Atal whirled about like a withered dervish when Luna gave her piercing cry. He handled his gnarled walking stick the way a flamboyant rogue would defly handle a silver bladed rapier, poking, thusting and whirling the weapon about in a menacing manner. For the rogue, it was an impressive display intended to intimidate, but from a hunch-backed old man with a walking stick it seemed more comical than anything. Still, the bird things gave indignant squawks and crys as they were proded in the eye, or rapped across the beak, some fell with broken wings, to be set upon by their brethern.
A deft hand was thrust into his leather bag, and he pulled out a much smaller pouch, one that a person would use to carry small items, such as coins and such. He threw the small pouch, hitting Luna in the shoulder with it, where it puffed open in a cloud of dust. Luna, and Faith were nearly overcome with the sweet scent of almonds and something else, something dry that made them want to cough.
The avians were affected in a greatly different manner. They fell to the ground, writhing in agony, their hatefull eyes rolling in their skulls as their bodies struggled to live, while the strange powder convinced them otherwise.
"EYAH, this bird" Atal pointed with his walking stick towards the winged draconian, "This bird needs root of Dragonsbane!" he said as he reached into his bag, his hand grasping tightly around something unseen.
"Are you here to ruin my tea also!?" Atal demanded in his old mans voice.