Publisher's blurb: What once was a crumbling temple has become a desert stronghold. The main room of worship has been turned into a mess hall, with tables laden with drinks, weapons, maps, paperwork, books and food waiting before a statue of a robed figure holding an empty bowl. Intricate stone tiles are covered with rubble from the crumbling walls, or sand that has blown in from the road. A dry wind wails through the road in the center of the outpost, the dirt engraved with the ruts of wagon wheels. It is lined with wildflowers, and leafy, creeping plants which have partially overgrown the rest of the temple, too. Some rooms still contain stone benches covered with urns of the dead, while others have been cleared to fit desks or beds. Yet more have become cells, while a couple of caves have been turned into storage for food and weapons, or been strung up with hammocks over coarse hay. Blue water pools within a couple of them. Frogs call out from amidst the undergrowth, alongside crickets and, occasionally, cicadas.