Warlock! Something is Rotten in Grim Biskerstaf...

Trusova wraps her arms around the tiller to hold on for dear life... she does NOT want to know what that water tastes like! She barely manages to hang on!

Dangling precariously from an oar, Phelbt swings his stubby legs and squirms like a snared rabbit until, at last, he is able to find purchase once more upon the boat's canted deck. All the while he mutters curses under his breath that are blessedly unintelligible from any distance.

The little man takes a moment to regain his composure and wipe sweat and stringy hair from his brow. Then he says, "Any clue where this amulet might be, Wolke? Tide won't be out forever."

Once stabilized, Trusova slides down from the tiller and makes her way on all fours to snuff out the lanterns, tucking one into her pack.

Then she'll inspect the boat for damage, and try to find a way to rock the boat off of whatever piece of ruin they've run aground.

"Not a clue!" Lambert says, in a tone that suggests that’s part of the fun.

"Right at the top, I imagine. Or the bottom, as the case may be! Our client reckons it’ll be a piece of piss. But how she’d know is anyone’s guess!"

At the Ruins of Kellebrek
From the boat, the trio can see that it's still a bit of distance to any of the three standing towers. The pair of broken structures are both some thirty of forty feet from where Foghorn's vessel is hung up; the sleeker, taller, and smoother tower is closer -- just over twenty feet away.

High above the Kellebrek, unseen, a crow caws.

Banio eases down to the boat's rail and peers over, trying to see how they might be caught. Is there an old structure, just below the water line, upon which one might stand?

"Maybe if someone got out and shoved us off?" he suggests. Clearly he doesn't mean himself, for all that he's standing right there. Banio Phelbt is the sort of fellow who can stand in only the shallowest of water.

"Piss on that! Can’t we push off with the oars? I didn’t dress for an evening’s swim!"

Banio shrugs.

"Could work," he concedes. Phelbt doesn't care how the boat is dislodged, as long as he doesn't have to swim to the towers. He turns to Trusova, who is clearly taller and burlier and he, and gestures at the oar to which he was just clinging.

"Trusova, you want to...?" Of course she does.

Beneath the dark water, Banio can indeed see stone structures in the light provided by the now swinging lanterns. It's impossible to see clearly, but there are some walls and rooftops that almost break the surface, and others that come within what looks like a foot or so.

Trusova uses her spear to check the depth of the water. Realizing it isn't very deep, she resigns her riding boots to their likely death and hops into the water. Seeing the boat is badly jammed, she doesn't relish the notion of noisily dislodging it, especially since the water is so shallow anyway.

"No good righting the boat," she calls out to the others. "I'm going to see if I can find a path to the shore."

She moves toward the tower, testing the ground in front of her with her spear, and staying on whatever structure lay below the putrid water.

"Gods above." Lambert curses, seeing the woman plop down into the water.

"Should have brought a river warden instead, should we?" he says to Banio, as he removes his thick cloak.

"Give me strength!" he mutters, as he plunges in after her!

"What do the poets call it? The whale road?" Banio's shriveled heart permits him the jest, but still he looks anxiously after Lambert's dive. Part of him is worried for Trusova, whose strength he may need against the Hissainians; the other part worries that if Wolke and the road warden swim on to the nearest of the elven towers, then Phelbt himself will have to do the same.

Once more, Banio peers down at the sunken ruins between the scow and the towers. There does seem to be a path just below the water's surface, along the tops of walls and deluged parapets. Trusova's misadventure has made clear that it's a perilous path, but perhaps a lighter person might enjoy more success?