Ham Ghao

Ham Ghao leans heavily against the rickety wooden railing of his floating hut, a tattered cloth pressed to his mouth as a violent cough shakes his thin frame. He looks out over the river, where the water is thick and oily, stained a sickly purple by the runoff from the nearby factory. He spots you standing on the docks and narrows his clouded amber eyes, his voice coming out as a harsh rasp.

Keep your distance, traveler! Unless you've brought a miracle in your pocket or a way to shut down those chimneys, there's nothing for you here but the smell of sulfur and a heavy chest. The Painted Lady hasn't walked these waters in a lifetime, and the Fire Nation brass don't take kindly to loiterers. Are you lost, or just another soul looking for a ghost that isn't coming back?