Finnegan O'Reed [Lvl 8]
A halfling thief with a heart of gold.
Age 24, Height 3’11", Weight 79 lb., brown hair and eyes.
Answers to Finn if he likes you.
| HP 52
| AC 22
| Passive Insight 14
Passive Perception 19
| MAGIC ITEMS
Weapon: Distance Sling +2
Armor: Magic Cloth +1
Feet: Sandals of Precise Stepping
Hands: Alchemy Gloves
Head: Circlet of Second Chances
Neck: Deep-Pocket Cloak +2
Fortune Stone of Earth
| Wish List
Anything that gives a reroll
-no item daily powers that aren’t rerolls
Final Sleep or Elusive Action ki focus
Shockweave Armor +2
Tattoo of the Penitent Martyr
Alchemical attack items
It all started when I picked up the damn sword. Quiet while I’m talking!, and buy me a drink. I’m out of money, and if you want to hear the story then you’re buying me a drink. When that crazy redhead cut me with it I felt it take a part of me. Out of me. As soon as she hit the ground I grabbed the thing — I wanted my piece back. In me. But it got into me too. The black blade bound itself to me, and started talking to me in my head. Mostly it tells me to kill everybody I see. All the time. It wants to see your guts outside of you. Did you know your soul is purple? Apparently it can see that. It’s named Blackrazor, and I guess it’s been around for a long time. It eats souls, which is gross, but there’s no accounting for taste. It only has one desire: to feed. I’ve felt some of its hunger; its insatiable, everlasting, maddening hunger. Nothing fills nothing satisfies nothingtastesnothingstaysnothi….
Gimme that drink. Blackrazor is evil. It wants to devour everything — but I can kind of understand, you know? I mean, who wouldn’t be crazy and evil after feeling that for… I don’t know… centuries I guess. I mean, the real evil is the guy who made it like that. It’s just a sword, it didn’t choose to eat souls. How would you feel if you had to eat babies? Or cute little bunnies? You’d feel bad, and probably start hating everyone too. So I want to help him. I figure if I can force it to work for good, that maybe some day it’ll turn good. But, in the mean time, it’s really hard. I mean it always, always, tells me to kill. And it’s in my head, telling me more and more, and sometimes I can feel how hungry it is and… and it gets to me, you know? Oh!, yeah, more — something stronger this time. It really wears me down; and sometimes I, well… I end up doing things I wish I didn’t. And then all I want is to throw it away so that I never have to see it or touch it or feel it ever again. But then I think about that redhead, and how it ate at her, and I think about some other innocent person picking it up and suffering. And I think that maybe, just maybe, I’m meant to do this. Maybe this is why Darkblade sent me here. Who is Darkblade? Well…
It all started when the Magic Cup opened up just up the street from our tavern. Suddenly all of our business went away, just like that! Can you believe it? Even a lot of our regulars started going. After a few weeks things were looking pretty bad, and we weren’t sure if we’d be able to stay open. Anyway I was walking around after leaving early — there were no customers — and this dwarf approached me. Out of nowhere he’s suddenly walking right next to me, and he asks what’s got me down. He gets the whole story out of me, and then he’s telling me that the Magic Cup is actually using magic to steal our customers. Can you imagine? Seems like a waste of good magic. Anyway, he helped me steal the magic keg so we could use it to get our customers back. After that things went back to normal, and I figured all was well.
I guess he liked what he saw when we were doing the stealing, because he offered to teach me more. …don’t laugh, when I tell you about what I’m about to tell you; the movements are essential. I learned all about rooftops and alleys and doorways and shadows. Running and darting and hiding and seeking. Punches and pockets and dodges and coppers. Don’t laugh! It was strange, learning how to sneak and slink from a dwarf, but there’s no doubt that he was the best teacher. I learned to be self-sufficient, to live on what I could find and make my own way. He used to tell stories about this group that he’s a part of called the Made Men. They wander the world, using their found wealth to spread happiness and good cheer to all they meet. He told me that I might be able to join them, if I uphold those values myself. One day, out of the blue, he tells me that I have to leave town. “Go to Fallcrest, there’s important events taking place that you shouldn’t miss.” Then he went all mysterious teacher on me, and wouldn’t explain himself. All he said was that if I meet a member of the Made Men I can drop his name and they’ll help me, and that I would recognize them by a laughing coin tattoo. So I guess that’s great, if I ever happen to run into one of them. After that he disappeared, and I had to choose between staying to help the man who had raised me like his own son, or following my mentor’s advice. Guess what I chose? What do you mean, “Who’s the guy who,”… well, damn. We’re gonna need another round. Or two.
It all started when I was a kid growing up, like most halflings, in a river caravan. I was never as good at rafts and sails and winds as the other halfling children, and I became somewhat of an outsider. As I got older I was of very little use to the tribe, and I was basically just another mouth to feed. My parents tried to support me, but they knew that I would never amount to anything as a riverman. It was embarrassing and shameful, but life wasn’t too bad, looking back. Halfling river tribes are very close-knit and, pariah that I was, I was healthy and cared for. My parents bought me books to keep me company, and life went on. Later, though, times got hard. There was less business, and everyone had to tighten their belts. My small mouth was a larger burden, and some started to give me dark looks. When the caravan came to a town named Slighten, located where the King’s Road meets the White River, they saw their chance to finally be rid of me.
Now, Slighten is a small ferry town with lots of people coming and going daily. It’s little more than a waypoint, but it has a thriving market economy. Underneath the hustle-bustle business there is a small slave business. Times were hard and food was scarce, and the tribe elder told some of the dark-lookers to sell nine-year-old me. I don’t know what my parents were told, or if they know if I’m alive or dead. Shut up, I can’t kill them right now. I changed hands a few times as a slave. Drink! First I was the personal servant of a rich woman. The bitch was barren, and I guess a cute halfling kid was a good substitution for a child. Only I wasn’t really her child, so whenever I didn’t do my “chores” properly she could beat me without feeling bad. Next I belonged to a rich merchant. He wanted his child to understand that, as a merchant, his decisions would carry consequences for other people. So whenever the brat did something bad he punished me instead. Finally I came under the ownership of Cratin, in Hammerfast. That slime collected children to beg and steal for him, and just barely kept us alive so that people would feel pity and give us more money. Some kids he would maim. You know, cut off the legs or poke out the eyes, just so they would be more pitiful. I guess I started learning about thieving from him, which might be why I caught Darkblade’s eye later. I ran away often, but he always found me. He couldn’t hurt me too badly because I was one of his best pickpockets, so he’d usually make me watch him hurt the other kids instead. I’m ashamed to say that rarely stopped me.
One of the times I ran away I was trying to take some scraps of food off of people’s plates at a local tavern, and the owner caught me. He hit me pretty hard, but it wasn’t near as bad as I’d had before. After he introduced his hand he introduced himself, which I wasn’t expecting. His name was Orson Stein, and he offered me a job. He let me stay in his tavern, The Heartstein, with him, and I became his apprentice. Once I entered that building I never left. I knew Cratin’s cronies were looking for me, so I stayed indoors and kept my head down. Eventually they found me, and tried to take me back. But I had gained something in the Heartstein, although I didn’t know what to call it. I found that I wouldn’t, couldn’t go back — that I would die before I’d go back to being that man’s property. I would have died that day, but Orson saved me. He went to Cratin and paid for me, bought my freedom. He took me to the temple of Avandra and told me that, eventually, I might be able to find peace in their teachings. He gave me a home. No, I’m not going to kill him.
(Blackrazor says, “I’m gonna get in there and mentally dominate ya, right? I’m gonna shove ya, I’m getting in the driver’s seat I’m gonna drive I’m gonna be frakkin’ bizzies and drinkin pina coladas! I hope you like pina coladas, cuz so does… so does Blackrazor. …and gettin’ caught in the rain.”)
Finnegan, “I worked in a dwarven bar in a town populated with ghosts; I served spirits with spirits that were so strong they pissed pina colada after drinking them. So I can get you some, if you want. While you’re enjoying your fresh, warm beverage, why don’t you meditate on the fact that you’ve lost every battle you’ve started against me. I used you the way I wanted to, and now that you’re making things difficult I’m gonna let my friends use you. You’re finally part of the gang.”