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# Cook Yasmira al Saffah

Story
The Blue Marlin anchored off a small fishing village at dusk, and Yasmira stepped ashore with a basket under her arm. Mbaru followed with empty crates and the expression of a man who knew he would be carrying far more on the way back.
The market was little more than a row of lantern lit stalls. Yasmira moved through them with sharp purpose, rubbing leaves between her fingers, tasting slivers of dried fish, humming quietly whenever something pleased her. Mbaru lingered behind her like a patient shadow, making sure anyone with bad intentions found a different direction to walk.
She stopped at a stall selling dark green leaves. One whiff and her eyes lit up.
“Pepperleaf,” she said. “Volcanic soil. Heat with a hint of bitterness. Perfect.” She bought the entire bundle.
Mbaru smirked as he added it to his growing load.
“You get that look,” he said.
“What look.”
“The look that says dinner is about to change the world.”
On the walk back a few tipsy fishermen drifted into their path, emboldened by drink. One of them leaned toward Yasmira.
“Pretty woman like you should not be walking alone.”
“She is not alone,” Mbaru said.
The man ignored him. “I can show you the best tavern.”
Yasmira smiled. “I already know where the best food is.”
“Oh? Where is that.”
She lifted her basket. “Wherever I am.”
Another man stepped too close. Mbaru adjusted the crates on his back.
“Take one more step,” he said softly, “and I drop these.”
No one wanted to see what happened after that. The fishermen backed off.
Back aboard the Blue Marlin Yasmira filled the galley with the scent of ground pepperleaf and citrus. Sailors gathered near the door until she snapped her fingers.
“Out. You will taste it when it is ready.”
Later, when the crew ate in near silence of satisfaction, someone asked what magic she had used.
“Only leaves,” she said.
But the pride in her smile told the rest.

Getting the right ingredients

## Background

Yasmira al Saffah was born in the merchant quarter of Zarhalem, a place overflowing with spices, color, and noise. Her mother ran a small street kitchen, famous among traders for dishes packed with bright heat and impossible flavor. Yasmira learned to cook at her mother’s elbow, chopping herbs before she could read and memorizing recipes by scent alone. Food became her language. Her mother always said she could taste a man’s soul in the way he used oil and fire.

When Yasmira reached adulthood her reputation had already spread through the city. A powerful noble’s steward approached her with an offer of employment. It felt like a dream: a chance to cook for dignitaries and guests of high station, to work in a kitchen stocked with ingredients most people never saw. She accepted with pride and stepped into the noble household with the eager certainty of someone convinced her life was about to take flight.

For a while it did. The estate’s kitchens were vast, and she reveled in the abundance of spices, imported produce, and rare wines. Her talent flourished. She created dishes that made hardened diplomats close their eyes in delight. Servants whispered that her meals could sway negotiations. She believed she had finally found her place.

## Life in the Ambassador’s Household

When the noble was appointed ambassador to Estoria she was delighted to follow. She imagined refined cultural exchanges and long tables laden with the best ingredients Estoria could offer. Instead she walked into a world that tasted bitter from the start.

The ambassador’s public face was one of polished civility. His private gatherings revealed something else entirely. Guests indulged in cruelty as if it were sport. Suffering of slaves became entertainment. Drink loosened tongues until they spoke of darker appetites. Yasmira, busy in the kitchen, heard fragments. Screams muffled by walls. Laughter where no laughter belonged.

Worse still was the realization that she had not been hired purely for her culinary skill. The ambassador valued her looks, and his servants made his expectations very clear. She was meant to cook. She was also meant to be another ornament, available when called for, for the pleasure of the ambassador. The knowledge struck her like a punch to the chest. She felt trapped in a gilded cage and disgusted by the realization that she had been selected like an ingredient.

Her revulsion grew until she could not hide it. The irony was that her skills in poison detection taught her to recognize danger long before anyone spoke it aloud. Zarhalem courts thrived on intrigue and subtle killing, and she knew how to smell venom even when it hid behind honeyed smiles. She saw the risk she faced if she stayed any longer.

One evening, after serving a feast she could hardly bear to prepare, she packed a small bag and walked out the back gate. She never looked back.

## Joining the Blue Marlin

The docks of Estoria were rough and chaotic, but they also smelled of freedom. Yasmira approached ship after ship until she found a vessel preparing to cast off, its crew busy, its captain stern but not cruel. The Blue Marlin. When she asked for work they gave her a chance to cook a single meal for the officers. They tasted her stew in silence, exchanged one long look, and hired her on the spot.

The moment she stepped aboard she felt something settle inside her. Not peace exactly, but a direction. A future she could shape with her own hands.

## Life Aboard the Blue Marlin

Her galley became the heart of the ship. She filled it with jars of spices, bundles of herbs, and little notes recording every strange ingredient she encountered. With almost nothing she produced meals that fueled morale as much as stomachs. Sailors boasted of her cooking in taverns from Estoria to the Olydrian isles.

Whenever the ship docked she ventured into the markets, seeking new flavors and techniques. She often brought Mbaru as her escort, partly for safety and partly because he could carry large crates while she examined sacks of peppers or roots with academic intensity. Mbaru accepted this duty with quiet patience, and the two developed a comfortable rhythm. They trade small teasing remarks that might be flirting or might be friendship, and neither of them bother to sort out which. She taught him which herbs healed and which killed. He made sure no one bothered her.

Though warm, friendly, and quick to laugh, she became terrifying the instant someone stepped into her galley uninvited. That space was sacred. Her knives were tools, not threats, but they were the sharpest knives on the ship, and the crew whispered that she could end a fight in seconds if she wished. Given her deep knowledge of poisons and antidotes, no one doubted it.

## Skills and Expertise

Yasmira’s knowledge of toxins came not from cruelty but from survival. Zarhalem nobles preferred subtle weapons, and a cook who could identify a poisoned ingredient was worth more than gold. She learned every plant, venom, and powder used in the courts. She studied antidotes until she could prepare them in the dark. While Junia excelled in healing injuries, Yasmira surpassed her in matters of poison and prevention.

This expertise has saved the crew more than once. Yasmira never boasts about it. She simply works until the danger is gone.

## Personality and Temperament

Yasmira is warm, confident, and impossible to rattle. She moves through life with an easy grace that hides sharp instincts. She sees more than she says. She trusts slowly, but once she does, her loyalty is fierce. Her laughter fills a room. Her anger empties one.

Her kitchen is ordered. Her heart is kind. Her past is her own burden, carried lightly but never forgotten.

Good food makes the crew happy

## Roleplaying Notes

She speaks with humor but never cruelty. She stands firm when challenged. She is gentle until she is not. She has an eye for detail, a nose for danger, and a belief that good food can mend almost any wound of the soul.

She hides fear behind motion, chopping herbs or kneading dough until her heartbeat steadies.

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