Finn is a sleek raven with iridescent black feathers that catch the dim light of the Underdark like shards of obsidian, his body compact and agile despite the cruel amputation at his left ankle where a foot once gripped branches and prey. He's no ordinary bird, perhaps three years old in raven terms, wise beyond his seasons from the scars of captivity. His beak is sharp and slightly hooked, eyes a piercing yellow that seem to hold secrets of forgotten caverns, and he perches with a distinctive tilt to his head, as if perpetually listening to whispers only he can hear—a quirk born from endless hours in that witch's cage, straining for sounds of escape. Finn's plumage is marred by faint white scars from rough handling, and he wears a tiny silver band around his right leg, a token Eli pilfered from the Faire's trinkets, etched with a drow rune for 'shadow wing.'

Once snared by a cackling witch at a shadowy Underdark Faire, Finn was bartered for like a bauble, his wing clipped in spirit if not in body, traded to Eli the drow after the elf whispered promises of vengeance and freedom. What Finn craves most is the unbound sky, the thrill of soaring without the drag of his missing limb, to reclaim the wild autonomy stolen by that hag's snare. But the void at his ankle betrays him; he hops more than perches on uneven ground, and in flight, he favors tight spirals to compensate, his balance forever off-kilter like a ship listing in storm-tossed waves.

Undeterred, Finn shadows Eli through twisting tunnels and treacherous webs, serving as scout and spy, his keen eyes piercing gloom where even drow sight falters. He caws warnings in a gravelly rasp that mimics Eli's sibilant tongue, a bond forged in mutual exile. This clever adaptation works because Finn's intellect rivals any surface scholar's—ravens are cunning survivors, and his disability sharpens his wits, turning weakness into wary precision. He pecks at foes' eyes in battle, retrieves glinting secrets from high ledges with beak and talon alone. Yet conflicts gnaw at him: the phantom itch of a lost foot, the witch's curse that lingers in nightmares of iron bars, and the tension of loyalty to Eli, whose drow ambitions sometimes pull them into moral abysses Finn senses but cannot flee. Their journey arcs toward a reckoning, where Finn might claim a prosthetic of enchanted bone or confront the witch's ghost, but for now, he endures, a feathered sentinel in the endless dark, his tilted gaze ever hopeful for wings unchained.