Dagrun, Dwarf Cleric
The old dwarf hadn't wanted to ride through the skies, but the warriors he met had said it was the quickest (and only) way to return to their HQ. For most of the flight, Dagrun sat in a state of unease, clinging tightly to his seat. When they had come under attack, Dagrun continued to cling tightly to his seat, even when that portion of the Skyranger's wooden frame sheared off and fell from its mountings.
Dagrun awoke with a start, panic from the fall jolting his limbs into action. He flailed for a few moments before he realized that he was no longer falling. His right side screamed with pain, and he tenderly felt for serious injuries. To his surprise, he found none. He was half buried in rubble and debris, but he had somehow survived the fall. He gave a quick prayer to Moradin for his deliverance, and set about digging himself free.
He had been slowly shifting stone and wood for a few moments before he could hear familiar voices nearby in the smoke. The Deva and ... the pixie? Thank the forgefather that they had survived as well. As he hastily pushed boards out of the way, he called out to them, "Hello!?" He pauses to curse and shove more debris away, "Ash and slag, these rocks are heavy! Is that you, pixie? Cinder, wasn't it?"
He stumbles free from the wreckage at last, and stomps into view, almost completely oblivious to the lurking horrors in the area.
When he hears Khitan shouting orders and sees the wounded individual, he rushes over and begins pulling out supplies. He looks at Khitan with a solemn expression, "Aye lad, I know a thing or two about it, let's get to work."