The temple of Aries lies in ruins. Though it must once have been grand, majestic, its white stone and its statues now lie crumbled on the ground. It seems to have beeen neither particularly tall nor particularly grand. At some point, it must have been a library, as still hidden under the rubble are decaying books and ancient volumes.

The temple of Taurus is not so much a temple as it is a fortress. Built sturdy, defendable, and armed to the gills, one might tread lightly inside for fear of traps or the bodies of those who must have died defending it. At its center is what appears to be a giant birdcage— although its size reeks of other purposes...

The temple of Gemini is the temple of divisions. During the day, it appears almost white in the sunlight, while during the night, it reflects almost nothing. With two doors, two pedestals, and a pair of staircases leading to the ancient catacombs below, the temple of Gemini is perplexing and, at times, contradictory.

The temple of Cancer is perhaps the plainest of all temples, but by no means does that imply it's empty. At the center of the drab building sits a furnace that seems to have no fuel hold. While it would, in theory, heat up hot enough to melt even the most stubborn of metals, there seems to be no way to power it.

The temple of Leo is perhaps more aptly called 'the temple of light.' Thousands upon thousands of eternally-lit lanterns decorate the temple's interior, and these lanterns are reflected infinitely between hundreds of mirrors placed seemingly at random along the temple's walls. It's so bright that the entryway declares, "No shadows shall set foot here."

The temple of Virgo is by far the most inviting of the temples. It's squat and a bit homely, but beneath its roof lies what was arguably once the garden of Eden. It seems that every fruit and flower imaginable grows there. With careful tending, the multi-tiered garden could feed a small city.

The temple of Libra is not only symmetrical but circular, as well. Every aspect is repeated in the round, infinitely fractallized in a measured perfection. Nothing, it seems, is askew; everything is cut and straightened to an impossible degree. At its center, a twelve-part scale balances, empty and rusting away with time.

The temple of Scoripo seems to be bathed in a constant shadow. Though made of marble, the spoken word echoes little in its secluded halls. There are few torch braces along the walls, few places to hang lanterns— and it has a seemingly endless maze of nooks and crannies, making it the perfeet place for a secret rendezvous.

The light stone forming the temple of Sagittarius is scant, leaving all those inside exposed to the wind that constantly seems to plague it. Its circle of pillars is topped only by a single slab of stone, and rising through it is one slender stone tower from which nearly the entire city can be seen. The tower seems to have once functioned as a signal, as it has a large space from which to hang fires from the top.

Everything about the temple of Capricorn seems slightly askew. The architecture is near-imperceptibly tilted, the walls aren't plum, and the pillars aren't flush with their bases. It's in a state of constant disarray. Try to neaten it up, and it'll fall back into disorder again— it seems to have a mind of its own. It's larger than it appears, and it extends underground into a veritable labyrinth of siderooms filled with long-forgotten artefacts.

The temple of Aquarius is a tall, moody building steeped in age and decay. It always seems humid and carries a faint smell of seawater— largely in part to the fountain at its center that constantly burbles fresh but slightly salty water. It's very much overgrown and constantly slick.