Two hours later found the band of adventurers weaving their way across the upper tiers of tall buildings and looming towers with the wind nipping at them every step of the way. Hulbard scanned their surroundings warily, ill at ease after the morning's bloodshed and their spectral visitor. Everyone seemed more subdued and their pace had noticeably quickened by unspoken consent. Even Quintus seemed to be reigning in his curiosity for once because he no longer stopped to examine much along their way.

He followed in Knox's footsteps with Trastgor ahead of both of them, trudging along with his skull faced head sweeping slowly from side to side. The Kurgal led then out onto a broad bridge of white marble strung between a broad building at their backs and a tower ahead that seemed to act like a crossroads, from which three more pathways extended.

The bridge itself had no rails, so that a murderous drop to the waves far below was only a full stride or two away, but he'd started to become accustomed to such margins since their time in Dalághast. They were almost halfway across the bridge when he caught a glimmer of movement out of the corner of his eye and half turned to see the same golden falcon from before alight on the ramparts of a nearby building.

He was about to point it out when Skye spoke first.

"I'm starting to get hungry." she piped up from behind.

"You're always hungry," Shankhill said, "But perhaps you have a point this time. We should stop for lunch ahead".

"As good a place as any." Knox agreed and, at the mention of food, Hulbard became aware of his own growing hunger, easily ignored till then.

Fighting had always left him with an appetite, in sharp contrast to his brother, who'd always been unable to eat for hours afterwards. His thoughts were wrenched back to the present as Knox suddenly froze mid stride and sharply cocked his head to one side. Hulbard froze in his tracks, his senses straining as he held up a hand to silence those behind him. Trastgor noticed the sudden change as well and half turned to look back at them, hand on the hilt of his blade.

Hulbard studied Knox' face until the sound of a soft, metallic whistle reached his own ears.

"Move!" Knox shoved Trastgor forward and flung himself backwards into Hulbard's breastplate with a rattle.

A length of bright, silver steel scythed down into the stone between the hunter and the Kurgal with a resounding crunch, punching deep into the marble.

"Run!" someone yelled and they surged forward, around the projectile and across the smooth stone towards the tower.

Trastgor lumbered through the open archway and his companions spilled in after. Hulbard cast around, taking stock of the situation in a heartbeat even as a cacophony of noise rose from his companions; a circular chamber with three more doorways spanning outwards, lit by a dome of stained glass overhead, sending colours sprawling across the brickwork.

The bridge opposite had crumbled away partway along its length while another spanned a wide roadway before curving from view. The third exit veered upwards to wrap around a trio of towers in the distance, completely open and leading nowhere fast from what he could see. Everyone was speaking at the same time, barking over one another.

"What was that thing?"

"Where did it come from?"

"Was that a lance?"

"I don't want to run while I'm hungry!"

"Everyone get away from the door!" that one was Knox, "Keep your heads down and shut up!"

He slid up to the archway they'd bundled through as the voices around them fell to a frenzied whispering. The stained glass overhead shattered into a thousand pieces with a deafening crash. Another slender length of polished steel descended into the chamber, slammed home to stand upright before them. He flinched as a million glittering shards of glass rained down around them, clinking where they struck his armour, shattering where they hit the ground. Almost before the shards had settled, another projectile hummed through the eastern doorway, slid clean past them and out the western arch.

"Down the stairs!" Trastgor's guttural roar split the air and Shankhill led the way without hesitation, cloak billowing as he flung himself headlong down the winding staircase to one side.

What came next was a mad dash down a narrow flight of marble steps. The rattling thunder of Hulbard's thread filled the space, rang from the walls and rolled ahead of them. Light lanced through narrow windows, parted before each of them in turn as they plunged he'd long down the tower. They poured into another chamber and he saw a single doorway in the opposite wall, complete with a heavy slab of ironbound wood the same shade as dried blood.

He saw another staircase leading down and rushed over to it, only to find the stepa shrouded in murky grey water. Breathing hard, he reached down, plucked his helmet from its place at his hip and slid it on over his head. With his breath echoing in his ears, Hulbard turned back to the stairway they'd bolted down and tried to listen for any hint of pursuit as the others shuffled back and forth, still gripped with panic.

A shrill shriek filled the room as Knox hauled the only door open on screaming, rusty hinges. They gathered around the opening and looked out across the considerable length of a narrow bridge scarcely inches above the rushing water. It was almost fifty feet in length and led to another heavy doorway. Narrow archways of slender stone looped over it at regular intervals, wrought into the semblance of twisting vines and blooming flowers.

"Catch your breath," Knox said firmly,"We're safe here but we'll need to move soon. I think that falcon is some kind of spotter bird".

"Guess we know what killed that whale now," Hulbard's voice was a metallic growl inside his helmet.

"No we don't," Quintus countered sharply, "We have no idea what's out there shooting those things at us".

"Some kind of ballista, maybe?" Shankhill huffed, still trying to catch his breath.

"I've never seen a ballista that could shoot that fast," Hulbard said.

"Or any that used projectiles that narrow." Knox added, peeking around the doorway.

"Multiple balista's then," Shankhill sighed, "Weird ones that shoot narrow spears or something".

"Doesn't matter," Knox said, "We move. Now. Before they have a chance to surround us".

Hulbard took his place behind the hunter, adrenaline already singing through every muscle in his body. He heaved a deep breath to steady his focus as the others formed a line behind him. Knox took the lead after a quick countdown and darted out onto the bridge with Hulbard hot on his heels. They passed beneath the first thin archway and were almost to the second when another spear lanced through it, spraying razor sharp shards of stone as it thundered into the bridge mere feet in front of Knox.

He ducked under the cloud of debris, wove around the metal projectile as nimbly as a serpent and sprinted on. Hulbard followed, skidding on the loose chippings and almost stumbling clean off the edge. Another projectile followed the first, splashing into the water towards the rear of their misfit column, dousing them in spray. Hulbard looked, spotted a dark figure against the sapphire blue sky as it sailed effortlessly across a gap between two high buildings to the east.

Putting his head down, Hulbard focused on running, his muscles burning like fire under the weight of his armour, breath hissing in his helm as sweat began to trickle down his brow. Blinking them free, he saw the wooden doorway looming ahead; banded with iron and set into the face of a squat, square building with elaborate battlements around its rooftop.

Knox skidded into the door, scrabbled at its handle, seemed to find it locked and flung himself to one side. Hulbard never broke his stride. Instead, he lowered his shoulder and struck the wood with all the force of a battering ram. He smashed the door clean off its hinges with a monumental, rattling crash and lurched into the room beyond.

Inside, strange light danced across the grey stone walls. There was a ledge underfoot, the better half of the floor fallen away to his right. Water lapped at its jagged edges, illuminated by weak sunlight lancing through high windows on his left to throw shimmering reflections across the room.

A table of scarred wood stood in the middle of the ledge ahead. Six figures in tattered orange robes turned as one to look at him. Without thinking, Hulbard lunged towards them with a furious bellow. His hammer leapt to his hand. The men and women before him gibbered madly. Some held up their hands, he saw another turn to run, and the rest reached to secreted weapons within their robes. The flat of his hammer caught the first across the neck, snapped it like a twig and spun the cultist off their feet.

Hulbard got his shield up in time as another launched their frail body at him and the warrior battered him aside, sent him sprawling over the table. His next stroke sprayed blood and chunks of flesh across the nearest wall as it connected with a figures head, dashed their skull to pulp in an instant. He turned to catch a dagger on his shield, twisted to throw its wielder off balance and then shattered their hip with a hard hook from his weapon.

Knox slid into view, a thrust from his sword carving deep into the side of the next cultist. Another flew at him and the hunter turned, released the sword before it could be dragged free of his grip and caught the man's wrist, twisted it aside as his own hand found one of the daggers at his side. It shone in the dull light, but only for a heartbeat before the blade was buried in the cultists gut with a wet thud. The figure went suddenly limp with a hoarse sigh.

The last cultist was rising on the other side of the table, which he'd been hurled across by Hulbard's shield. He barely straightened up before the giant smashed him off his feet with a devastating swing from his weapon. Hulbard stood over the corpses, blood dripping from the head of his hammer, shoulders heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

"It herded us in here!" Knox snapped, shoving the gutted cultist aside.

"Where is the damn thing?" Trastgor asked.

"To the east," Hulbard reported, "I saw someone jumping between two buildings out that way. I don't think it's any kind of ballista. I think it's someone with a bow or something".

"Impossible," Knox told them, "Those spears are as tall as you are. Any bow capable of shooting them would have to be even taller.

"I know," Hulbard said, "But there's no ballista that could redirect shots that fast. It has to-" he was cut off mid word by a host of voices rising in unison around him.

Some turned to Knox, asking if he would be able to shoot back at whatever hunted them while others disputed the idea of a bow existing capable of doing what they'd seen. All of them were uncertain, grasping and fumbling for answers that, as far as Hulbard could see, meant nothing. All that mattered was what they were going to do and their prattling was grating on his nerves, making it harder for him to think straight.

There was a sudden, wet slap nearby and Hulbard turned to see something on the edge of the crumbling stone ledge. He got the impression of a stick, before he saw a set of pale fingers curl into claws and dig into the stone as it hauled something up from below. A ripple spread across the water as a grey face, all too hideously human in appearance, emerged into view. Lank hair framed a face of gaunt features and wide, unblinking eyes.

Hulbard was so stunned by that grisly visage that he almost missed the other ripples peaking across the gently lapping water. Many more. He caught a hint of something slimy and sinuous pass beneath the surface like some great snake. They gathered around the figure as it grimly started to haul itself out of the pool, a second spindly arm joining the first, water sluicing from its pallid skin. Hulbard wanted to take a step forward, to raise his hammer and strike it, but his gaze was fixed on the dark water and the dark shapes lurking within, heart thundering, already choking as he imagined being dragged into its depths.

"Run!" Knox barked, barrelling past and he was powerless to do anything except obey.

The archer bolted up a nearby flight of steps and he pounded after, ironclad feet hammering against the stone underfoot like the drums of war, keeping beat with his frenzied heartbeat. They emerged onto a broad, flat rooftop encircled by the broken teeth of ancient battlements and Hulbard balked at the sunlight glaring overhead, keenly aware of how exposed they'd suddenly become. He spotted a short flight of steps rising from the rooftop to a broad bridge of dull yellow stone that led across to the face of a triangular building rising above the one they stood on.

Knox ascended the steps two at a time and Hulbard just had enough presence of mind to turn, grab Quintus by his robes and fling the man after before thundering along in their wake; he wanted the old man where he could keep an eye on him. The Sorcerer was too valuable to lose in a blind stampede to safety.

They crossed the bridge in a flurry of frenzied heartbeats and scrambled through a wide archway carved into the semblance of writhing serpents. Beyond stood a tall hall almost forty feet in height and bereft of any furniture or adornment beyond a spiral staircase of finely wrought steel standing at its heart. This led up to a platform high overhead, painted in prismatic sunlight streaming through a dome of stained glass surrounding it. In sharp contrast, the stone surrounding them was a dark, sickly green in colour, the floor pockmarked with puddles of slimy water.

The sight of the space brought Hulbard skidding to a halt, casting around for another doorway, but Knox' hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"Move!" the hunter bellowed, dragging him forward.

Gasping for breath and panting with every step, he raced across the flagstones with the others. They sent up a rattling, jangling symphony as they crossed the hall. Grasping the metal rail, Knox swung himself up the spiralling steps several at a time, moving with uncanny speed and agility for a man of his years. Hulbard thundered after, the crash of metal against metal filling the hallway until the sound of his footsteps melded together into one, continuous peal of metallic thunder. The entire staircase shuddered under their passage, creaking and screeching in its settings.

Partway up the staircase, movement below caught his eye and Hulbard snatched a glance over his shoulder. A writhing tide of figures were flooding into the hallway below through the same archway they'd passed through only a moment before. Drapes on soaking wet robes of yellow and orange, they surged across the flagstones like a tidal wave. Gulping, breathing hard through his teeth, Hulbard put his head down and rushed on.

They reached the bottom of the staircase just as he reached the platform at its peak, heart hammering so hard in his chest he thought it might burst. A short walkway led to a door of purple tinted glass. He'd barely spotted it before Knox shattered it into a thousand pieces with the pommel of his sword.

He dashed through and Hulbard followed, up a short flight of steps to a narrow bridge of gleaming white stone. The wind whipped at them, nearly buffeted Knox off the edge before Hulbard could catch his shirt and pull the man back from the gaping abyss. He fell against Hulbard's breastplate and suddenly shoved the warrior back a step, a split second before another metal spear fell between them. It struck the stone a glancing blow and slid past and with a deafening clang.

"Shit!" he hissed before bolting along the ancient stone bridge high above the crashing waves.

A tower loomed ahead, the doorway set into its face hung with a thick wooden door standing mercifully ajar. Hulbard threw his shoulder against it and the door lurched open on screeching hinges. He whirled, looking back along the bridge; past the terrified faces of his companions, he saw the half drowned cultists rushing onto the bridge, sunlight glinting from a multitude of blades. They formed a mass of bared, snarling teeth and wide, staring eyes, scarcely twenty feet behind Shankhill at the rear.

Counting over a dozen at a glance, Hulbard grabbed the door, slid his hand across the scarred wood until his fingers met steel and bellowed for his companions to hurry. They piled through the doorway and he heaved the door shut in Shankhill's wake. His hands fumbled at the locking bar, only to find it rusted into place. Swearing, Hulbard flung his shoulder against the slab of wood instead, braced his feet on the smooth stone underfoot and looked back at the chamber they'd been funnelled into.

A broad staircase wound up and down to either side, while an empty archway stood opposite, through which he glimpsed a wider, grander bridge than the last that sloped gently downwards from view. Archways of weather worn stone swept over it at regular intervals, connected to a stone rail to either side.

Knox slid into the shadow of the archway, clasping his left arm to his chest while a drop of crimson trailed its way down one cheek from. His scalp. Hulbard heard the pounding of approaching footsteps beyond the doorway and grit his teeth in preparation, every muscle in his body braced for impact.

"Everyone get ready to run." Knox told them in a voice tight with tension.

Hulbard grunted as the cultists reached the door and slammed into it with enough force to almost drive him back a step. He heard their babbling through the thick wood, felt impacts rain against it in a flurry of blows.

"It's about eighty feet," Trastgor reported loudly from the archway, "Leads to a big rooftop".

Hulbard nodded towards the Kurgal, blinking sweat from his eyes. It was hard to hear anything over his heart pounding painfully in his ears, but the clamour on the other side of the door was only increasing. Everyone gathered around the opposite archway as the door suddenly jarred inwards, opening a crack under a shoulder that sent Hulbard's boots skidding on the smooth flagstones.

"Go!" he snarled as hands began to reach through the crack, grasping and clutching at anything they could.

His companions bolted and, taking as deep a breath as he could muster, Hulbard counted slowly to five, buying them as much time as he could before he pushed away from the door, let it swing wide on screeching hinges. He caught a glimpse of the mob beyond before he was sprinting after the others, every inch of his body aching with the need for rest.

He raced through the archway and onto the broad bridge beyond. It led in a gentle, curved slope down towards the edge of a vast, rectangular building of dark stone. Hulbard was already scanning it for more cultists as he ran, arms pumping by his sides.

Its upper two stories rose free of the white, foaming waves rushing past below. Its face was lined with dozens of large, dark windows, while its opulent rooftop was strewn with stone copula's, benches, patios and half crumbling statues carpeted, all carpeted in a sea of wildly overgrown, emerald green vegetation.

The centre of the rooftop was dominated by another dome with several panes of gritty glass still intact in its metal framework.

He never heard the metallic hum heralding the spear until it crashed through the rail a foot ahead of them and, trailing debris, slid clean through the other side. Hulbard skidded on a loose shard of stone and only just remained upright as he ran on, only dimly realising that he couldn't hear the sound of stampeding footsteps at his heels. Pushing the thought aside, resisting the urge to snatch a glance over his shoulder for fear if tripping, Hulbard charged on, easily catching up with Shankhill lagging along behind the others.

They reached the rooftop, flung themselves down a flight of steps, across a patio of trailing vines and clutching thorns to slide into cover amongst the buildings cracked crenulations. Hulbard had just slid into place and half collapsed when a dull hum made him wince.

A metal spike smashed through the remains of a nearby statue, showering Trastgor with rubble and dust. Another three hammered into the crenulations with enough force to punch through the thick stone and landing so fast that he knew all three must have been in the air at once.

The Kurgal had dropped into a crouch, clawing at the vegetation to one side with great sweeps of his arms until he uncovered a patch of darkness below.

"Here!" his guttural bark rang out across the rooftop.

Semekt dove through the opening with a scimitar held at the ready, dropping to the floor below with a heavy rumble of coils.

"Empty," the Dramaskian's rasp echoed below.

"About a nine foot drop." Trastgor told them, peering through the opening.

Hulbard's eyes were roaming, saw Knox tilt his head and had a heartbeat to shuffle into deeper cover before another projectile hummed overhead, struck the roof at an awkward angle and spun out over the opposite edge. Yet despite this, his mind grasped at one simple fact of his senses; there was no sound of foot pursuit on the bridge.

Unsurprisingly, Shankhill went first. He bolted for the opening and slid through it with a yelp, landing below with a thud that brought a wry smirk to Knox' lips. Quintus and Skye went next, both swinging down into the opening before safely dropping the rest of the distance.

Hulbard gave them a second to scatter before following suit. He caught a glimpse of a desiccated wooden floor below just before he crashed into it, dropping into a crouch to absorb the weight of his armour across his shoulders. Heaving his bulk back upright, he sidestepped just as Trastgor landed alongside him and cast about at their new surroundings. They'd dropped down into a large, gloomy chamber, surrounded on all sides by thick wooden desks of cracked and chipped wood.

An open archway stood to one side and through it he saw a much larger, circular chamber. The entire scene was cast in gloom, light lancing through the dust coated air where it found its way through the crumbling walls. Beyond his companions panting, a shroud of silence clung to the entire scene.

Seeing no second horde about to swarm over them, Hulbard felt the feverish, adrenaline fuelled strength that had gotten him that far suddenly drain from his limbs, leaving nothing but a deep ache behind. He swayed unsteadily on his feet, only just resisting the almost overwhelming urge to collapse to his knees. Breathing deep, he hooked the heavy hammer into place at his side, reached up to unclasp his helmet. He dragged it off with a gasp for fresh air, blinking in the gloom, his frayed senses still straining for any hint or pursuit. The pack slid free of his shoulders, rattled to the ground and his shield clattered down beside it.

"Trastgor," Quintus panted, scarcely able to stand up straight, "Your gear. Everyone else, check yourselves over. Make sure no one's bleeding out. Anyone healthy, keep a look out".

His grey eyes found Hulbard looming in the shadowy gloom.

"That means you," he said pointedly.

Hulbard shook out his limbs, aches and bruises blooming anew, but there was no distinctive sting to mark any cuts. Not surprising considering how short the skirmish had been and the weapons pitted against him. He'd seen nothing that could have even stood a chance of punching through his armour.

He passed Knox examining his bleeding forearm with only a glance at the gash trailing down the hunters flesh, already bathed in dark blood and guessed it had happened during their struggle in the chamber; unlucky. Trastgor's fur was speckled with blood but considering how little he wore, most wounds were easy to find and Hulbard saw none at a glance.

The Kurgal pulled up a chair at one of the desks, slumped into it with a growled sigh and unrolled a leather scroll to reveal an assortment of needles, threads, clamps, pliers and tweezers. Quintus unslung his satchel and set to clearing a space for them to work together, still breathing hard but composed.

Shankhill, shaken but unscathed, wandered along in the giant's wake as he moved into the adjacent hall and Skye hurried after. Another spiral staircase stood at the heart of the round chamber beyond, rising from the floor below and leading up to the rooftop above, where the dome he'd seen before sat. Here, shaded light shone through the wide windows in the wall to his left, though it did little to illuminate the area.

Three more archways opened into the area, each of them shrouded in deep shadow. After their mad dash through the rooftops, the silence and stillness of that ancient place felt utterly surreal. Hulbard felt his thoughts start to wander, to drift back towards the corpses they'd left behind and the mob that had given chase, but he forced himself to focus as he moved to one of the windows and peered cautiously around its edge.

The bridge they'd come across arched overhead across a wide flooded roadway, back to a tall tower where he could just make out movement. The bridge itself, however, was empty.

"Stay here," Hulbard said, "Keep an eye on the staircase in case something swims up from below".

Without waiting for any acknowledgement, he started up the staircase. The metal creaked and groaned underfoot with every step despite his best efforts as he climbed up into a host of trailing ivy laden with blooming purple flowers. Pushing them aside, he emerged onto a steel platform in the middle of the dome, cross cut by watery light filtering in through the remaining panes of dir encrusted glass.

Slowly, he crept back out onto the rooftop and ducked into the cover of a towering quartz flowerpot. From his new vantage point, he could see the tower archway they'd fled through only a minute before and the soaked, orange clad cultists gathered beneath it. Just as he settled down to observe them, he saw their ranks part as a new figure moved into view, standing head and shoulders above its bony companions. Even over the distance separating them, the figure towered, radiating authority. Antlers sprouted from its head and Hulbard thought he caught a glimpse of a massive bow in one huge hand.

"I knew it!" he hissed.

They stared towards the building for a long moment before the golden falcon wheeled overhead with a shrill screech. It suddenly veered south and the large figure turned to follow. Dropping into a crouch, it flung itself into the air to clear the distance between the tower and a lower building with effortless ease. The sight made Hulbard gape. Even with a running start, he doubted any of them would have even come close to covering a quarter of the same distance.

The cultists disbanded begrudgingly, trailing back into the shadows of the tower. He watched them go before descending back into the chamber below, ignoring the glance Shankhill shot his way and instead returning to the others. Knox looked up at hos reappearance, grimacing as Trastgor cleaned a long cut across his scalp. His arm was already stitched up tight and Quintus was soaking some bandages to go over the wound in a bowl of thin, milky liquid.

"What are they doing?" Trastgor asked without looking up from his work.

"Whatever they were doing before we showed up, if I had to hazard a guess, " Hulbard reported, "None of them set foot on the bridge. What happened to your head?"

"I think I cut myself open with a shard of glass when I broke through that doorway." Knox admitted, cringing.

"That's fairly unlucky." Hulbard commented, before Shankhill broke in.

"He'll be fine," he said sharply from where he was leaning against a desk nearby, "It's not like he got stuck in the eye or anything. More impo-"

He was cut off by a bark of laughter from Trastgor.

"You'd be bawling like a woman in his place." the Kurgal chuckled.

"Even I wouldn't be that bad," Skye chimed in helpfully, "Remember that time he got a thorn in his thumb and we had to hear about it for a week?"

"You mean when my thumb was infected and that fuzzy bastard was talking about amputating it?" Shankhill asked, gesturing towards the Kurgal.

"Regardless of his ever present complaining," Knox said firmly, "I think he was going to ask why they didn't follow us".

"They dare not set foot within these halls." the soft voice made almost all turn.

Their 'friend' from before stood nearby, hands clasped in front of her. To his credit, Trastgor only paused for a heartbeat in stitching up Knox's scalp. A long silence followed her words.

"Why not?" Hulbard asked hesitantly, half afraid he was asking the wrong question and half afraid of what the answer might be.

"Because they fear the one that rules this place even now." she told them in that clear, serene voice of hers.

"First things first," Quintus said, rising from his place by the desk and taking his staff in hand, "What's been shooting at us?"

"He is the Master of the Hunt," she replied, "His name was once Aersgald, though I doubt he even remembers. He's been wandering blind and bored for some time now and, from what I saw, likely drove you into those wretches for sport".

"How did they get here?" Quintus pressed, "Where are they from? Did they breach the barrier in the same place we did or what?"

"They had no need," she told him simply, "For they have always been here. Many cults rose in the wake of Dalagast's ruination. Those you met are the ancestors of such people".

"And Aersgald?"

"He is rather more complex," she told them airily, "But a fine example of those that have always been here. He needs no children to carry on his legacy. He is that legacy".

"So…." Quintus drawled in an irritated tome, "You're telling us that he's been hunting in these ruins for the last few centuries?"

"I am." she nodded. "It is hard to say that anything or anyone truly still lives in this place, but he has not died".

"Impossible." Quintus scoffed. "Even with modern Sorcery, we cannot prolong a life that long. You're talking about something that cannot be".

"And yet it simply is" she replied softly.

"What is he?" Hulbard asked when the Sorcerer paused to digest that, "I only saw him from a distance but he's big. Very big. And he had antlers. Is he some kind of overgrown Kurgal?"

"He is of no race you would find elsewhere," she supplied, "Though he began as a simple man".

"You saw it?" Shankhill cut in.

"Yeah and, for the record, I was right," Hulbard directed the comment towards Quintus, "He was carrying a bow that's probably taller than me. So… I guess I told you so".

There was a distinctive 'snip' as Trastgor cut the last thread in Knox's stitches and, clearing his throat, the Kurgal turned to face the slender, pale woman.

"Back to the real question," he said, "What is this building?"

"It was once the fabled house of accounts," she told them, lifting a hand to gesture around the shadowy hall. "It was from this place that the self titled King of Commerce ruled the entire port district. Within these halls, he saw every contract signed, witnessed every deal worth his time made and took his ample share of the profits. From the docks to the wall now holding back the water, he had a say in all things".

"This building was the heart of a trading empire spanning the entire known world. Its halls rang with the clink of gold coins, underscored by the ceaseless scratching of quills in countless tomes and overshadowed by the haggling of men born to barter".

Hulbard peered around at their surroundings and tried, in vain, to imagine it as she described. There didn't seem to be much of anything left now, let alone the gold they all longed for.

"When the Last King fell," she continued dreamily, "The hall on commerce didn't last long. It was in decline, even before this place was consumed by the waves. The one that ruled here loved everything rare and coveted, you see. And nothing was more coveted than what you call a mere 'Star'. It was split into many pieces when the Last King wrought his greatest work and through shrewd negotiation, betrayal and the bottomless pits of his wealth, the one who dwelt here was able to secure a shard".

"He had not the iron will of the true King however and this place fell with a symphony of chaos heard throughout the city. Screams replaced laughter and how they resounded through these halls. Blood flowed as freely as gold. This place was already lost to madness by the time its lower levels were consumed by the waves.

"The tidal wave." Quintus surmised and she smiled sadly.

"Such a simple interpretation of the truth," she said, "Once the 'Star' was split, the Last King continued to work his great Sorceries. A true star fell from the night sky. It struck the sea beyond the horizon and buried this place under a deluge that even now refuses to recede. It is this that those... Wretches worship. They flung themselves into the sea and pledged themselves to the powers they found below, blaspheming all life with what they do in its name".

Silence fell and Hulbard looked to Quintus, seeing him practically salivating with the need for answers to questions he was only just then beginning to realise needed answers.

"Wait…" Shankhill was the one to speak, massaging the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, "There's a part of the Crystal Star here? In this building?"

"There is," she nodded, every movement as subtle and serene as her voice, "And it is close, yet you will never have it. Before the water came, he who held it retreated to his sanctum. It lies below three floors of offices now flooded and another four beneath that again. There it rests alongside mountains of gold and priceless gems".

"Great!" Shankhill clapped his hands together and rubbed them with a hungry grin, "That's more like. Mountains of gold happen to be what I fall asleep thinking about every night".

"As I said…" the woman reiterated slowly, as if speaking to an idiot, "It is unreachable".

"That's where you're wrong," Shankhill told her adamantly, "Our four armed friend here can hold his breath for.. What? An hour? An hour and ten minutes? Something ridiculous like that anyway".

Her sapphire blue eyes turned to Semekt, who Hulbard noticed was staring a good three feet wide of where the woman was actually standing.

"And am I to assume this Dramaskian is also capable of gaining access to a vault renowned across an empire for its security measures?" she asked, a hint of mocking incredulity to her tone now. "Sealed And that after that, he will be able to find his way past dozens of corridors blocked by iron bars? That he will be able to pick the nineteen fabled locks crafted by the most skilled locksmiths to ever breathe?"

"Eh…" Shankhill paused.

"It doesn't matter," she continued firmly, "Any you send down into those depths would never return. Dread things prowl those sunken halls, ever loyal and ever vigilant. They are why those cultists in yellow fear to follow".

She made no sound as she brushed past Hulbard and Shankhill, not even the rustling of her emerald dress as she stepped into the chamber beyond. Quintus started to protest, but a glance over her shoulder silenced him.

"You are safe here," she told them, reaching the staircase, "But venture no lower than the water clogged floors below".

Hulbard watched her descend noiselessly from view, leaving them all to their own thoughts in that dismal place. There was a moment of silence before Skye spoke up.

“I’m still hungry” she ventured.