The temple was old and damp. The roof was wood with stone arches, somehow still holding up a century of mud during the storm of the century. The walls were running stains down them as the water leaked inside, creating small pools in the corners that seemed to suck the heat from the room. Mud was flowing like a molasses waterfall from the hole Cashmere had made, and that the Yellow Jacket had contorted itself through, and out through the front doors, leaving the pulpit dry as an altar in Altheim.
But it was by no means dark. The temple glowed with a cruel, red light, with two beady eyes smoldering from the relief carvings above the podium. It was a temple to Zyke, with his massive image hanging above and looking down on them. Even at his full height, the Yellow Jacket was dwarfed by the carving, but his eyes glowed as well.
'How cruel, how painful. You wound me, and kill my son...'
The voice did not echo, it did not boom, it simply was, and there was no escaping it. The Yellow Jacket seemed to bristle and shake his head. It paced and prowled, heavy drops of blood hitting the ground as it exerted itself, and those drops of blood squirmed with life. It paced, looking over the two girls that had come with it. Young, fertile Nightwalkers.Fake logs are fun to write.