Li Salagh, the Walking City, Last Wonder of the dying world

Carlo has an unsettling smile on his face. "We'll have to hop, boy, you're right." He watches Fabian in the distance as the dark haired drunkard snatches a pole hook from one of his teamsters and performs a miraculous pivot just above the tower's flat uppermost deck. Carlo lets out a laugh. "He's going to drop the whole barge on it."

Bjorn shakes his head incredulously, but Carlo just nods smirking. "He may be a sot, but he's got guts of steel." The head of the delvers kneels down and shoulders four of the packs. "Ready for a bit of a jump lady Rifain?" He grins at the half-orc "That tiefling you haven't taken your eyes off of is about to drop onto yon tower. We'd better follow suit..."

Cackling, Fabian, shouts out over the canopy to the other two barges. "Let's see your handsome twin yearlings do this Carlo!" He draws his blade and whirls maniacally, slashing at the lines of the rigging in a razor sharp arc. The front of the barge drops shockingly, leaving the passenger's stomachs above them, and their gear flying out over the front of the barge and onto the tower below. Fabian chortles in mad glee, and slashes at a remaining line that he missed in his first cut. The barge tilts and spins, tossing it's occupants into one another, before dropping to the ruined rooftop of the imperial watchtower with a splintering crash.

Fabian stands immediately and performs a flourishing bow "Improvisation!" He shouts towards Bjorn's barge and the roaring laughter of Carlo. He turns to Lucian, Lastwall, Preesha and Lady Habbrig, his grin fading fast. "I apologize for the inconvenience, my lady, but given the developing circumstance, we would have all had to jump regardless. You understand I am sure." He pulls his flask out and twists off the cap "Get the gear. We have to make way for them to hop."

The abruptly freed aerwhals, and their teamsters rise like corks in water, shooting up to near the level of the colossus's hips. The walking city, however, is no longer visible, as it is in the next valley beyond the ridge. The barge's wicker hull is split severely, but looks like it has regularly sustained such damage and is easily repaired. It's fallen form covers half of the uneven vine covered upper platform of the ruined watchtower. An open passage reveals stairs leading to another floor below. It seems that there may be three stories here, above the canopy, and perhaps as many a six below that. The fog shrouded great trees are thick in the valley, and surround the tower like a sea of green. A few dots of humongous spherical flowers accent the dark foliage, each radiating hundreds of pink stamens with bright orange anthers. The air is still very cold, but a thicker humidity is noticeable, along with an appallingly sweet mold and pollen scent.

Mrin gets that feeling when you’re climbing and you almost fall but you don’t fall, that sensation that streamlines all rambling thoughts down to one, "Don't fall." Mrin advises.

He stands and swings his pack onto his back. He feels the wind across hairs standing on end. "The sun doesn’t get bigger, yet all the colors get brighter. Did you see those big pink flowers?" Mrin regains focus and a strange smile cracks through his beard. "I feel alive, even through we may die. Does that make sense?" Mrin approaches the edge prepared to jump.

Arctorious grumbles something about taking his water skin back as he snatches it from Evans clutches. "I needn't tell YOU, sir,..." he begins to Evan and then turns to address all the faces of the barge, "...that we'll be needing to strike out once this thing CRASHES into the ground below. At least, those that are LIVING will need to form up once we hit the open ground and form a quick defense!! Form a circle! Those that are better at long range, stay centralized; WITHIN. THAT. CIRCLE.  Those like myself that are more suited for close and swift retribution face to face should encircle the aforementioned far-strikers! We will move together! As a unit! Watch each others backs and we should be all right!!" Another heave of the barge, and Arctorious nearly loses his footing. "BE READY!!" he shouts as he joins Mrin and Dairmida and shrugs his pack on. Looking outside the cold, wet exterior of the barge, Arctorious bends his knees and becomes more aware of his footing with every pitch and thrust of the barge as he begins to flex his fingers, readying himself for the impending leap.

"Inner the wylds we go broively!" Yenner howls and rolls himself and his giant pack over the edge of the barge, dropping to the tower top like a stone and landing with a loud clattering of pots and pans- pack down among the debris of Fabian's barge. His legs churn in the air for a few moments before he rights himself.

As soon as Evan is over the side of their barge Dairmida steps onto the barge ledge and follows suit. There is just a moment of free fall, then she lands in a crouch a few feet from Evan. A half second later Devorar is beside her. He begins casually sniffing the contents of a shattered food basket.

Mrin looks over the edge of the barge and scans the tower for a safe landing spot for his axe, "I'm 35." Mrin shouts down to Artorious.

"What?" Artorious shouts back as Mrin drops a two handed battle axe at his feet.

Mrin steps back to measure a practice run, and then pops forward, just far enough to clarify, "I'm 35. I'm not old." Then he steps back again.

Artorious, with a mighty one handed pull, frees the axe imbedded into the roof and steps back himself to allow Mrin room to land. "Well I can't just call you 'Fool", He says as the dwarf leaps at him.

A bit shaken by the rough landing, Mrin quickly stands to inspect the state of his tent, "Well you could just say 'Mrin".