The room was stark white, with shelves and shelves of uncovered leather bound books written by classic authors. The room is warm with cool breezes that seem to come from nowhere. The bed I am in is the only furnishing in the room, except for the built-in wall-to-wall books. The sheets, blankets and pillow slips are white. There is a stark white canopy draped from the ceiling to cover the bed like a netting.
Dank and dark with a musty smell of mold surrounds me as I step over a thicket of huge overgrown roots from the ancient green trees that tower overhead, blocking almost all of the light, save one spot in the far distance that illuminates the forest path enough for me to work my way through, toward the light.
The path in the forest is overgrown with roots and plants, so I must step high and deftly to navigate it. I must stop several times to reevaluate where the path is, partly because of the dimness of light and partly because it is covered with overgrowth.
I hear water dropping into what sounds like a puddle, so I follow it. The sound echos less as I get closer to the light source at the end of the path. There is a pond of water that appears to be coming from and underground source. In the center of the body of water, a fountain pushes water up about eight inches. I touch the water, it smells of sulphur, and is thick to the touch. I refuse to taste it.
The urn is of hand thrown clay with paleolithic caricature painted on the side. It lays on its side next to the hand of an ancient, poorly preserved skeleton of, from my somewhat educated judgment of skeletal remains, determining the hip size, once belonged to a male. A fragment of rope is wrapped around the neck of the urn, I assume it was once used to carry the vessel
The key is really a delocking device, of credit card size and a magnetic strip on one side near the bottom. It is white with a ying/yang symbol on the opposite side of the magnetic strip. It reminds me of a Hotel Key used in the more modern Hotels of large cities.