Ah...
Solmire, city of fire and vanity, had never been one for restraint, but on the eve of the pyrosanct's ball, it outdid even itself. By night, the entire kingdom thrummed like a living forge, every street a molten artery feeding toward the palace at its heart.
Inside the ballroom, chaos took the form of artistry. Servants scurried beneath floating braziers that burned without smoke, coaxing them higher with murmured spells until they hovered like captive suns. Above, chandeliers of fire-glass were hoisted into place, each crystal refracting flame into a thousand jeweled colors. The obsidian floor gleamed so perfectly it reflected the whole mad spectacle, a second ballroom turned upside down.
