After they had taken shelter from the blizzard, they had passed through what appeared to be a large dining hall, a barracks, and an armory or a blacksmith. Or so he thought, judging by the long cooled furnace and ancient, black iron anvil that looked like it was shorn in half. Handy made a mental note to never find out what horrendous force had done that to a solid block of metal. Continuing on, the witch torch led them in the direction of what appeared to be the storehouses of the ruins they were now rummaging through. They ranged from small cupboards, to glorified closets, to storerooms, to one store room that looked like a proper warehouse, in sheer size if nothing else. It was dimly lit by crystalline growths in the ceiling. Most of whatever these rooms had held had decayed to dust, and what had not been destroyed by time was of little interest, except for the occasional cache of crystals.