The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Water's pouring straight up from a gleaming silver fountain at the center of a snow-covered courtyard, surrounded by intricately carved stone pillars that look like they've been pulled straight from Angkor Wat. The air's biting cold, with a heavy scent of cedar and juniper, and there's an electric charge building just above the rooflines of the nearby buildings, like right before a lightning storm. Uh, a delicate latticework of frost is forming across the stone flags, weaving together tiny, intricate sigils from the Elder Futhark in a pattern that's somehow echoing the movements of the rearranged constellation of Orion in the sky above.