Heroes of Faerun Information

Finnbolg the Grim
Finnbolg is a half-elf from the Moonshae Isles. He speaks in the trade tongue with a lilting, melodic accent. The human half of his ancestry is Ffolk (Tethyrian). He has dusky skin that takes the sun well, and unruly shoulder-length, wavy brown hair that is kept back with a simple leather tie. Finn cleans up well when he bothers, but usually can be found quite a few days between shaves. The almond shape and coloration of his eyes, however, give away his elven lineage. His irises have a definitely not human (and somewhat unsettling) reddish-pink hue to them. If one were being kind, the soft coloration where it blends from red to white were suggestive of azaleas. If one were being unkind, however, it could be said that they were reminiscent of a rat or some other small rodent. Unsettling eyes aside, Finn is quick to laugh and even quicker to smile. He has cultivated a larger-than-life persona and sees adventure and excitement in just about every task he sets his mind to. He is a hero in his own mind ... just ask him. He'll often spin a tale that recounts his many great deeds upon request. The fact is, Finnbolg the Grim has told many tales in his life, only some of them have been true. Most decidedly not. He is, for all of his tall tales, actually an ardent follower of the Earthmother, Chauntea. He traveled to the mainland of the Sword Coast to make his fortune, by spell or by sword. To hear him tell it, Finnbolg won the epithet 'the Grim' in a riddle contest with the ancient serpent Nibhgoin the Grim (who thereafter could only be referred to as Nibhgoin the Nameless). He is a keen hunter, having once toured the island of Moray from end-to-end in order to rid it of the Westing Beast. (Oh, you haven't heard of the Westing Beast? You're welcome). Of course, he managed this deed mainly because of his enchanted sword, Flamgrin ... and how he came to own Flamgrin is another tale, involving flirtatious river spirits and greedy dwarves. But that my friend is another tale, for another time. Unless, of course, you wouldn't mind buying another mug of that fine mead?

Finnbolg the Grim

Finnbolg is a half-elf from the Moonshae Isles. He speaks in the trade tongue with a lilting, melodic accent. The human half of his ancestry is Ffolk (Tethyrian). He has dusky skin that takes the sun well, and unruly shoulder-length, wavy brown hair that is kept back with a simple leather tie. Finn cleans up well when he bothers, but usually can be found quite a few days between shaves.

The almond shape and coloration of his eyes, however, give away his elven lineage. His irises have a definitely not human (and somewhat unsettling) reddish-pink hue to them. If one were being kind, the soft coloration where it blends from red to white were suggestive of azaleas. If one were being unkind, however, it could be said that they were reminiscent of a rat or some other small rodent.

Unsettling eyes aside, Finn is quick to laugh and even quicker to smile. He has cultivated a larger-than-life persona and sees adventure and excitement in just about every task he sets his mind to.

He is a hero in his own mind ... just ask him. He'll often spin a tale that recounts his many great deeds upon request.

The fact is, Finnbolg the Grim has told many tales in his life, only some of them have been true. Most decidedly not.

He is, for all of his tall tales, actually an ardent follower of the Earthmother, Chauntea. He traveled to the mainland of the Sword Coast to make his fortune, by spell or by sword.

To hear him tell it, Finnbolg won the epithet 'the Grim' in a riddle contest with the ancient serpent Nibhgoin the Grim (who thereafter could only be referred to as Nibhgoin the Nameless). He is a keen hunter, having once toured the island of Moray from end-to-end in order to rid it of the Westing Beast.

(Oh, you haven't heard of the Westing Beast? You're welcome).

Of course, he managed this deed mainly because of his enchanted sword, Flamgrin ... and how he came to own Flamgrin is another tale, involving flirtatious river spirits and greedy dwarves.

But that my friend is another tale, for another time. Unless, of course, you wouldn't mind buying another mug of that fine mead?