The room is small, boxlike, empty. The green paint covering the plaster walls is aged and cracked. The concrete floor is unfinished. Cold air wafts through the solitary, barred window set high in the wall. A door opposite the window leads outdoors.
The forest is dark, foreboding. Huge conifers dominate, with the spaces between the trees filled with thick, lush undergrowth. There is a heavy odor of pine and humus.
A path leading through the forest is narrow, given to neglect. Obviously little-used, it's overgrown here and there with vegetation, cracked and split with clumps of verdant weeds.
A spring nearby feeds a rushing stream that pools here in a brightly-lit clearing. Gushing water rolls and crashes down the rise over sharp rocks, collects here in a deep, natural pool, and flows onward through the forest. The water in the pool is clean, crystal-clear, and inviting.
The vessel is a golden goblet, traced with fine etchings and encrusted with precious gems.
It's an iron skeleton key, beat up and ancient-looking. It looks as though it would open an old attic door, or maybe an old chest.