Finnegan stands barely three feet tall with curly tawny hair and bright hazel eyes. He wears vibrant teal and orange silks that flow as he moves, layered over a suit of meticulously fitted leather armor. His fingers are constantly moving, often absentmindedly performing coin tricks or adjusting the straps of his polished lute.

I am a social butterfly who hates silence. I always have a joke or a story ready to defuse a tense situation, though I usually end up making myself the center of attention in the process.

Born in the quiet hill country, Finnegan found the agrarian lifestyle stifling and predictable. When a traveling troupe of acrobats passed through his village, he was enchanted by their agility and the joy they brought to the dour locals. He left his family burrow that very night, joining the troupe as a tumbler and musician. During his years on the road, he learned that the same hands that plucked lute strings could also liberate purses from the greedy, a skill he refined to help keep his friends fed when the crowds were thin. Finnegan eventually struck out on his own after the troupe was disbanded by a restrictive city ordinance. He now uses his stage persona as a cover for his nocturnal activities. To him, thievery is just another form of entertainment where the marks are the audience and the prize is his standing ovation. He remains a Lightfoot at heart, always looking for the next exciting story to tell or the next grand adventure to undertake.