Finnegan is a 5'11" light-skinned Man of twenty years with dark hair and lustrous hazel eyes. His build is relatively slim with just enough muscle to be considered suitable as a Soldier. Strangely, he lacks any scars save for a deep, hard-edged burn upon his right palm in the shape of a gear.

Born as an unwanted middle child to struggling farmfolk in a Village just West of Aventhrone; Finnegan's youth was anything but pleasant. Often the child would be blamed for any misfortune that would befall the family farm-- and the fact he didn't share the same burly nature as his father or siblings only made it all the worse. Had a farm animal escaped it's pen and run off? Finnegan must've forgotten to shut the gate. Stored goods ruined by a rainstorm? Finnegan had to be the one who'd left it all uncovered. Money missing from the emergency fund hidden in the pantry? Undoubtedly Finnegan who stole from it. Were the Winter food stores running low? The little bastard Finn must be sneaking food in the night!

Even despite this treatment, despite the blame, the young boy did all he could to try and escape the scapegoat role he'd been born into. From feeding the livestock at first light, to shoveling shit from the pens, to even skipping meals to help save what food the family had. Day after day after day the boy ran himself ragged trying to prove himself to his family; to be good enough in his parents' eyes that he could at least feel wanted. To at least let him feel needed, if only slightly. Sixteen years he toiled, not once asking his parents to recognize his efforts; waiting for his mother or father to notice it themselves.

How naïve.

Rather than recognize Finnegan's efforts, all the lad's efforts were instead attributed to his elder brother; the pride of the household, and his younger brother; whom his parents doted on. After a season of especially bad harvest... Finn was thrown to the streets; deemed to be far more of a burden than he was worth. Already malnourished and in poor health-- the young man barely managed to survive. As far as the wider community was concerned-- he was nothing more than a simple pest; surviving off food stolen from composting piles, that wouldn't survive the end of winter...

But, as fate would have it-- the people of Finnegan's humble village were proven wrong.

It was when the lad lay nearly starved to death on the roadside, that a stranger thrust a small loaf of bread into the young man's hands; and made an offer that sounded nigh too good to be true. The stranger's name was Gaelan; an Apostle Missionary traveling the region to recruit new members to the order. The Apostles offered food, shelter, camaraderie, faith, and most important of all-- purpose. Without so much as a second thought Finnegan took Gaelan's hand readily, thrilled to know he was finally wanted somewhere.

Of all the new recruits to walk the ancient halls of Aventhrone that year-- Finnegan was by far the worst off. Despite having all the food and drink and shelter he could possibly need, undoing the damage of the years he'd suffered was a slow process. From the first days of his training, Finn's emaciated body struggled to keep up with the physical ability of his peers. Day after day his fellow recruits made leaps and bounds of progress, where his own was more akin to a crawl... Eventually, a majority of the Drill Instructors had all but given up on providing the boy with instruction-- save for one man.

Finnegan's first encounter with Drill Marshal Dearan was in his third week of training. The recruits had been training with spears; the staple weapon of the Apostle Militia forces, when the thick head of a cane would strike young Finn in the back. From that day forward-- the grizzled old Drill Marshal watched the boy like a hawk, his cane making swift correction to even the smallest of mistakes. Often the Drill Marshal would even keep Finnegan late after the trainings to further beat the lessons into the poor boy.

Day. After day. After day.

Come week six, the boy that had nearly failed out of the program entirely was able to keep pace with the other recruits. On the day of graduation-- Finnegan would be stopped by Drill Marshal Dearan for the last time, not for another beating; but rather to commend the unceasing efforts and focus the boy had displayed. With a wide grin, the former knight wished the boy luck in his future within the Apostles; forcing the lad to promise that he wouldn't forget the lessons he'd been taught before finally releasing him to join the rest of his class.

For many in that class of recruits, it was the first step into whatever grand adventure awaited them--

But not for Finnegan.

Whereas many of his peers would be sent off on various deployments and expeditions to fight against Raam, Bastelian slavers, beasts, and the like, Finnegan was given guard duty. For the next four long years, Finnegan would remain a Gatekeeper at Aventhrone. Though he'd get to overhear all about the various expeditions and journeys of those that came and went from the ancient Cathedral-- there was often little to do, and even less to report at the end of the day.

Until the fateful day a small expedition team's porter took ill from food poisoning just as the group exited the front gate. With little time to find suitable replacement, and unable to wait for the man's condition to improve... The Martial leading the expedition; an officer within 'The Serpent's Fang', pointed at the the on-duty gatekeeper and ordered that he would come in place of the original porter. In no place to refuse such an order, and more than willing to comply-- Finnegan Connors would join the trek to the North, and at long last, he'd finally have a chance to prove himself...

Or so he thought.

Purpose; a reason to exist, to be needed. For most of his life, Finn lacked any real purpose from day to day. But since receiving his God's revelation-- he has at long last found a purpose to call his own; to use his newfound blessings to help as many of his fellow man as he possibly can whilst he seeks further revelation from his God.