The treetop hall is hewn from a decaying dark bamboo, thick branches of the tree bending into beams and rafters as if the forest itself consented to shelter its guests. Shafts of sunlight spill through narrow gaps in the canopy, staining the air in hues of green and gold, while dust motes drift like lazy fireflies. Tables are rough-cut planks lashed together with rope, their surfaces scarred by knives and tankards, yet sturdy enough for warriors and wanderers alike. Bright lanterns hang from twisted roots above in colors of red and orange, swaying gently, their glow throwing long, skeletal shadows against the bark walls. Cloth drapes from the ceiling in bright colors, trying to put forth a facade of the true identity of such and evil place