The Dining Hall

Read to Players

The room is unusually bright as you enter. The ceiling here has been busted open — sixty feet or more above, a jagged hole lets in gray daylight, vines hanging down through the gap and swaying gently in the air from below.

A long wooden dining table dominates the center of the room, surrounded by six wooden stools. Two of them are on their sides. Several large bricks from the ceiling lie scattered around the table and across its surface.

Along the walls, torches sit in iron brackets — long darkened, the wax and oil of them gone cold for years beyond counting.

Directly across from you, a small wooden door stands closed. At the far end of the room, beyond the dining table, another single wooden door — also closed.