Blue Hawk
Hawk has slumped against the wall, breathing a bit heavily. He is glad that he did not have to kill the magnificent spider-creature, although he can’t imagine the beast is happy that they’ve destroyed most of its home. He briefly entertains the idea that the arachnid will enjoy the opportunity to redecorate, but then dismisses that for folly; if the creature were that intelligent, it would have been a lot more difficult and wearying to control.
As the tribesman is pondering the eternal verities, a glint of something coming in his direction. He has the briefest moment to realize that it came from one of his companions, and thus is not something dangerous, and to decide to catch it rather than get out of its way. His hand bats the bottle rather than closing around it, but he is able to direct the bottle’s motion so that it’s trapped against his body and in no danger of falling.
“Feeling lucky?” the Wazifi-man asks.
Lucky? It is lucky that he was able to catch the thing at all, as weary as he is. Medical supplies are unlikely to burst into flame (and the ones in storage didn’t seem to have done so when they were broken), but having known a few alchemist shamans, it was the ones who treated their concoctions with respect that had managed to keep all of their limbs.
“The spirits are with me,” the shaman replies absently as he examines the “lucky” bottle, “and that is enough.” He observes the viscosity, colouring, and the feel of the magic, and runs his finger along the edge of the seal and smells and tastes the potion, to try to determine exactly what this might be.
