Raw magic surges through the sorcerer’s body, patches of dragon scales cover him like armor. Relieved to have finally returned from yet another tiresome journey. The sorcerer happily sits down in his worn, leather armchair in front of the crackling fireplace. Looking around, the sorcerer spots his smoking pipe on a pile of books. As he fills the pipe with fresh tobacco, the sorcerer’s throat begins to glow. A small, controlled flame bellows out of his mouth, lighting the pipe tobacco. The pipe begins to glisten with red embers as the air is filled with sweet tobacco, orange, and patchouli. “Ah, a fine blend” the sorcerer exhales.