Finn Babhdán is a hybrid, the only one of his kind. Half-Avian and Half-dwarf, he is a bird forever grounded. He wears a mask to hide his face; if asked he will never explain why, only saying he likes it. Finn followed his lord Jarl (Amleth Hvithar) from their homeland to Halfrland, a place of ice with barely any earth to work with. The previous settlers had tortured the land with obelisks and gauche housings. Finn prides himself on his building abilities, cleaning up the mess and placing homes, temples, farms and terraforming the land to support his people.
Finn is the only know hybrid of his kind, half-dwarf, half-avian. His father was a dwarf craftsman, working long days in the forges, building weapons and tools for his people during war, crafting metalwork art to decorate the the lavish homes of nobles and kings. He was not from Amleths home family lines, but had ties to them through his works and the naturally precarious treaties between the different factions of his people. Finns mother, she was avian, often called the Angel of the Clouds. Her wingspan was immense, capable of spiralling heights the likes even her brethren found amazing. She was no craftsman or warrior, but a scout and assassin. She was silent in flight, the dizzying distances she could travel in fractions of the time others could making her invaluable in the transport of information. She couldn't use a sword, but she was well familiar with bows, capable of downing a grown man from the clouds, appearing as only the shadow of a normal bird. Finns mother, during a flight home with information for her people, was shot down. How they saw her and knew what and who she was is unknown, but the arrow that pierced her immense, beautiful wings, carried flaming oil, lighting her feathers on fire and dragging her to the earth with violent, terrified screams. Through previous practice and a whole lot of luck, she managed to land, still in a heap of smouldering ash, but not dead; not yet. Fortunately, though no one involved thought so at the time, she landed on top of Finns Fathers forge. As all good smiths kept on hand, he had water and magic to remove out of control fires. A screeching fireball from the sky sure seemed like the thing to quickly stamp out, so he worked quickly. It wasn't a perfect meeting, by any means, but it was an important one. There were issues, of course. Avians are not made for the ground, let alone under it. even their forges are open to the sky and unnaturally cool for metal working, they cannot stand it otherwise. And dwarves aren't known for their trusting, gentle nature. but they make do; he patches her up and gives her a safe place to hide and heal. She doesn't rip his throat out with her claws and really that's more than most could hope for. Somewhere along the way, they make Finn. He's the strangest lil guy they've ever seen; willowy but short, clawed and fanged but with round dark eyes and an easy smile. Where his wings should be, there are little nubs, useless and too small to be anything, not even wing shaped until he's well into proper childhood. They love him absolutely. Unfortunately, not everyone else does. And it's not his fault, at least that's what his parent insist. It's not his fault that he can't fly or can't see in the dark. It's not his fault he can't wrestle with the dwarf children, but can't catch the avian ones. It's not his fault he claws through the tough hide of his friends by mistake with his terrible claws, or that he has a glaring weak-point to pull on between his shoulder blades. It isn't his fault. But at the first sign of true problems, of genuine danger to her family, Finns mother leaves. There's no note, no explanation, one night she was there, singing him songs of kindness and forgiveness and warmth, the next morning, she was gone. And if it wasn't bad enough, his father sent him away as well. Something was wrong but no one would explain to Finn what it was. He was told to hide the obvious pieces of him, his useless wings, terrible claws and most of all, his face. No one could deny he wasn't... different when they saw his face and so it wasn't safe to show it. It didn't matter how he hid it, as long as it was hidden. He did a lot of things over the years, different masks and helmets and hairstyles. As you know him now, he wears a jack-o-lantern. No one sees him without it and he will not tell you what he looks like or explain why he wears it. He will chuckle and tells you he likes it if you press. He came to Amleths homeland on a ship, haggard and bruised and haunted. He kept to himself as much as possible, learning whatever skills someone would teach him to hopefully make himself useful enough to keep. No one kept him. When Amleth was prepping to leave, although Finn didn't know him well, he asked to go anyway. He needed to leave, to go away and he didn't care where it took him. He offered whatever money he had, his random array of skills, anything that would convince Amleth to allow some weird little pumpkin kid get on his ship. He's still not sure how it worked out, but he got on board. Now he builds the homes for his new people, stacks together temples for the gods that brought them there, feeds anyone who asks. He dives into the frigid waters and delves into the lava filled earth of Halfrland, he will breath through his innate panic when he can't see the sky and clumsily make metal obey him in a forge despite his claws in the way. He will make himself useful, too useful to lose. He will take care of any soul that comes to this land, friend or foe, and he will offer whatever kindness he can even as he's struck down by enemies he doesn't know. He's not a fighter but by damn will he try anyway, when he has to. He will not lose this place, he wont let it just fall apart around him and he wont let someone take it. And if he can, by some damn miracle, find a way to fly, he plans to see everything Alathra has to offer. And if not? He'll build a bloody boat and do it that way. And hopefully someone will join him, or at least welcome him back when he makes his way back home.