Even in a place like Dalághast, there was something about the Marble Roost that felt profoundly wrong to Hulbard's senses. The way the buildings and platforms clung to the inside of the archway seemed unnatural to him, made him worried great slabs of stone might sheer off at any minute to either crush them or drop them to the plaza far below. Across an emptiness of almost five hundred strides, the other leg of the archway stood, but they'd picked the closest to begin their climb. Around him, buildings of all shapes clung to the structure itself with long, winding staircases spiralling between them.

Opposite, stabbing out over the gulf of empty space, were wide platforms and balconies wrought with intricate rails. Some were overgrown with all manner of plants ranging from blooming wildflowers to short trees with twisted and gnarled limbs. Stone benches and half crumbling pavilions broke through the growth and on one, he thought he even glimpsed the reflective surface of a small pond. Artistic stonework abounded on that vertical, tiered landscape of stone, from granite eagles set atop squat plinths to flowerpots fashioned into every shape he knew and some besides. Wrought iron lantern posts stood at every corner, and Hulbard found himself struggling to imagine what it must once have looked like, all those years ago when the city had been filled with life.

Dozens of empty, shadow haunted doorways gaped at them as they began their ascent and everywhere he looked, Hulbard saw a riot of strange angles. Every building seemed to flow seamlessly into its neighbour with no clues as to how they might have been constructed, with strangely asymmetrical walls. There was no uniformity to the Roost, and though small, each building was unique to the next, despite their relatively small sizes. Something about the place, about the strangeness of the sharp and sloped angles surrounding them, was enough to make Hulbard feel nauseous.

Trastgor and Knox seemed to feel it too, since they fell into a scouting formation as they went without a word needing to be spoken. Hulbard led the way, with the Kurgal at his back, and everytime they encountered one of the many plazas honeycombing the structure, one would swing left while the other stepped right, under the watchful eye of Knox.

For all their care, though, nothing moved and the only sound was the wind thrumming through the archway, the air otherwise still and silent. There was no discussions now of exploration; the decision to leave the buildings they passed in peace was an unspoken one, but one they all understood. A smart decision, Hulbard thought, when they might wake up something best left to rot and slumber.

They'd been climbing for almost an hour, with scarcely a word said, before Hulbard stepped into a small, rectangular plaza set between a series of low buildings and paused. Dark stains were smeared across the otherwise pristine marble underfoot in sweeping arcs. Trails sprawled from splotches scattered across the open space, dwindling away towards the dark doorways on all sides. Frowning down at the mess, it wasn't hard to see that the faded, brown stains had been caused by blood and a great deal of it at that. More than any one man could ever hope to produce.

Humming thoughtfully, Hulbard cast a glance back towards his companions and reached for his helmet. Darkness fell as he slipped it on, but it wasn't long before a cloud of colours materialised and coalesced together to summon an image of the outside world. Breath ringing hollow in his ears, the warrior slid the reassuring weight of his war hammer into his hand, letting it hang by his side.

Nobody, not even Shankhill, said a word. Instead, Trastgor slipped right and Knox moved left, an arrow already set to string, eyes scanning their surroundings like a hawk. Hulbard's grim faced helmet swung left and right, following the patterns of dried, age old blood. For better or worse, he'd had some experience with scenes of slaughter in the past and this was, by far, not nearly the worst.

By following the patterns left behind on the stone, he was able to begin piecing together clues about what had likely happened there. The chaos spilled outwards from the heart of that space, which meant the victims had been gathered together before being set upon. Whether they'd been herded there by their killers, or had simply gathered there voluntarily, there was no way to tell but that didn't really matter anyway. Instead, Hulbard looked at how the blood had fallen from the likely areas of impact, how the fluid had splashed and spattered the immaculate marble. He quickly surmised that a wide bellied blade had been used, or several of them, to create the arching sprays of blood he saw before them now. A polearm, he would have said if he'd had to bet on it.

He followed droplets where the wounded had tried to turn and flee, only to be cut down from behind, took in a great splash where someone lying prone must have had their skull smashed apart by a blunt weapon, or perhaps the butt of a spear, recreating a massacre in his mind without any solid details to rely on.

Bodies had clearly been dragged into the surrounding buildings, judging by the trails leading into their doorways, but what had happened within those shadowy structures was something he felt no desire to investigate. How the blood still remained after so many years under the sun, the wind and the rain was another question he didn't want to dwell on and a quick glance at his companions showed each of them taking stock of the scene, drawing their own conclusions. All except Shankhill and Semekt, of course, since one had no eye for such things and the other couldn't even see the blood.

They climbed higher and with each new clearing they encountered, they were met with similar scenes of violence ranging from more bloody trails to chipped stone walls struck by passing weaponry and all the while, the tension surrounding them continued to grow until Hulbard felt it around them like a physical entity. It wasn't fear, but it was an alertness that gripped them all now.

With each new discovery, the carnage only grew worse. The sight of dried blood, and the stories they told, weren't nearly enough to unnerve him though. He'd survived everything they'd faced in Dalaghast so far, after all, and everything before that as well. As it stood, Hulbard felt little uncertainty about his own survival; he trusted his lightning clad armour to protect him against anything the city could throw at them. Within it, he was as near impervious as anyone he'd ever seen. Hulking monsters had scarcely scratched it, after all, and it had turned aside hundreds of blades in the past.

Beyond a fall to the plaza far below, he feared nothing they might meet. The drop alone rattled his nerves, the great height that was only growing greater with every step he took that could render his armour worthless with a single wrong step. Even if everyone around him were to fall, he trusted his armour, his strength and his skill to see him through any situation. Alive, but in a distinctly awkward position without at least Quintus to help guide them home.

His thoughts were cut short as they surmounted a long, narrow staircase and emerged into another wide, circular plaza. A tall stone pillar stood at its heart, etched with a myriad of swirling symbols that reminded Hulbard briefly of the sea. He only noticed these after the bones though. A ribcage, two arms and a skull leaned back against the base of that stone pillar, pinned to it by a large two handed sword through the chest. The bleached bones were held together by strands of grey gristle and faded red sinew. Hulbard drew up at the sight of it and his companions filed into the plaza to either side. Finally, their silence was broken, but not by any of them.

With a brittle click, the skull turned to face them. A dull, blue ember flared to life in one socket while the other gaped empty and together, they froze the adventurers where they stood. Skeletal fingers rose to grasp at the blade and the skull's jaw yawned as bone scraped uselessly against metal. A guttural whisper, harsh as the wind through snow capped peaks, filled the plaza.

"Release me," it commanded.

"That's impossible," Hulbard heard Skye mutter, but he couldn't drag his eyes away from the sight resting in that wind blown plaza.

"I've thought the same a hundred times over since we arrived in this city, yet here we are," Quintus said in a grim tone, "But you are right. Like most things in this cursed place, and by all the rules of Sorcery as I know them, this shouldn't be possible".

“What do we do?” his Apprentice asked in a quick, low voice.

“Release me,” the voice came again, sweeping through the plaza like a cold breeze, plucking at their clothes and hair, “Unsheathe this blade from this pillar and grant me peace”.

“That doesn’t seem like a smart idea,” a note of uncertainty had joined the fear in Skye’s voice now.

“It isn’t,” Quintus agreed grimly, “This entire archway is wreathed in ancient Sorcery. Touching that sword might kill us all. Or worse”.

“There’s a ‘worse’ than death?” Shankhill winced.

“Ask him,” the Sorcerer said, pointedly gesturing towards the skeleton.

“I have a better question,” Knox muttered to them before calling, “What’s your name?”

“My name was Darthalius,” the reply came like grating, shifting stone on the breeze.

“What happened to you?” the hunter asked, slowly striding forward, surveying the scene.

“I lie here, betrayed by my brother’s hand,” the voice hissed, like wind crooning through split stone, “When the steps ran red, we descended into the streets to cleanse the fearful and the mad. He lost himself to his frenzy and here I have remained ever since”.

“I am no Shaman, but even I can see that whatever force is twisting this city has sank its claws into this poor soul,” Trastgor growled, before continuing in a softer tone, laden with measured respect, “What were you fighting before your brother’s betrayal?”

“Madness incarnate”, the creature’s whisper sent a chill up Hulbard’s spine.

“That’s ominous,” Shankhill commented dryly.

“By what manner of Sorcery are you still trapped here?” the Kurgal asked, with a warning glance towards the human.

“Dalághast is mired in curses,” the grating words sawed through the air, “Many exist here beyond the clutches of death, if they have but the will”.

“So you have been here, pinned to that stone...for what?” Quintus asked, “Centuries?”

“I have”.

“Shame you didn’t have some dice to help pass the time,” Shankhill put in, and this time Hulbard joined Trastgor in glaring back at the man, neither in much mood for his nervous humour.

“Release me, and I will walk with you,” the creature told them and this time, there was something earnest in that gruesome mockery of a voice, “I will lead you. Wherever you wish”.

“You don’t much look like you’ll be going far,” Knox said casually, still pacing around the plaza. “You have no legs”.

The skeletons head clicked and cracked as it turned to regard the hunter balefully.

“And yet, I would walk again,” it rasped, like the dull edge of a blade scratching against stone, edged with iron.

“Quintus?” Knox asked.

“We don’t touch the sword,” the Sorcerer responded instantly.

“Why can’t it take out the sword?” Skye asked.

“Any curse is tricky, but...I suspect these remains are little more than a vessel for the man that once used them,” her Master mused, stroking his braided beard, “Curses are designed to take effect until a set of parameters are met. Those parameters in this case, might require someone else to free this soul”.

Knox’s grey eyes shifted to Hulbard’s gem studded visage.

“We could do with a guide,” the hunter shrugged, “Someone with a little knowledge of this place. Someone that won’t come and go as they please”.

“There’s no denyin’ that,” Hulbard agreed, but the idea of crossing Quintus’ knowledge still sent an uncomfortable twinge through his body.

“An unpleasant scene, this,” Trastgor rumbled, “To see so many stand idle and weigh one soul’s suffering against both suspected dangers and promised benefits”.

The Kurgal worked his jaw for a moment, spat to one side and shook his head in disgust.

“We must end this suffering”.

“Didn’t know your breed could feel pity,” Quintus eyed Trastgor warily, “But now is not the time for it. Trust me on this. That sword could sunder this entire plaza if it is dragged from that stone”.

“No such thing will happen,” the skeleton spoke and again, there was iron in that patient, cracked voice, “No harm will befall you. I swear it. I will simply be released and I will honour my promise to you in any way I can. I have rested here with nothing but the passing years for company and will rest here for a thousand more if you would not help me this day”.

Hulbard half turned to look at Quintus and he could almost see the war within his mind as the Sorcerer weighed a thousand thoughts at once. He hesitated where Trastgor didn’t, gave the Kurgal every opportunity to do what he did next.

“Enough,” Trastgor growled, “I will not, through idleness, condemn this soul to suffer for eternity”.

He strode forward and Knox’s eyes darted first to Hulbard and then to Quintus, searching for any kind of sign from either that he should intervene. Finding none, he simply stood aside and set to noisily licking his teeth. The Kurgal reached out, wrapped his large hands around the grip of the two handed sword and heaved against it. The muscles in his arms stood rigid, writhed across his shoulders as the Kurgal grit his teeth and used all his strength to lever the weapon free with an ear splitting rasp.

The skeleton collapsed to the floor with a disconcerting rattle. Trastgor flung the blade aside with a nerve jarring clang and, even before the noise had faded, a new one rose to take its place. There was a ponderous rumble from within the depths of a nearby, cylindrical building, as if slick flesh against stone. They all turned to regard the empty doorway in time to see a vaguely humanoid form duck into view. Hulbard went suddenly cold from head to toe as the creature stepped into the light.

He was faced with another twisted amalgamation of bruised flesh that looked like it had been stitched together by a madman and a blind one at that. Hulbard glimpsed an impression of wrongness; too many arms sprouting from a triangular body, a featureless lump pf a head, legs reversed at the joints like a dogs, before the creature leapt into the air. His muscles twitched but his instincts were frozen.

It landed on the stone spire and scuttled down it headfirst with the sound of too much flesh pattering against stone. Reaching the ground, it crouched over the skeletal remains and Hulbard saw one large hand reach down. Clasping the ribcage, the creature rose back to its full height and half turned to face them. There was a sickening snap and slithering squelch as its chest split wide open, revealing a maw of boneless meat and muscle within. The monster fed the remains into the gaping wound and it sealed up behind them, knitting seamlessly back together as they watched.

A shudder rolled through its entire body before the beast fully turned to loom over them. Its smooth face split apart with a nerve grating sound of tearing flesh to form a hollow in that great lump of flesh. Within, a blue ember blazed into unholy life. Another shudder jolted through its grotesque body before the monster took a clumsy step forward and raked the plaza with its sapphire gaze.

Hulbard felt a cold uncertainty settle over his shoulders as that firey orb returned to their group and settled on Trastgor.

"My thanks," that was stronger now, clearer, but still seemed to echo at them from all sides rather than emerging from the creature before them.

Trastgor nodded his head in reply, before that ember orb shifted, glaring balefully over the Kurgal’s shoulder at Quintus and if the Sorcerer felt any discomfort, he didn't show it.

"What are you?" the old man breathed, "I've never seen a construct like this before. I didn't even know it was possible to create something like this".

"Those with the will to, persist in this place," the voice intoned gravely, "Alongside those who have done grievous evil. This shell is my will made manifest. While I lay entombed within my own body, my will did not break and I used it to create this form, so that I might one day use it to walk again".

There was an unwholesome, wet sound as four arms spread wide from the constructs shoulder blades.

"I willed it into a shape I could use to pull that sword free, but even this could not break the curse this place had cast upon me".

"Curses are tricky things," Quintus repeated thoughtfully.

"We need to get to the peak," Knox spoke up, "There's a temple there we need to get inside".

"I can bring you there," it said firmly, already turning to slink across the plaza, "Follow in my footsteps. I shall not lead you astray".

It had already dropped to all six of its limbs and begun scampering up the next flight of steps, moving with nauseating fluidity, when Quintus' voice stopped it.

"Wait!" he called, "I have questions".

"Ask while we move," Hulbard said firmly, "Let’s get what we came here for".