Expand all - Collapse all

Previous Index Next

# First Officer Nasheem al Azali

Story
The sun had just begun to set when the crew of the Blue Marlin heard shouting from the docks of Valacosta. Nasheem leaned over the rail, his loose Zarhalem coat catching the wind like a banner. Below, three local sailors were jostling a frail old fishmonger, her basket of catch spilled across the planks.
Pelonias sighed. “Leave it, Nasheem. It is not our quarrel.”
Nasheem smiled with that polished calm that meant nothing good for the troublemakers below. “Every quarrel becomes ours if dishonor is involved.”
Before Pelonias could reply Nasheem was already vaulting over the rail. He landed in a swirl of fabric that made two onlookers gasp. One of the sailors turned, confused, then froze as Nasheem drew his curved sword with a flourish that caught the dying light like fire.
“Gentlemen,” Nasheem said pleasantly. “I can only imagine this worthy grandmother has challenged you to a duel and soundly defeated you, for that is the only reason I can conceive for three men to assault one elder.”
The sailors blinked at him.
The old woman stared.
Nasheem continued in the same tone. “However, if that is not the case, then honor demands you do one of two things. Apologize to her at once, or strike me instead.”
One of them spat. “Who do you think you are?”
Nasheem placed a hand over his heart. “A humble exile from Zarhalem. A poor man with a sword, very little sense, and a profound dislike for cowards.”
The tallest sailor lunged. Nasheem sidestepped with a dancer’s grace and tapped the man’s wrist with the flat of his blade. The sailor yelped and dropped his knife. The second tried the same and received a sharp kick to the knee for his trouble. The third considered his options, then decided retreat was the wisest path.
Nasheem bowed to the old woman, who was staring at him as if he were a conjured spirit. He gathered her scattered fish, brushed off the worst of the dirt, and placed them back in her basket.
“Forgive the discourtesy of your neighbors,” he said. “Zarhalem hospitality is far better, I assure you.”
She reached out and touched his hand. “You are a strange one,” she said.
Nasheem smiled. “My lady, all the best people are.”
When he returned to the ship Caelin was waiting with her arms crossed. “That was foolish,” she said.
“Entirely,” Nasheem agreed.
“You could have been stabbed.”
“Possibly.”
“You are insufferable.”
“Without question.”
Caelin glared another moment before her expression softened. “Well,” she muttered. “At least you looked impressive.”
Nasheem gave a theatrical bow. “My dearest Mother of the Deck, that is the highest praise imaginable.”
And with that he stepped aboard, the last of the sunset glowing behind him like the red silks of home he no longer owned, but still carried in his bearing.

First Officer Nasheem al Azali of Zarhalem

## Background

Nasheem al Azali was born into the opulent heart of Zarhalem, in a noble house built on wealth, lineage, and quiet political influence. His childhood was shaped by marble courtyards, perfumed gardens, and tutors who told him that his bloodline granted him a natural place above most others. He learned diplomacy and swordplay with equal ease. He grew up believing the world would bend for him if he simply asked it to.

That illusion shattered when court rivalries turned against his family. A forged accusation and a whispered rumor were enough to unravel everything. His inheritance was seized, his allies fell silent, and his name became a stain polite company refused to acknowledge. In a single season he went from golden youth to hunted exile. With no coin and no protection he fled the city that had raised him, taking only what he could carry and what pride he had left.

## Fall From Nobility

Nasheem knew hunger for the first time as he crossed the desert roads toward the coast. The servants who had once bowed to him were gone. The noble silks he wore became a burden he had to sell for food. He discovered quickly that the world outside Zarhalem did not care for birthright, beauty, or talent. It cared only for survival.

Among the things he lost were the people who had once served him. Most he remembers with shame, knowing now what life in his household must have been for them. Yet there was one woman he cannot forget. Safina was part of his harem, but not by choice. Their affection grew in quiet defiance of the structure around them. She was fierce, sharp, and refused to flatter him, but still had a deep love for him. When he fled in the night he could not reach her chambers, and he has lived with that guilt ever since. Finding her is his deepest private hope.

## Life at Sea

He reached the coast with nothing but a curved knife and the clothes on his back. Desperation drove him to the docks where he worked odd jobs, learning quickly that his Zarhalem upbringing meant little among sailors. What saved him was his charm, a quick mind, and an uncanny ability to stay calm in chaos. A merchant captain took a chance on him, then another, and slowly he rebuilt a life measured not by birth but by skill.

At sea Nasheem discovered freedom he had never known. Ships cared for competence. Crews cared for loyalty. Storms did not care for social rank. He learned to climb rigging, read stars, and fight on a rolling deck. His curved sword, once a noble ornament, became an extension of his hand.

## Joining the Blue Marlin

When Scarnax sought officers for the Blue Marlin, Nasheem was one of the few who stepped forward without hesitation. He recognized something in the Desert Rim captain that he understood all too well, a man who had lost everything and rebuilt himself through grit alone. Scarnax valued honesty, discipline, and fairness. Nasheem valued those traits more than anything else by then.

Scarnax took him in when other captains still hesitated to trust a fallen noble. Nasheem has never forgotten that. The Blue Marlin did not restore his old life. It gave him a new one, built on choices he made for himself.

## Personality and Values

Nasheem is handsome and carries himself with the effortless confidence of someone who once lived among marble halls. His humor is quick, his blade quicker. He speaks politely even in a fight, and treats generosity as a duty. He values honor more fiercely than most because he lost everything except the small part of himself that refused to bend.

He has no desire to own anyone again. Seeing true poverty and fleeing for his life broke the illusions he grew up with. He treats every member of the crew with the respect he wishes he had shown those who served him in Zarhalem. Only one regret lingers. Safina. Her memory is the quiet ache he does not discuss unless pressed.

Honor and style

## Appearance and Arms

Nasheem is a handsome man in his mid thirties. He dresses in the flowing, layered fabrics of Zarhalem, modified for sea life but still unmistakably desert born. He wears light colors when the weather is good and dark ones when it is not. His weapons are the tools of his homeland, a single curved sword with a gold wrapped hilt and a curved knife worn at the small of his back. He keeps both polished as if they are fragments of the past he chooses to carry with dignity rather than shame.

## Relations on the Blue Marlin

He treats Scarnax with deep respect and is one of the few who can tease the captain without offense. Pelonias fascinates him because of the man’s habit of watching the horizon rather than the present. Caelin he admires for her discipline. Ayesha speaks to him with the ease of someone who understands noble politics, though their approaches differ. He is protective of Junia, careful not to overstep. The marines see him as confident and unshakably calm, though they sometimes misread his politeness as softness. It is a mistake they tend to make only once.

## Roleplaying Notes

Nasheem rarely raises his voice, always speaking with a soft, cultured tone. He keeps his cool even in the most dire crisis, and thinks clearly even in the middle of a fight. He treats strangers as potential allies until they prove otherwise. He avoids cruelty with deliberate intent. He flirts easily but with a kind of playful detachment, because some part of him remains tied to Safina.

His honor is his spine. Threaten it and he becomes dangerous. Appeal to it and he becomes steadfast. He carries the shame of his past, the pride of his rebirth, and the quiet hope that somewhere in the world Safina may still be alive.

Previous Index Next