The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Ancient, peeling murals depicting the Eight Trigrams of the I Ching cover the ceiling of some sort of derelict, ornate temple... the air's thick with dust and the smell of old smoke, like incense was burning here for years. Outside, a constant, ear-shattering roar is coming from a massive, iridescent waterfall somehow suspended in mid-air without, uh, anything actually feeding it. Umm, the sky above is a pale, hazy grey, and a light drizzle is falling, casting a misty veil over everything. The sound of scurrying, unseen creatures echoes through the halls.