He walks off, using false bravado to make himself walk out and into the tavern. He wants to throw up, he wants to scream and cry, he wants to run... But he will tug on his leash until it snaps. He will not bow again.

The Bogge continued,  "If you cross me again, you will beg for me to return you to her hands. I have seen the rise and fall of so many before her, I will see hers as well no different than the rest. In the meantime, my little songbird, maybe I will pay your friends in the yellow tent a visit..."

It’s a few moments before the voice and its presence vanish.

Finny’s stomach drops. "Shit." He races to the tavern, hoping to beat it there.

A Drink among Friends:It is a warm evening inside the Tavern. Many have gone off to do things. Though some occupy the main room, including Finnegan, Marion, and Nassir, as well as Wiggler, currently residing in the form of a cat. They had been sharing conversation for a little while prior, but the calm has settled around the place, the fire’s crackling the loudest thing people hear. The bird went to assist Nassir in moving his things from one of the canvas tents outside into the warm, dry interior of the lodge.

Finny looked to Marion. "Now, I believe I had asked if you had any requests for this evening's entertainment, Ms. Marion. So, what should I play next?" He offers a soft smile, offering a few instrument options to choose from. "I can assist Nassir and you can let me know your selection when we return."

A look of remembrance snaps onto the tiefling’s face while the cat climbs onto Marion's shoulders.

"Oh- Yes. I may need to think of that for a moment, if you'd be so kind."

“No, though you might struggle to leave in your current circumstances.” The dragonborn goes to leave, and stops by the door briefly before walking out.

Finnegan looks to Nassir. "Are you sure? I'd be happy to be of assistance." He conjures a light. "Seeing in color is better than grays."

Kompi, the kobold that had been hiding in Nassir’s shadow, stared sadly at the door, watching Nassir go out the door into the cold night.

Marion noticed the little thing’s distress, offering a seat neext to her, "Kompi? Would you like to sit with me, or help Nassir?"

While everyone is busy trying to assist him, Nassir walks back inside about 32 seconds later with a roll of canvas and 2 bags more than usual. “Which rooms aren’t taken?”

The cat carefully hops off Marion's shoulders and approaches Kompi - who looked to be having decision paralysis, booping them in the snout gently.

Finnegan closed the door behind Nassir, trying to avoid the cold seeping into the room. "There should be a couple just upstairs that are still vacant." He points to a few doors left open - the rooms empty of belongings or gear.

The dragonborn nods to Finny “Suvarir, friend.”

Finnegan replies, “Anytime.”

At that moment, a melody popped into Marion’s head, remembering her feathered friend’s request. "Oh- I think I know a good one- Do you know ‘Elsa's Song’? It's a bit sad, but my father used to sing it as a lullaby.”

A loud thud is heard a few seconds after Nassir disappears from view, and he returns shortly thereafter, uncharacteristically unarmed.

Fin then turns to Marion. "A sad song indeed. I know it by another name - as it was a funeral dirge from a small town I stayed at for the night during my travels. However, allow me to indulge you.”  He begins to recite the song, tapping on the wood of the wall as his drum.

Marion smiles, their eyes closing once more as they simply listen and relax.

As the bird sings, the song invokes the flames of the fire to gently writhe in their stone-captivity, the flicker of light like a primordial dance in tune to the music.

Nassir returns by the fire alongside Marion, making sure Kompi and the cat are out of the way before flicking his tail out of the way and dropping onto the floor. He produces his flask, and sits with his elbows on his knees, cross legged in front of the hearth. The cat watches the hypnotizing flames as Finnegan plays their tune. They attempt to clap their paws together after the performance before returning to Marion's side.

Once the song concludes, Nassir looks between finny and Marion, “Drink?”

The avian nods, his throat parched from the song. "I would gladly go for a drink. "

Marion claps softly, looking over at Nassir and gives a small nod. "You always play beautifully, Finnegan."

Nassir grins, and passes a flask to Finnegan “Hope you’ve a strong stomach, Ner’Vod.”

Finnegan then looks to Marion, "Thank you. You're very kind." He then turns his attention to the dragonborn beside him, raising a groomed eyebrow. "I have yet to meet a dragonborn as ballsy as you, Nassir. You make for fine company." He takes the flask and takes a swig, having had Faerie Wine - he hopes this isn't nearly as bad as that stuff.

Nassir bows his head, grin still plastering his face at the sight of Finny. “Thank you - though I might wait on that compliment, your opinion might be about to change”

The comment proves to be true, as the aarakocra lasts but a few seconds before tears start welling up in his eyes, his stomach churning in rebellion of the foul liquid. "The-" He begins to dry heave, "Ever-living hell is this..."

"I... Don't think I can help with that." Marion chuckles softly, before elbowing Nassir. "You should have warned them-"

The dragonborn, bearing a shit-eating grin, begins to bellow a hearty laugh “Ha! The look on your face, that brings me back to my blooding as a child.”

It goes a few moments later before the bird quickly runs outside, upending his previous meal. "My god... What hate-filled-" He heaves once more, "- sadistic mongrel..." The bird puts his head to the ground for some sort of cooling effect, "... Dreamed up this nightmare concoction!?"

Nassir, peering from the door, starts to look visibly concerned “Should…should I get someone? To help with that?”

Marion looks concerned as well, but shrugs. "...They'll be fine... Probably."

“In my defense, I did warn them.” he does his best to stop chuckling “Like I said last night, netra’gal packs a punch.”

"Yeah, and you nearly cried while drinking it." Marion scoffs softly.

The cat walks back to the fire, and against their better judgment, sticks their tongue into the flask. All of the fur sticks up as the cat stumbles woozily around before collapsing.

“And?”

After a few moments, Finnegan looks to have some semblance of stability - his feathers a little disheveled. "Good joke, my scaled comrade. Next time, you get a swig from my stash and we'll see what happens."

Marion chuckles, picking up the flask and offering it to Nassir.

The owner of said flask then takes it  back and takes a swig before re-corking it.

Marion observes the flask, "I still want to try some- I just would rather you be a bit tipsy before I make a fool of myself." Marion teases, watching the other with a soft laugh.

Nassir violently coughs almost instantly, a brief burst of flames sent spewing across the rocks of the hearth “... That one went up my nose.” He half laughs, half coughs, “I deserved that…”

Finnegan watches this, a smile on his face as he feels like his tongue is just nothing but ashy numbness. "You did warn us it packs a punch."

Marion chuckles, patting the dragonborns back. Nassir smiles wistfully through the cough-filled recovery “My brother wouldn’t have let that one go.”

After seeing that Nassir is alright, Finnegan pulls out a small, mauve-colored glass bottle from a bag, the topper glittering as an image of a pair of butterfly wings. "Care to try some of this? It's not as pungent as yours... but quite interesting to those who have never had it before."

The tiefling’s eyes glance at the glittering thing in Finnegan’s hand. "The bottle is beautiful." She remarks, smiling softly.

Nassir also glances at the bottle. “Does this one come with a warning? Or just spite?”

Marion holds Wiggler, the poor thing drooling on the ground prior. "Should one be drank before the other, or is this a free for all?" She teases, head tilting as she watches.

Finnegan chuckles. "For those who have never experienced the Feyrealm or its... splendors - this can be considered a very fast introduction to it. The more often you drink it, the less chance of a side effect it has on you - but that takes a while. So if you'd like to take a crash course through Feyrealm 'splendor' - be my guest and take off the topper. Sniff it if you really want to beforehand - it does smell quite lovely.” He extends the bottle to Nassir. Both a challenge and an invitation.

Nassir snorts. “I learned of fey a day or two ago, and already I’m visiting. I’d almost prefer you challenged me to Taung.” He takes the elaborate bottle, and a deep breath to get the last of the burn of the netra’gal from be the back of his nose “This ought to be interesting.” He pops the stopper, and takes a swig.

In a few moments, The two watch as their dragonborn friend’s body goes limp, stilling as his eyes dilate and drools from the mouth.

Through the haze, Nassir mumbles, “I hate flutes…”

Finnegan gently takes the Fae Wine from Nassir, offering it to Marion. "If you'd like… He'll be okay - it wears off after a little."

Marion sets Wiggler to her side, smiling softly and taking the fae wine. She smells it, before taking a careful sip.

Finnegan watches Marion hesitate for a moment, "It certainly seems like Nassir's gotten a wild hit of Feyrealm Splendor." He can't help but laugh, the sound bright and airy.

Marion blinks after a few seconds past swallowing the drink, giggling softly and shifting to lean against whoever is sitting beside them. They cover their mouth, hiding the grin that's formed as they watch the iridescent forms swim through air. As they speak, their voice is a mere whisper. "Oh, this is lovely..."

After a few minutes staring into space in a daze, Nassir starts blinking away the haze that’s slowly lifting from his mind “Ugh…well…I suppose you did warn me.” he starts to get up, but stops when Marion begins to slide to the ground “Fair play, Vod.”

Finnegan smiles. " Welcome back - did you enjoy the ride?"

“About as much as you enjoyed the black ale, I’d reckon.”

"For all the awful it was, I thought it was quite interesting. I'll be better prepared the next time we decide to get drinks." He offers the dragonborn a hand. "Congratulations on surviving your first dreg."

The dragonborn looks to the floor vacantly, “It’s good to have siblings again, even if you are all dar’manda.” He takes the offered hand “And you yours.”

Marion looks up at Nassir, giggling softly before reaching a hand out towards one of the floating shapes- Less to catch it, and more to just watch how it moves. "If you think this is bad...Life must have been easy." She hums, head tilting as the images seem to swim deeper into the air itself.

Finnegan turns to Nassir, "You'll have to forgive me - but I'm unfamiliar with some of those words. Care to offer a translation?"

Nassir obliges. “Vod means brother or sister, or sibling. It’s interchangeable.”

The bird tilts his head to the side in curiosity. "Interesting. I would assume 'dar'manda' means something along the lines of 'outsider'?"

"Mhmm," Marion simply hums in response, stretching from their spot like a cat in the midday sun.

Nassir nods an affirmation, “Yes. Not as an insult, just an acknowledgement.”

Finny watches Marion, seeing her all giggly forcing him to crack a grin. "It might have to do something with your connection to magic - some people have far better firsts than others. I've heard some have felt like they were being eaten by swarms of beetles, others felt their flesh feel like it was melting off them... it's different for everyone on their first go. Some experience euphoria so intoxicating they nearly combust."

Marion, in a bout of clarity, replies to the winged bird among a swathe of glimmering fishes. "Oh...Maybe. I didn't think people would drink it if they realized it varied so much...I'm sorry if you didn't like it, Nassir." She blinks, frowning ever so slightly, trying to offer some reassurance in case it had been as bad as having their flesh melt off.

"No offense was taken. And honestly - I think our draconic friend here had a rather mild effect compared to my first time."

Nassir pats Marion’s shoulder reassuringly “I’m fine. Though the flutes, or whatever they were, that was infuriating.”

"Oh, you had the panpipes I presume? Nasty things - the song gets stuck in your head for hours. When I had my first drink I felt like I was floating, only then to feel like my feathers were being plucked out one by one."

Nassir winces empathetically, assuming the feeling is similar to scales being torn

"Needless to say, I was cautious around the mauve bottles from then on. But it gets more gentle and more predictable after continued exposure."

Marion looks clearer, listening to the conversation. "The flutes...? I heard music, but Oh- it was this lovely humming... if I could live in that moment forever I would, it was like staring into the ocean..." Marion smiles, leaning against Nassir and giving a yawn.

Nassir takes a seat by Marion, the fire flickering light off his scales. “The way my people finished nights like these was with gehat’ik, an exchange of stories. But it sounds like you,” He looks down to Marion, “Need to go to sleep. As do I, for that matter, if only to forget those damned flutes.”

Finnegan chuckles "I'll keep the fire running tonight. I'll share my story of the Seelie Court next time we decide to uncork the bottles."

The tiefling smiles sleepily, "We can tell stories... just don't be upset if I doze off." She teases, before another yawn comes from her, "...Maybe tomorrow we can tell stories..."

Finnegan sees the slumber slowly taking over his friend, looking to Nassir. "If you can get her to her room, Nassir - I think she will sleep like a hatchling. Probably the most restful sleep she's ever had in a long while."

Nassir nods, turning to their female companion. “Alright, up you get. Tomorrow won’t hunt itself.” Nassir pulls Marion to her feet as gently as he can manage “Can you walk?”

Marion nods sleepily. "Yeah- yeah...Goodnight everyone." Marion rubs their eyes, trailing a hand along the wall as they head to their room.

As Finnegan stokes the fire to bank it off for the night, he re-seals the bottle with the winged topper, returning it to one of his pockets before preparing to roost. "You make a fine drinking partner, Nassir - may we share glasses again."

Nassir rolls his neck, “Rest well, Finnegan. Next time though, I’ll stick to the netra’gal, I think.” he holds a fist to his chest, before turning and walking upstairs to his new room.

The bird takes to a large beam up above the hall, sinking down into his own feathery self before passing out.

Taurlin's Tale- Retold by her Brother:

The people of the tavern have taken time to tell stories, Nassir taking the first turn - his story is his own, and therefore will not be included in this recounting for Nassir’s honor and respect. Finny has volunteered as the next to speak.

Finnegan offers a look of condolence to the dragonborn. "Perhaps I can share a tale of my own. A truth for a truth."

Marion nods, letting their hand drop and staying quiet as they look to the avian, tail flicking.

Nassir offers the floor. “Such is the way of gehat’ik. Warriors sharing their tales.”

Wiggler listens quietly as they tend the fire.

As Finny begins his tale, he lifts up a few longer feathers, revealing a charm weaved into his plumage in the shape of an 8-pointed star. "It is well known that a bird who cannot fly is considered a  thing of numbered days. This charm was given to me by Taurlin - one of my younger twin sisters. She was born with a warped wing - and will never be able to taste the wind as I do.” He takes a steadying breath. “To have a Grounded fledgling is a great shame among my people. It comes back to a time when we migrated - those who could not keep up with the flocks would be left to fend for themselves, and those who were responsible for them were shamed for it. Nowadays, we do not migrate anymore, but the stigma still continues - especially within the higher roosts of the city.” The bird stills, trying to run through the muddled memories of his childhood.

“When the twins were starting to grow feathers, they had the most beautiful white patterning you could imagine - like fresh fallen frost. But when it came to flight lessons and taking the Breach - our test of flight - Taurlin wasn't even able to get off the ground. The white wings dragged as the muscle was too weak to support herself."

Nassir watches Finny sympathetically as they tell their story, “It sounds as if our peoples aren’t so different in mindset.”

Finny nods in agreement, "You'll come to find that even the most civilized of places often still hold onto a handful of savageries." He continues, "Our clan within the city told my parents to clip her wings - a tiny, exact incision left to heal incorrectly - to render her to common status. My parents decided not to - as my sisters cared for each other fiercely. The other twin - Tenneah, was the youngest flyer in our clan - and threatened to refuse to fly again if they did so. So Taurlin had to watch as Tenneah and I took practice lessons and started to find our passions. She however, was forced to stay within the estate grounds - and came to adore books and knowledge. So while I left for the Hanging Archives to pursue my dreams in music, Tenneah started to take interest in my father's business - a merchant of spices and exotic teas. And Taurlin - she was left to her own devices inside the estate.” He brushes a finger over the charm, missing his family dearly. "Turns out, there were plenty of ways to escape the grounds on foot. We had staff that were clipped - and with the right words and some clever thinking - Taurlin was able to access the lower Rungs of the city - where the skilled crafters and blacksmiths would work."

Marion shifts, leaning back against a chair as they listen, gradually pulling their tail around themselves. They blink, picking up a small slip of paper and pocketing it.

Finny continues, "Taurlin had taken every chance she could get to get to the lower rungs - and using those books she had come to love - had wormed her way into meeting a very influential artificer by the name of Rhunn.  He's a legend among the Avian Crafters. Finer than any elven work, sturdier than even the toughest of dwarven steel - any weapon you obtained from Rhunn was worth a king's fortune. And those who were lucky enough to have their children apprentice under him were practically set for a life of luxury.”

Some of the audience were familiar with the Avian Artificer, giving a way for Finny to continue, “Taurlin begged and pleaded Rhunn to teach her something. So he taught her to make nails. Had her make hundreds and thousands of nails. Enough that you could fill rooms with them until she could perfect the technique. And refusing to let up - she did. She stayed by the coal fires - the soot from the forages staining her wings black as she would be away for days at a time to perfect her nails, then moved onto delicate iron feathers, then other simple yet delicate things. My sister continued to be left unwatched by my father and mother - and had discovered a love for delicate metalwork - something wings got in the way of rather than aided. She eventually was asked to assist on projects - prosthetics for those who lost limbs within the mines, substitutes for bits and pieces of broken people… People like her."

Nassir huffed a breath in an affirmation “An honourable trade, to be sure. Your sister is jate’kart’a. Good heart.”

Finny felt pride for his sister, and the compliments his friend laid upon her, "Taurlin eventually led on to make her own prosthetic - a piece that would correct and assist the lacking muscle in her weak wing. It was a prototype - but it never worked with how long it has been since she had used it. However, this didn't get her down - in fact it has set her sights on helping the young ones who were crippled as she was. So now she assists Tenneah's tea business - and uses it as a place where people like her can come as they are. All the proceeds go to researching flight gear for fledglings born or afflicted with disabilities. She still wears her prototype on her soot-stained wings - as a reminder to work hard despite the stigma."