The front of the temple was littered with potsherd and the disembodied limbs and heads of statues. Perhaps, in the past, the people of Ermor raged against the gods and threw their might against what they could. Even impotent rage would prove unfailing, given the lack of resistance from these lifeless objects. Perhaps looters other than Ruslan had already gone through the temple and broken these, perhaps thinking they were filled with offerings. Ruslan kept his thoughts to himself, and stalked after the others into the temple. His steps rang in the gloomy hall in cacophony with the others'. Giving his eyes time to adjust, Ruslan looked on as the greediest of the band took to turning over the place. Broken things, bones and dust. Nothing of value.
"Wot're we here for, geezer", shouted one of the looters with an imperious tone, "huh?"
The old man was in what seemed like silent reverie before the once-majestic throne and altar to the god of death, and deigned no answer. Perhaps he had died right then and there, kneeling almost as if in prayer. Bittersweet irony, thought Ruslan, as darkness swam before his eyes.
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Had to request a re-send of the turn. Exciting. It's a shame I spoiled the results of my brave expansion with the graphs - should we agree not to look at them, or should we agree that they're fair game?