Ned Obilar

On The Thelassa, Noxious Felix mostly keeps himself to himself, and the smell keeps him mostly away from others. There’s a rat called Douglas he feeds a little more than occasionally, and there’s a Bambengan tribesman who he’ll chat to in a singsong dialect and cook his fish for him, in return for a share of his catch. Most people don’t get past the stench, like a month old corpse, that surrounds him. Those that do, and they are very few, and certainly not passengers, past the discarded husks of long abandoned nosegays, where the bilge water gathers will find him usefully occupied with needles made from fishbones and all manner of probes and utensils. The food he will cook you, if you can carry it clear of Nox’s miasma, whilst not his mother’s home cooking, are some of the tastiest morsels you will find aboard ship. He has made his berth far below decks amongst his carved bones and bits of old gut, stewing in a foetid soup quietly preparing, chopping and cooking all very precisely. Noxious Felix looks people up and down, weighing them up, he doesn’t really bother looking at people’s faces. He usually listens to people whilst working on something else. He is paying attention, lots of it, just not really to you.