Adopted by a very old Rua'Alfar, Fislyn inherited the island estate and title of squire. Soon after, his three sisters bought him a commission in the space navy. Now, he is aboard the Stalwart.
- Eyes
- Amethyst
- Hair
- Silver tainted with lavendar
- Skin Tone/Pigmentation
- pale and tainted with purple
- Height
- 5'8"
- Weight
- 165lbs
DANRANERTH
Sunset Isles
Koiyotae dove off the back of the whale beneath the moonlight. He had paid the mermaid four crystals to get him to the Sunset Isles and a quarter-mile offshore was as close as she dared bring her whale. This was the roughest coast of all the islands and far from the whaling ports but he understood her caution. Whaling was a great industry and one glimpse of her whale and the hunters would be after them.
With a splash, he hit the water and began paddling towards the shore. The dog paddle was not the most graceful way to swim but for him, it was rather efficient. He was a kitsune, after all. Naked except for a rope tied about his waist so he could pull his otterskin pack behind him. A quarter-hour later, he stepped out of the sea and gave himself a shake, ridding his silver and white fur of most of the salty water. He then cast a prestidigitation spell to clean the rest of the water away. The spell could have done the job without the shaking but a good shake should never be passed up.
Untying the rope, he neatly coiled it and buckled it back into place on his pack before opening it up. His things were nice and dry inside. In a minute he had on his leather belted pants and harness. He buckled his elegant blade on a hip, his pouch to the other, then closed his pack.
A breeze picked up, blowing from inland and out to sea. Koiyotae took several deep sniffs then stretched. The air held a strong scent of elven habitation. Thoughts of elves who no doubt had forgotten what it was like when a kitsune came pranking had his lips curling into a snarling smile. Settling his pack onto his back, Koiyotae left the beach and walked under the trees.
Let the games begin!
The chains were uncomfortable over the fine elven clothes he wore. Despite them, Koiyotae felt rather smug. His elven jailers still believed he was as much an elf as they were. He also found it amusing that they did not clamp the irons so they touched his skin.
"Wipe that smirk off your face, lyth," the elf to his left said and gave the chain a hard jerk.
Koiyotae stumbled then stumbled again when the jailer to his right jerked the other chain his way.
"His lordship won't be happy to hear what you been doing," the elf on his right growled with a wicked gleam in his eye. "And it will serve you right if he kills you."
Koiyotae said nothing, but his smugness waned. He would not be able to prove kitsune traditions for pranking wrong if he was killed over this little misunderstanding. Why did elves have to be so ... so ... lacking in humor?
The two jailers hauled him up a short sweep of marble steps and onto a matching veranda whose columns were swirled about with living rose vines. Another guard opened a fancy carved wooden door. His jailers never had to slow a step as they brought him inside. They did not stop until they had hauled him before the oldest elf Koiyotae had ever seen.
"Thaiten," the old elf demanded of another elf who entered behind them. "Why is this lyth being brought to me in chains?"
"My lord," Thaiten said and bowed. "This young elf was caught tampering with the wines for the Master's sampling."
"Tampering? How so?"
"He used magic to make all the wines taste most foul, my lord." Thaiten continued. "Fortunately, one of the masters realized what had happened and dispelled it. He also pointed out the culprit." The dark coppery-colored elf glared at Koiyotae. "He could not outrun us all."
The old elf looked at Koiyotae.
"What is your name, lyth?"
"Fislyn," Koiyotae said, speaking his elven name. It had been given to him by his father when he had made his first shape change.
"And your family name ...?"
"It doesn't matter," he answered, stalling. He did not have one. Elven family names were a puzzle. Picking the wrong one could get an ELF killed, let alone a kitsune shape changed into one. "No one would admit I was one of them anyways."
"When did Dhaunaellie hire a young bastard?" the old elf asked Thaiten.
"She didn't. And it's been three weeks since there was a ship at the docks."
"Oh?" The old elf turned back to Koiyotae. "So how did you get to my island?"
"I swam," Koiyotae said with the smug certainty of truth.
"A stowaway who jumped ship?" One of the guards said with a sneer. "Or maybe a spy looking to steal your blend, my lord."
"Well, we can't have that," the old elf said. He leaned back in his chair and looked Koiyotae over for a long minute. "Do you know who I am, lyth?"
"The lord of Nebugleam."
The old elf chuckled.
"Close. I am Squire Qildor Nebugleam and I shaped this wild island into the very fine estate it is now. I find myself in a bit of predicament, though not as dire as yours."
"Dire, my lord?" Koiyotae asked, pretending ignorance.
"I am in need of an heir who is not about to sell this island and let it founder back into wildland," Qildor explained. "Since I already have three married daughters, this heir would have to have courtly records making his inheritance ironclad." The old elf waved a hand at Koiyotae. "You are a bastard whose records were no doubt purged or at the very least well hidden, making it rather easy to acquire such papers for you."
"My lord!" Thaiten protested. "You can't mean to adopt this bastardly riffraff! After what he did to the very lifeblood of your island?"
"Lythian pranks are merely a lack of discipline and education, Thaiten." The old elf countered. "A bit of proper schooling will get him shaped up just fine."
He turned back to Koiyotae with a stern gleam in his old, old eyes.
"Failure to shape up will see you dead, young Fislyn."
Koiyotae swallowed hard. What did shape up even mean?
"I will forgive your crime of trying to sabotage the most precious commodity of this estate if you will swear to not only never cause mischief here on Nebugleam and by my most loyal heir."
Never cause mischief? But he was a kitsune! How could he live without mischief? Koiyotae stared at Qildor with wide eyes.
"To refuse or fail is to be put to death," Thaiten growled at Koiyotae.
"S-schooling?" Koiyotae stammered out the only word he could find to stall.
"There is a new academy on Hook Island. Just the place to get you sorted out properly," Qildor answered.
Another island? Koiyotae smiled and dropped to one knee.
"I swear to never cause mischief on Nebugleam," he swore. But ONLY on Nebugleam, he promised himself. "I also swear to be your most loyal heir who will not let your island founder."
The old elf stood up and walked over to Koiyotae and put a hand on his shoulder.
"I accept your oath, Fislyn. Stand and be my son and heir to my rank and to my island." He waved a hand at the two guards who quickly removed the chains.
Fislyn stood and look up into the old and still tall elf's amethyst eyes.
"Let it be known that this is Fislyn Nebugleam, my son and heir." Everyone in the small throne room bowed.
"It shall be so, my lord," Thaiten said as he straightened.
"Very good, Thaiten. Now go find Seneschal Dhaunellie and have her make it so."
Koiyotae bubbled with mirth inside but managed to keep it in except for a very wide grin. Let the game of games begin!
Two years. All they had had was two years. Fislyn Nebugleam thought to himself as he followed his adopted sisters out of the crypt beneath Nebugleam manor.
Meeting them had proven difficult. It was not because they were very ... elvish, and saw him as a bewildering little sprout that had somehow been allowed to grow in the rarified garden of their family. The difficulty lay in his kitsune nature wanting to prank the elvish right out of them but he had given an oath to not do mischief on Nebugleam. Sure, father Qildor was dead, but the oath would live as long as the kitsune who made it. He must continue to honor it, no matter the temptation.
Once back up in the manor proper, they settled into the sunroom for a family discussion. Fislyn moved to the bar.
"Would any of my dear sisters care for a drink?" He offered as he poured himself some rum.
"Far too early for spirits, brother dear," Qilaethia, the eldest, said. She waved at a servant pushing in a cart laden with tea, dainty sandwiches, and cake. "Tea with honey."
Once each sister had been served and the servant dismissed, Myrtaelyn got down to business.
"We have decided to divide what is in the coffers between us and leave you the island and father's Squireship as he wished."
"Thank you," Fislyn said. He took his drink over to the cart and filled a plate with sandwiches and cake. "So, our business is done, then?"
"You won't be able to afford the academy for a good long while," Phaarylda pointed out.
"Oh, I know," Fislyn said. He stuffed a sandwich in his mouth and chewed. They will not goad me into a fight. Ha! He swallowed then washed it down with a sip of rum.
Fislyn began eating cake. Through letters, he had been warned his sisters might try to trick him to mispeak so they could declare him going against Qildor's will. They had exchanged many letters while he was at the academy. They had even become close. I think I loved him like a real father.
"I plan to stay here and carry on as father wished." He took his rum and plate to a stuffed chair and sat down. "Then I will go to Court."
Crossing his ankles, he stretched out his legs.
"Qilaethia!" Myrtaelyn gasped and pointed at his feet. His pant legs had ridden up enough to reveal the socks he was wearing and his slippers did nothing to hide them.
"You're a Loki-ite?" Phaarylda squeaked out. "A-and you intend to go to Court?"
"I do," Fislyn admitted with a smile. He was not really devoted to the god Loki, or any god. At the academy, he had learned that some elves did have a sense of humor, and they worshiped Loki. If they wore mismatched socks of green and red their pranks were often forgiven as an expression of their faith. He had taken to always wearing such socks as well.
"It's horrible Uncle Phraan all over again!" Myrtaelyn wailed. "We will be ruined!"
"NO!" Qilaethia shouted, jumping to her feet.
Everyone stared at her.
"Fislyn! You will not be going to court!"
"But it's required now and again as I am Squire and young enough to travel so Seneschal --"
"She will continue to go in your place because you will be back at the academy!"
"The academy sees to it titled students get to Court, dear sister," Fislyn said with a laugh as he was very much enjoying their outrage. He stuffed another dainty sandwich in his mouth.
"Your manners are atrocious, Fislyn!" Myrtaelyn snapped. "Didn't they teach you anything at the academy?"
"My learning was interrupted."
"It will take more than an academy to shape him up," Phaarylda said.
Qilaethia glared at Fislyn and a wicked gleam shone in her eyes.
Uh oh, he thought.
"We need to get him into the navy. The SPACE navy!" Qilaethia told her sisters. "They will teach him discipline."
"And keep him well away from Court!" Myrtaelyn exclaimed in delight.
All three turned to Fislyn.
"We will buy you a commission and you will sail the stars."
"Ummmm," Fislyn swallowed. "No?"
Two weeks later, Fislyn arrived at the naval academy.
Appearance
Mentality
Personality
The Time Has Come
Dear Journal,
I did keep a journal as required for class at the schools and academies but I send them all home when it was time to make this voyage. Writing down my secrets and thoughts for all to see is very unappealing to me. These last five months of sailing the stars with my fellow shipmates have been very entertaining. They, however, are not the reason I decided to start keeping a journal. What did that, was our arrival through a wormhole into Telesian space. Instead of meeting our expected meet and greets from fellow Avalonians ready to show us their grand worlds, we were met with war!
Until then, we had little to worry about other than the usual pirates, which are hardly a match for a naval ship. So I felt entirely confident that I would be returning home with the memories of my pranks mine to relish. But this is war now, not pirates, and the chance of the greatest pranks being forgotten for all time makes me shudder. I now have no choice. I must preserve what I can within this journal.
I have always carried a journal in my pouch as it's expected of all of us, though its pages were empty. So, while Commander Goldenbough reads a scroll longer than two elves are tall called the Articles of War, I shall faithfully record the pranks.
Perhaps the greatest prank in all of history is still running on Tanzia. They, ah, we elves I mean, had always believed we were the dawn of all elf kind until the Avalonian Navy arrived ten years ago, and insisted we return to the empire. Not only that but our deep-seated culture of patriarchal inheritances is considered barbaric to all the Avalonian elves who have since followed, including those who were pirates, er, I mean privateers! Some of us quickly rose above our barbaric ways and embrace the Avalonian way.
My three years at the Naval Academy were an utter joy to watch student after student suffer the shock of learning Avalonian culture. Then, I was sent out on the Stalwart with crewmates who all seem to be recovered. In proper fashion, I have pranked them all at least once since we left the Kalea system, I waited until we wormholed out to prevent being sent back to the academy in case I was found out.
Firin Fernpine, though, I am rather gentle with. She is from Nebugleam, the island I rule as Squire. It would be a dastardly unfair use of lordly privilege to anything more, not to mention I would like to have a friendly subject at my back should I ever have to face my sisters.
Anaise Evergarden is, well, just too easy. I mean, I could sneeze trying to set up a prank right in front of her and she would STILL fall for it. Yawn.
Rusa Meeser, a Fenok, is too much cat for me to resist pranking. I mean ... she really is a cat person, of COURSE she must be pranked!
Renvair Everdream is such a quiet sort. But, those moments when he prays ... perfect opportunities for pranking!
Not all pranks on board were done by me. One morning I awoke, tied into my hammock. Very nicely done, Captain Darkstar! Who else could it possibly have been?
Enough about before the wormhole of war. Commander Goldenbough has less than one elf length left to read of the articles of war. I need to be quick.
So ... we arrived through the wormhole and three little arrowhead-looking ships attacked us. As battles went it was over quick. Firin did Nebugleam proud, hitting one with the catapult and bursting it to splinters. Next, Renvair split a second ship in half. Commander Goldenbough roped a goblin drifting in our airts, taking our first prisoner. Then, it was my turn to fire a ballista. I proved I am a true Squire by destroying it with a fine shot right down the middle! Rusa, the kitty, roped another goblin, our second prisoner.
Well, I best put away this journal. I will report anything else interesting later.
The major events and journals in Fislyn's history, from the beginning to today.
The Time Has Come
Dear Journal, I did keep a journal as required for class at the schools and academies but I send them all home when it was time to make this voyage. Writing down my secrets and thoughts for all to see is very unappealing to me. These last five months ...
10:41 pm - 29.03.2022The list of amazing people following the adventures of Fislyn.
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