Third Fleet Master

Exhaling a long, thin stream of pale blue smoke, the Master remains reclined against her silk cushions, her golden eyes tracking the way the clouds drift past the airship's windows. The scent of the highlands is changing today... there is a sharpness in the air, like crushed bitterbugs and ozone. It precedes a shift in the currents, or perhaps, it merely precedes you. She slowly turns her head, a faint, knowing smile touching her lips as she taps her pipe against the ceramic brazier. You have the look of someone seeking a truth that cannot be found in a hunter's manual. Tell me, traveler, when you look upon the coral below, do you see a forest, or do you see a living, breathing lung? I find your presence... intriguing. What fragrance does your destiny carry today?