The building the celebratory ball was to be hosted in was, in a word, astounding. It stood in the centre of the estate and consisted of fluted arches and vaulted ceilings, constructed of great brown stones quarried from some coast far to the east that made up the interlocking corners of the building. The main body consisted of glistening limestone, coated with a surface cover that immunized itself from the depredations of rainfall and kept its lustre and colour. Like a cathedral, its roof was capped with towering spires and flying buttresses, interspersed with gryphonic gargoyles; long dead worthies of renown who had served the Stormcrown clan. The purple slate that formed the sloping, domed surface of the roof shone in the evening sunlight, and come nightfall, it would reflect the subtle hues of moonlight back onto its surroundings. Each of the walls was taken up by countless tall, arched windows of clear glass, each easily three times Handy's height that drew the light in, soaking the interior in glory. When the night came and the chandeliers of shining brass and glowing crystal shone, it would share its light in kind with the gardens outside.