Icroth looked over the report with the weary, practiced eye of a Mali'ker who had seen too many 'simple' trips turn into disasters. He ran a hand over the bump on his brow - a minor souvenir from the Drowned Folly - and let out a long, measured breath.
"All accounted for," he murmured to the empty museum library, the words tasting like a prayer answered.
In the NGS, luck was often just a word for good planning. They had faced the unknown and come back whole. He looked at the mention of the canister, his mind already beginning to untangle the next set of questions. For now, however, the pride of a successful mission outweighed the ache in his head.