Legend of Ransera

To be clear, the Harbingers were spread thinly through the region and it was only Thimryl and Turuher who approached the ruins on foot.

A big hand fell upon Thimryl's shoulder and through Turuher's sembling, he shared impressions of the bird's-eye view of the place. From their new vantage, they could see that while the former buildings were in utter disrepair, there seemed to be courtyard that more or less held its shape.

Flagstones were edged with rebellious greenery long since left to grow. The arches were covered with moss and vines, the stone seeming to have been carved out of some sort of stone that looked like it might be local or might not. Butterflies fluttered through a shaft of sunlight that seemed more stable than the shifting, dappled light through the moving branches of the canopy above.

"It's magical," he reported, though that was hardly a surprise. All elven ruins were magical, even if only carrying the residue of the magic used to craft them. It was the favored tool of the Hytori. Perhaps he could glean more if they were closer or he were given more time, but while Semblance was quite popular among their people, not everyone was capable of achieving mastery.

And, "All right," at Thimryl's decision. He fished something out of one of his pockets, aimed it for that more permanent breach of the canopy, and released it: a magical flare, which flew like a firebird, red and dazzling. He watched it make for the hole in the latticework of branches and nodded once it was out. It would fly high, burn brightly, and hang there until someone saw it and came to support them.

That done, he found a convenient boulder and sat down to wait.

Turuher opened his mouth to answer the question, but closed it again with a bemused expression as Thimryl continued to speak, or perhaps think aloud, or fill the silence. Perhaps he was one of those elves who was nervous far from their centers of civilization; the winged elf didn't know him well enough to decide. So, he shrugged it off. Seated, he was, perhaps, less intimidating in his height.

Ultimately, he didn't mind the rest. Flying could be relaxing, especially when updrafts made it easy to just soar. He wasn't familiar with the area, though, or its air currents, so he had been putting some effort into his airborne scouting. His eyes marked the interaction with the bit of jewelry that summoned a spirit. On the visible spectrum, it was a bit of shadow and light, paradoxically juxtaposed, but when one focused, it looked more and more like a raven, though parts of it were in constant flux. It wasn't a singular raven, but a spirit of ravens, and what raven meant to it seemed to be in constant flux, as well.

The raven eyed Turuher for a moment as if unsure what an elf was doing with wings, but as it had been given aether and a task, it flew off, following what looked to be a game trail heading in the direction of the ruins.

Turuher shrugged off the apology.

"My orders were aerial scouting and supporting Harbinger Company, so it's your call." He flexed his wings, spread them wider over the boulder, and leaned back upon his hands into something like a sprawl. Wings were a bit awkward for an elf to wear, but he hadn't known a life without them.

"What about you? Did you see anything interesting out there? Sometimes I wish they would let me scout or track on the ground. If I were to injure a wing or something, I should know how to do my job still, don't you think?"

The winged elf watched Thimryl confabulate with his bound raven spirit, meditating for a moment on how most companies were formed: elves were individuals and while there were some companies of relatively uniform phalanges, the Harbingers and Turuher's own aerial company were attempts by their captains to bring together various complementary skills and mindsets that could be relatively self-sufficient at need or combine with other companies to create larger armies when numbers were needed.

Malphas, as Thimryl called it, was certainly an advantage for an earthbound soldier who needed to scout if they didn't have a winged backup with them.

Turuher rose when Thimryl's vacillation landed on exploration without the backup he had called in. It was more difficult going for him, being significantly larger than the other elf, wearing wings, and more used to the unfettered freedom of the sky, but he didn't fall behind. And yet, he was not yet to the edge of the cliff when Thimryl stumbled over the edge.

It was so unexpected that Turuher could only raise a hand as if to catch him, but he was too far away. He cursed, launched himself into the air, powerful, straining strokes of his wings pulling him upward from this less than ideal position. He got just high enough, just far enough, that he could swoop down. In his rush, he landed heavily, but sore ankles and knees were a small price to pay in this situation.

"Don't move," he snapped, his normally amiable tenor changed immediately into command. Just as a first officer would relieve a captain of leadership when they were compromised, he followed medical protocols.

His eyes saw blood and dirt. He sembled for internal injuries; he wasn't a fully trained field medic, but he knew first aid and could prepare him for medical evacuation if necessary. He sensed other things, reactions within the ruins, that made him nervous. But once he had Thimryl back on the ground, he gentled his voice again. Wings mantled around him protectively, blocking the injured elf's view of the ruins. For the time being, his health was paramount.

Turuher stayed with him, and eventually more of the company joined them, winged and not.

One of his winged cohort, upon seeing Thimryl, blinked out of existence. It was only a few minutes later when he returned, along with a proper medic and Captain Pasiphaë Len'Minoa. Once the medic assured her there was no need for a quarantine protocol, she nodded and looked down at Thimryl with concern over Turuher's shoulder. The medic slipped under his protective wing to get to Thimryl. His smile was all compassion as he introduced himself in quiet, comforting tones, placing a hand lightly upon an unmarked swath of skin. From there, a coolness spread through Thimryl as if he were an empty vessel being filled with water. That coolness eased the pain.

"Don't move, please. You feel no pain, but the injuries remain for the time being." It might have been a trick of the light, but it almost seemed as if the healer had faint halo in the dappled sunlight. After a moment, he looked up and nodded to the captain, who nodded back.

Turuher stood, furling his wings. The concerned twist of his brow eased. If a full prognosis hadn't been given, at least the medic didn't seem worried.

"Report, Len'Kouneli," the captain ordered. The giant of an elf straightened and began a concise report of his spotting the ruins from on high even as the medic took on a look of extreme concentration.

"Hold still," he said quietly.

The magical coolness that had suffused Thimryl's battered, broken form began to feel heavy within him, and the magic began to sedate him. He was conscious long enough to be slightly confused when the leafy canopy was replaced with an interior, which his logical mind might identify as the infirmary aboard the Venerable.

And then he was nowhere, deep in a dreamless, healing sleep.

!

Message from: Hekatos

XP: 15 Injuries: Whatever the extent of the injuries he sustained falling off the cliff, the medic will have healed them. The way healing works, though, bones were knit, lacerations, too. Bruising eased, but a lot of what was done was structural, and encouraging the body to heal faster. Since you don't have any threads between this and Autumn Bindings, you can assume that he was on light duty for the rest of the summer season so his body could recover properly. Note: Once concern for his health and safety were assuaged, he caught a lot of teasing from his fellow soldiers for being clumsy. Also, anyone who was there present before Thimryl's medevac might tease him about being so distracted by the pretty winged elf that he fell off a cliff, and similar.