The room is fairly large, and scarcely furnished. In the middle of the floor there is a wooden table, surrounded by three chairs. A simple shelf filled with books and scrolls stands next to the window. The bed is simple as well, though the mattress is soft and the linen white.
The window is open, and a slight breeze flows through, making the room slightly chilly. A windbell hangs by a thread tied to the windowsill, swinging about in the wind as it sounds.
An old clock hangs by the door, which is stout wood. The door is slightly ajar, creaking softly.
The forest is of a northerner sort, pines, birches and maple trees making it slightly airy, sunlight streaming through the treetops.
A beaten trail leads from the house. Narrow to the point of vanishing altogether, it leads deeper into the forest. Not quite a deer trail, it has the look of heavy feet upon it.
A merry brook runs first parallel to the path and then cuts it. Though the brook is but a few paces wide, the path seems to vanish on the other side. The clear water carries the scent of mountains and laughs as it sweeps through the forest. Sunlight glitters on the rapidly flowing water and a school of fish weaves its way among the smooth rocks.
A legged, simple wooden cup, smoothed out by the loving hands of a master woodsmith. Starting from small nobs at the edge of the cup, smooth crevasses run down the length of it.
A small brass key, laden with times. Green undergrowth surrounds it, making it nearly impossible to see. The key is rusted, having no markings or keychain of any sort.