Itzal Xolani

Working on an old trawler is familiar but simple work. Absent is the smell of gunpowder or complicated rigging. But there’s the camaraderie that only exists between sailors. The Crab Apple is not a large ship, but is sturdy and provides steady work.

Not that Itzal needs the income, adventuring pays well. But sitting in Fort Ettin doing nothing brought back that buzzing under the skin. The need to do something. The same feeling that led to a mutiny on the Opulent Fable and got Itzal marooned on this Gods forsaken continent in the first place. But there’s no point in dwelling on the past. Not when there’s a case of idle hands to deal with.

“Hey, matey”. Speak of the devil. Approaching Iztal was the elderly Gnome captain of the Crab Apple. He has a bald head, a large red beard streaked with white, half moon glasses that do nothing to hide his cataracts, and a smile with quite a few teeth missing.

Itzal pauses in their work, leaving the fishing nets in disarray. “I’m not anyone’s fucking mate.” They roll their eyes, voice slightly muffled by the cloth mask covering their lower face.

“Oh, right, I’m sorry kiddo.” The rhythmic plonk of the captain’s cane pauses as it reaches Itzal. “Forgive an old man for his enthusiasm. I’m just happy to have you back with us. I didn’t know my girl could sail so smooth til you took the helm.”

Itzal tosses the old man a wink. “What can I say? Even ships find me irresistible.”

“More like only ships. You are the least charming motherfucker I’ve met.” The old gnome chuckles.

“Aww, Crabby, you’re breaking my heart.” Itzal returns to sorting out the nets. “What brings you over here? We’re not setting out for another hour or two.”

Crabby sets his cane down and leans against the hull, humor fading from his face. “ It’s my damn back again. I know you said I should get some rest, but the fellas need help moving barrels. My first priority is always my crew.”

“Your first priority should be your health. You can’t help shit if you’re laid up with a slipped disc.” Itzal waves Crabby forward, brows furrowed. “Now, get over here and let me see what I can do.”

With their three feet difference in height, some maneuvering is necessary for this adjustment. Itzal easily lifts Crabby up and places him on a box. The two find themself locked into a full nelson as Itzal shifts the old gnome’s body just so.

“You know, kiddo, you just say the world and I’ll speak to the harbormaster for you. We can get you a job as a surgeon again.” Crabby wheezes as a loud crack is released from his back.

Itzal releases Crabby from their hold and gently massages the old gnome’s back. The vertebrae feel much straighter, but Crabby’s muscles are much too tense. He worries too much.

“You know I’ve left that life behind. And this place is riddled with healers. No one’s going to want a mutinous -”

“Horseshit. We’re always looking for competent people. And the fact that your captain, the one you were marooned with, gave you a glowing reference definitely helps your case.” Now that they’re of a height, Crabby turns around and pats Itzal on the shoulder. “You think I’d let just anyone crack my back? You’re good at what you do.”

Nights at sea stitching up wounds, administering poultices, flood through Itzal’s mind. Smuggling was never their first choice but life at sea hadn’t been too bad. Until the people you’re meant to be surviving choppy waters with get into their head that they can do the job better than their current captain. The same Captain that saw some sort of worth in you. The person that kept the crew fed without sacrificing their principles. Yeah, that ship has sailed.

“Nah, Crabby. I’m not looking for that right now. I’ll save up enough money so I can get my own ship and sail outta here.”

Crabby sighs wearily. “Making money doing what? Being sword for hire, getting gold for doing god knows what???” He shakes Itzal a bit. “Is that what you want to be known as? A mercenary. Is that the legacy Cap’n Nightshade is leaving behind?”

Itzal gently sets Crabby back on the ground, placing his cane in his hand. They stretch their arms above their head, loosening their own joints. They remove their mask, allowing the old gnome to see the smirk on their face, bottom tusks jutting over their dark green upper lip.

“Do you think I give a fuck what people think about me?”

“Alexa, play Bad Reputation by Joan Jett”