The Echoing Ballroom

The walls are high, sandstone, covered in heiroglyphs and cartouches that are absolutely meaningless. In corners are set torches, high, burning a cold amber light that barely serves to light the entire room. Gold and silver glint from recesses in the walls, inviting closer examination. Jewels and sparkles gleam like frozen stars, draped over dessicated corpses with tattered wrappings. Each corpse is carefully situated to be just below eye level. It takes active effort to look at one, but their placement invites casual perusal. If one does not look at them, they shift. Just slightly. A finger. Perhaps they stare with an eye. It is, however, likely your imagination.

The buffet table is obviously a series of sarcophogi that have been moved and shifted, modified into the table they are now. Occasionally, one imagines from within a thump, or the sloshing of liquid, if not a combination of the two. But that's silly. Very silly. Glyphs on each translate into names without meaning. Yes, the thumps are just your imagination, and nothing more.

Despite the wide open door leading out to Strange on one side, and the large balcony looking out on the sea on the other side, the air is stale, musty, dusty, and hollow.

What

A safe haven for travellers.

A place to rest and eat.

A place to be social.

A Strange away from Strange.

A nightclub on some days. A ballroom on others. A mausoleum when it's not in use.

Where

Just off the main square, of course!

Why

Some need a place of safety even in the most terrifying of places. It is assured that you will not be harmed by the ballroom.