Journal Vignette 02.01 - Triage in the Treetops

By Loni Huff

Nursing an injured shoulder, Aja watches Morvion scrabble back onto the platform with no small amount of relief, having felt certain he had met his demise either by ground or by ogre. Using her quarterstaff to ensure safe footing, she carefully skirts the edge of the pit formerly disguised by illusion. She nudges the body of the slain Tengu spellcaster with one foot, her staff held ready to strike his beak should he rouse himself. Bruised and bleeding, Morvion kneels beside the bird-man and, pulling downy feathers aside, draws an obsidian blade across his gullet. Repulsed, Aja turns away and moves to tend the wounds of her other companions.
Her first thought is to minister to Tars, but a quick look at his still bloodshot and bulging eyes causes her to reconsider. Instead, she turns to Graykar, inspecting how well her healing magics have already mended previously broken and crushed bones. She directs him to consume a potion to reduce the dark bruises beginning to bloom and spread on his neck and arms.
Despite knowing that the loss of his companion is only temporary, Falgrieg seems agitated, peering over the shattered edge of the platform to see where Zanziel might have landed, or at least to inspect the size of crater he created when he did so. He starts when Aja’s hand lands on the back of his neck and drinks the curative potion she points to at his belt pouch.
By this time, Tars’ rage has subsided, leaving him squatting down, arms wrapped around his midsection and breathing heavily. Her magics thoroughly exhausted, Aja pulls a silver-colored flask out of her bag, shakes it vigorously, and unstoppers it. She instructs Graykar to help Tars with the fastenings of his breastplate while she douses a clean bandage in a thick pink liquid. She presses it against the worst of Tars’ wounds and curtly instructs him to maintain pressure with one hand while she wraps his chest in bandages. It takes very little effort for Aja to convince him to numb some of the pain with a bottle of spirits she carries for first-time mothers; he downs half a bottle in just a few swallows before Aja gently pries the bottle from his fingers. Grumbling in disappointment, he slides down a half-burned wall to nurse his wounds.
Finally turning to Morvion, she appraises his injuries. From the way he hunches over, favoring his right side, she suspects he’s broken at least one rib in the fall. His hands and face are scratched and raw from his frantic climb, and there is blood on his mouth, blood she’s certain wasn’t there before.
“Did you BITE yourself?” she asks, startled. She reaches up, Morvion thinks to touch his face, but instead touches his left canine. “Have these always been this sharp?” Knowing she won’t be able to help him till morning, she instructs him to drink from a small, purple bottle, which he does obediently. Only after he has downed its contents does he ask, blurrily, what she’s given him. “Sleeping draught…” she says, motioning for Graykar and Tars to help catch him before he can fall over.
Looking around the ruins of his former home, she mutters to herself “Probably the most peaceful rest he’s had in a long time.”
Morvion wakes and peers around his group’s makeshift campsite. He immediately notices that everyone has fallen asleep, even whoever was assigned the current watch. Observing Falgrieg’s awkward half-standing, half-sitting position, he assumes that it’s just before dawn. He raises up on one elbow only to gasp in pain, his ribs screaming in protest. He falls face down on his pallet, breath hissing in and out of his teeth to stifle a scream.
After a few moments, he carefully rolls onto his side and, primarily using the strength of his legs, pushes up to rest on his haunches. He fumbles in the saddlebags someone has left beside his bedroll and withdraws his bamboo scroll case. Opening one end, he dumps the contents into his hand and, after thumbing through several pages, finds the one he is seeking: a half-finished spell he has been working on for some time.
Absently stroking one long canine, he pauses to think a moment before using a smudge stick to scribble in an inexplicable burst of inspiration. Pleased, he studies the page for a few moments before reaching into his pack to retrieve the small, stoppered clay jug. Retying the fastenings of his bag, he notices two golden orbs hovering in the air across the room. He is initially startled but quickly discerns the familiar form of Gigi, hanging upside down from a rafter and having turned to stare at him.
Feeling silly, he removes the cork and takes several steadying – albeit shallow – breaths before downing the contents. His face screws up in disgust, and his stomach roils a moment before settling. Picking up the smudge stick and a sheet of fresh parchment, he carefully transcribes a new orison: Silent Image.
It isn’t long before he notices Aja standing over him, hands akimbo and lips pursed in annoyance at the fact that a patient so grievously wounded would be working instead of convalescing. Looking up into her face, he starts to issue a half-hearted apology when he is suddenly blinded by the corona of morning light that coruscates around her. He falls backward and, this time, fails to stifle a scream as the unexpected pain from the sunlight and the agony from his injuries overcome his self-control.
Surprised by his reaction, Aja immediately drops to one knee beside him and puts a hand to his forehead in the same way she has done countless times before. Expecting the now familiar and comforting rush of cool, healing energy he has previously experienced, Morvion screams as he instead feels fire explode through his veins. He screams and recoils from her touch, shivering and in shock. Horrified, Aja jumps up and steps back from him, staring at her two small hands in dismay.
By now, the rest of the group has been roused. Tars briefly quips about “puny elf men” before being punched in the shoulder by Graykar. Aja explains what has happened, certain that her magic has somehow been twisted by their earlier venture to the Healer’s platform she had vociferously and adamantly warned the rest of the group about. Falgrieg valiantly offers to allow her to try to heal him instead, and she does so tentatively, full of relief when her magic affects him the same way as it always has, knitting his remaining wounds closed and restoring him to vigor.
The rest of the group observes Morvion with a mixture of confusion and concern, Aja most of all. She forbids Morvion from drinking one of her healing draughts, explaining that it is the distilled essence of her healing magic and fearing it might burn him from the inside out. While Morvion broods in the corner, Graykar begins preparing breakfast while Falgrieg completes the spell necessary to re-summon an initially stand-offish but eventually effusive Zanziel. Morvion notes that Aja is somehow missing and that Tars is using the extra time to cook three additional sausages over the smoldering coals of their cookfire.
Aja returns after the rest of the group has finished eating, her mouth and fingers stained purple and looking victorious. “This is something my father taught me when I was small.” She says, brandishing a branch laden with purple berries at Morvion. She passes her hands over the fruit, whispering a few words a language no one else recognizes, before dropping it into Morvion’s lap. “Eat!” she commands.
Wondering if she might have fallen off the platform and hit her head, Morvion looks to his teammates for their reactions. They are all staring at him, and Falgrieg gestures at him encouragingly. Nervously, he plucks one thick-fleshed berry from a cluster and pops it into his mouth. Rolling it around tentatively, he eventually pops it between his molars, his mouth filling with a sweetly tart nectar that he notices immediately lessens the pain in his side. Greedily, he grabs three more berries and shoves them into his mouth, their juice running down his chin with abandon. When he tries to gorge himself on still more of the restorative fruit, Aja takes the branch away, giving him just four more berries and explaining that too many in one day will no longer have any effect.
Feeling somewhat improved, Morvion tells Aja, “Thank you for the berries. I know that, despite what happened earlier, you would never deliberately seek bring me harm. You remind me of my daughter Tishara; may your heart never be hardened by that which you see with your eyes.” Standing and turning to include the rest of the group, he continues, “Thank you for risking your lives to cleanse my home of this … malice. I am deeply indebted to you all. If I can aid you in any way, you need but ask.”