The Pooka

“Heed soundly, sirrah; for soothly I ain't a saint, haint?"

The Pooka is one of the Fairy Folk—that legendary people of yore, comprised of magical, mystical, mercurial beings from the Celtic Otherworld—sprites and sylphs, goblins and gnomes, troll-folk and mer-folk and all manner of soulless, eldritch creatures.

Race: Fairy, Goblin, Hobgoblin, Pooka

More specifically, a Pooka is a sort of half-wild hobgoblin. These strange creatures are by turns gregarious, mischievous, dangerous, or any combination thereof. Among the differing breeds of Fae—who come in an insensible variety of shapes and sizes—Pookas are the most well reputed for their shape-shifting abilities. It is a generally accepted belief that they can take the form of any beast or bird known to the British Isles. Goats, horses and dogs were their most common manifestations, although their true form was that of a hairy goblin with combined features of those selfsame animals.

Breed: Solitary Welsh Pwca

Other beliefs concerning the Pookas are more localized. The terrifying black Púcas of Ireland are known for marauding the night in packs and were greatly feared by all who went abroad after dusk. They demanded a 'Púca's share' of every harvest, and would poison or steal crops which they considered to be their right. In Cornwall on the other hand, the Buccas were mostly harmless critters, associated with fishing and mining. In Wales and Southern England, Pwcas or Pucks were little more than miscreants who enjoyed frightening, misleading or humiliating travellers, but doing them no real harm. In Scotland and Northern England, Phoukas were rare and quite solitary. While he can lay claim to any of those regional behaviours at some point in his long life, nowadays this Pooka is a characteristically Welsh Pwca.

Age: Unknown, potentially Prehistoric

The Pooka is as old as his tongue and a little older than his teeth. That's to say, he isn't quite sure how old he is. His memory gets a little hazy the further back he reminisces. He was counted amongst the Tuatha De Danann when they first arrived in Eire-land, and he fought in the First Battle of Mag Tuireadh. According to certain disputable historical accounts, that means he was knocking about at least as early as 1896 BC.

Occupation: Vagrant Solitary Fae

This Pooka counts himself as one of the Solitary Fae who live in the wet and wild corners of the waking world, rather than the Trooping Fae who dwell under the earth in their enchanted Fairy Realms. He has been a shape-shifting, prank-pulling, free-roaming hobgoblin for almost as long as he can remember, and if he were ever otherwise, he has little inkling of it. His old roots may be Irish (and those roots were watered with spilled human blood), but as far as he is concerned the past is over and done with, and long forgotten besides. While it is true that the Pooka can be capricious or even malicious at times, by and large he is a gentle fellow. But then, lacking a soul, he considers a little self-interest to be more than sensible in lieu of an afterlife to look forward to.

Allegiances: The Fair Folk, the Summer Fae

In terms of allegiance, the Pooka casts his lot in with the Fair Folk and the Summer Fae, by ethical consensus more than any real sense of fraternity. His ties to the Daoine Sidhe are now tenuous at best, his reputation among the Tylwyth Teg in Wales is more or less in tatters, and he never did feel at home in Scotland at the Seelie Court. But even a solitary Pooka has the good sense to abide by the traditions of those in power. And far be it from this one to miss out on any occasion for festivity and debauchery. Furthermore, he prefers to avoid associating with the Dark Folk and the Winter Fae if he can help it. He still retains some measure of prejudice from the bygone days of war against the Fomoiri and their ilk.

“I'm the Pooka as they tell me, you'd infer it ain't my name. Of such names I've got a fair few, call me Pooka all the same.”

Although he has nomenclature aplenty, the Pooka rarely introduces himself to strangers or even acquaintances, preferring to be addressed simply as 'the Pooka'. This is fairly typical of solitary Fae, who are inclined to think of themselves as the only example of their particular pedigree.

Given Name

Those who know the Pooka well enough are familiar with the name he most commonly uses; Kishlee. He started calling himself this after having been banished from the Court of Annwn and thereafter abandoning his attempt at a courtly domestic lifestyle. Kishlee has since become his favourite name to go by. Friends tend to use Kish as an endearment.

True Name

The Pooka's secret true name is Fáeth Finna Dubh (pronounced Fie Finn-ah Doove) but this is a name he has never spoken aloud to anybody, and it's not likely he ever will. Even in the days of the Tuatha De Danann he was properly known as the Púca Cis Léine (Poo-kah Kish Lay-nuh), for his people are wont to keep their true names a closely guarded secret, lest their enemies use such knowledge to gain power over them through occult means. In any case, the Pooka has long since corrupted the form Cis Léine when he coined the name Kishlee, which may have been subconsciously cobbled together for himself.

Fairy Names

The rest of the Fae know the Pooka by a range of nicknames and epithets. A fair few of these are derived from the warm autumn hue of his hair; unusual for Pookas, which tend to be black coloured. The Tylwyth Teg of Wales named him Gwaredd (the Gentle One, pronounced Gwuh-reth with a hard 'th') and Pwca O Gwynedd (the Pooka of Gwynedd), while the Daoine Sidhe of Ireland called him Dearg Foreith (Red Gwaredd) and Dearg Púca na Breathnach Beag (the Red Pooka of Little Britain). In Scotland, particularly amongst the Selkies of the Orkney Isles, he's referred to as Ruadh Bòcan (the Brown Goblin) or Ruadh Gobhair (the Brown Goat). On the Isle of Man he was called Eayin Eairk (Lamb-horned). The Piskies of Cornwall knew him as the Bucca Cober (the Copper Pooka). In England he’s sometimes known as Gareth the Rusty, or Rustipuck (the Rusty Pooka).

Human Names

Over the years, the Pooka has also accumulated some other names though rare association with humans. The first time a human had named him was after he'd degenerated into a goblin. It was Lailoken of Caledonia, an old bard he'd befriended after a fateful encounter in the woodlands of Gwynedd, who gave him the name Gwaredd the Gentle. Afterwards, he would occasionally use the Irish and English forms of Gwaredd, namely Foreith and Gareth. During a long and eventful stay in Ireland, the Pooka was given the nickname Uan (meaning Lamb in Irish) by a little girl he had befriended called Sasha. Later on, while the Pooka was disguised as a sailing dog aboard a cargo ship, a cabin boy named Pip coined the name Nickle for him. In the modern era, Kish has occasionally adopted the pseudonym of Nicholas 'Nick' Lamby, which is a portmanteau of Sasha and Pip's nicknames for him.

“By my reckoning, I’m as hairy a hob as they come—a fairly fuzzy fairy, if y’follow.”

Like many (but not all) Pookas, Kishlee looks like a tatterdemalion hodgepodge of goblin, goat, horse and hound. A pelt of shaggy fur covers his entire body, bunching up into tufts around his cheeks, wrists and ankles. The hair ranges in colouration from tawny to burnished copper to dark brown, and overall is reminiscent of autumn leaves (which routinely get snagged in it due to neglectful grooming habits). His skin underneath is a rich burnt-umber, though it only shows through on the button-tip of his snout and the leathery soles of his feet. He prefers to think of himself as hairy rather than furry.

A set of dark caprine horns arch upwards and outwards from the crown of the Pooka's skull. He has a penchant for wearing random locks of his hair in braids when he's in love, but otherwise the hair on his head is an unruly thicket of curly tangles, from the sides of which protrude large and floppy goat ears. His left ear is pierced by two gold earrings, and there's a noticeable tear where a third earring had been ripped out long ago. The movement of his ears are a good indicator of his emotional state, as they tend to perk up when he's happy or alert, and droop when he's sad or contemplative.

The Pooka's face is more vaguely canine than anything else. His messy fringe overshadows his eyes, which are almond-shaped and set far apart on his face, dominated by irises of a warm yellow hue that could be compared to amber, honey, or piss. He very rarely blinks, giving him an eerie stare with an even eerier incandescent quality in the dark. His nose is broad-bridged and tapers to a flattened snout over a lipless muzzle of a mouth. His mouth opens up into a wide grin which might seem goofy if it didn’t show off his sharp, predatory fangs. Even then, the intimidating effect is somewhat hampered by the yellowing moulder of tooth-decay and the gap in between his upper front teeth. He has a triangular jawline accentuated by the tufted fur of his cheeks, a small pointy chin and a scrawny neck.

Upright, the Pooka stands at about four and a half feet tall (nearly five feet if you include the horns), but when moving he usually crouches or lopes, making him appear even shorter. His frame is willowy and his limbs somewhat gangly, terminating in oversized hands and feet. His fingers and toes are long, knobbly-knuckled affairs with sharp claws for grasping and climbing. His feet are as dextrous as his hands, so much so that he can passably play a flute with them (although it requires some awkward contortions to actually get the flute to his lips). An elongated assine tail with a bushy tuft hangs from his rump. The tail is strong enough to hold his weight if he should hang from it, though not for a great length of time. There is a rather ghastly set of scars on his right ankle, which he usually covers with leather strapping. Because of this old wound, he tends to favour the other leg.

The Pooka is a gregarious goblin, speaking with a silvery tone at a chirpy pace. He is capable of duplicating any human voice or animal call, but his natural vocal sound is rather hoarse and scratchy, though not shrill. He has a sort of folksy British accent but it is difficult to place, somewhere between north-country Welsh and the King's English. Reading and writing may be distasteful concepts to him, but he certainly has a flair for colourful language. His speech tends to be littered with archaisms, anachronisms and nonsensical phrases (not to mention exaggerations, misleads and outright lies). He has a habit of referring to people by quaint diminutives like 'sonny' or 'lassie', and he often finishes a statement by embellishing the truth of his claims, for instance '...and that's true as a witch's teat is cold!'.

Lacking all but a rudimentary sense of hygiene, Kishlee carries a rather strong odour, the sum of countless 'borrowed' scents. The smell is uncannily resistant to being described, but could be likened to a combination of old dog hair, damp mossy bark and stale potatoes — and that’s not taking his various bodily fluids into account. While such an outdoorsy aroma might seem unpleasant to certain urbane individuals, the hobgoblin himself cherishes the enduring olfactory reminders of past misadventures. It should be noted that his breath is not nearly so odious, carrying a curiously pleasant aroma of hazelnuts.

“By Brigid's big buckled bloomers, that’s the most disrespectful thing I ever heard tell of!”

The Pooka is a solitary Fae, insofar as one could call it solitude by choice. He keeps his own company, which can be company enough for him. Even so, he’d never shy away from striking up a conversation with a perfect stranger. In fact, he relishes the opportunity to vex, befuddle or terrify any unfortunate soul who crosses his path. And when the urge to wander strikes the adventurous hobgoblin, a travelling companion hardly goes unwelcomed by him. The Pooka is a rarity among the Hidden People in his willingness to travel all over the British Isles. Most Fae, even Trooping Fae, are highly territorial and hardly leave their local haunts, but Kish seems averse to settling down for more than a decade. Still, even the Pooka is insular enough that he wouldn't dare cross the English Channel into mainland Europe, however curious he may be about the Fairy Folk of Brittany.

Some would say the Pooka has a two-faced nature, by turns feral and formal, deceitful and honest, footloose and traditional, rude and polite, criminal and lawful. Although he might seem at first glance to have a rather free-spirited way about him, the Pooka is deadly serious when it comes to fairy laws and traditions, and he can be grossly offended when people disregard them. Like most Solitary Fae, he will not make a distinction between willful transgression and hapless ignorance. He can be roused to startling fury and even outright violence if people should persist in trespassing against his sensibilities. Although he will lie, cheat and steal with shameless abandon, he is also a fairy of his word and he will never ignore a debt, forswear an oath or break a promise if he can help it. He also refuses to accept gifts or services unless they are offered in the proper way or they fall under the auspices of sacred hospitality.

Being of a race of creatures that are selfish and impulsive by nature. Kishlee cares for only three things other than himself; the wilderness, the critters that live there, and the chance to stir up trouble. As hobgoblins are archetypal tricksters, the Pooka has a reputation for hijinks and shenanigans and all manner of mischief. Fortunately for him, Kish is a charming enough rogue that he can usually avoid the consequences of his actions, at least among his own kind. And if that should fail, it never hurts to have a swift pair of feet. The Pooka's pranks are good-natured at heart, but they aren’t necessarily well received by the victims. However, he never lets such mishaps get him down for long. After all, life is sorely short on foolishness, and the world's more full of weeping than even he can understand.

To the Pooka, there’s always room for life’s little pleasures; laughter, libation and love. His aspirations are to kindle hearts, to lift spirits, and to stifle sobriety wherever it crops up. This happy-go-lucky temperament is often mistaken for childlike innocence, but he’s neither bashful nor inexperienced when it comes to the baser pleasures. In matters of love, he has no qualms about squiggly little details like gender or species or even privacy. Nor does he distinguish between platonic and sexual relationships, as friendship and love are interchangeable commitments in his opinion. Casual romps in the backwoods are typical fare for a night spent dancing around the fairy fires of the Teine Sidhe, but the Pooka is no stranger to serious romance either. There were four lovers in his past to whom he freely gave his heart, and when all was said and done, each one left their scars on him (literally in one or two cases).