[The rain pounds down, slicking the Promenade stonework - the rail - the clifface-- ten meters below, the Bari clings to the rockface of the crater, the fabric of his wrap whipping in the wind cutting across the rocks. His grip is slipping and he's making a pitched wailing noise, but he's pressed flush to the cliff and hanging on by literal tooth and claw.
For the moment.
And then in the next the ledge Karlon has a foothold on crumbles and he shrieks as he slips another meter down. A faint red streak of blood paints the stone in the wake of his mangled breastbone, washed away almost immediately by the falling rain.]
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For the moment.
And then in the next the ledge Karlon has a foothold on crumbles and he shrieks as he slips another meter down. A faint red streak of blood paints the stone in the wake of his mangled breastbone, washed away almost immediately by the falling rain.]