Improv: ECL 1 Kona Shield Elf Battle Dancer 1: Bio

"I am Kona."

The sailors froze. No one knew what to say. HE was Kona?  That scrawny elf? The idea was too outlandish - too unthinkable - to even elicit a scoff or nervous laugh.
"You're not Kona!" the weasely second mate whined, still rubbing his fingers where "Kona" had just whacked them with a riding crop."You're just a slave. Everyone on this ship knows it. Everyone on this ship seen you skulk around behind your master like a dog on a leash."
"A-tokky something," another sailor said. "A-tok-tok the SLAVE elf. You aint no diplomat."

"I am Kona Triskein, BARON of Everfold and ambassador of his royal highness …."
Shit….. shit shit shit…. what the hell was the king's name?
"-the King."

The sailors looked non-plussed at the thin elf in jester's clothing, then at the bodies of the first mate, and the human everyone had assumed until just now was the royal passenger they were transporting. The captain scowled and shifted position, obviously prepared to draw his cutlass.

Keep playing the part. Commit, or you're dead here too.
'Kona' turned his back on the assembled band in seeming annoyance and pretended to examine some invisible speck of dust on a silk robe hanging nearby. 
"That man was my trusted servant, and bodyguard. When we are traveling to .. less civilized areas.. he will pose as me. To confuse any assassins."
   
The cutlass came out then, and the mob roared it's disapproval. "That weren't no assassin!" "How dare you!" "Don't try to blame us for the old man's death!"

'Kona' turned back to the sailors looking surprised. "Not assassinated? Really? Not poisoned? Here then." He held out the crystal goblet that was sitting on the table. "Please enjoy this remainder of my double's  last bottle of wine. With my apologies."

The sailors continued to glare. But nobody reached for the glass.

Five minutes later the bodies were removed and the elf locked in the stateroom by himself until the end of the voyage: "for your own safety."  And so it ended: 66 years of slavery. 19 masters. Countless 1000s of beatings. 3 whore houses, and even a brief possession by a infernal being of some sort (which left a trace of taint on his soul, but only detectable by that one cult). Ended. On a leaky tub of a boat swarming with the foulest smelling crew he had ever known. His master was dead, and all he had to do was get off this boat to be free again. He would never accept a slave name again. would never bow to another again. He was now "Kona."

And just as well… in fact - it was quite fitting. His loser of a former master disgraced it as a human surname - but in Elvish…
in Old Elvish, it was not a name but a condition; a suffix - not for a word but for a thought. "Kona" was "the space afterwords which has not yet been filled."

And if he could get off this boat alive - that word would be as appropriate a designation for him as anything. On the other side of this cabin door was his future.

Was "Kona"