It is a cold room in the middle of a city. Spartan, barren, and empty of any adornments aside from a beaten mattress lying in the corner. There is a bathroom, but it's hideously nasty, so I leave, my clothes still unwashed from the night before.
There are a large number of majestic, old oaks. One hundred years or more they have been growing, blocking the sunlight from the path below. Small shrubs sparsely populate the dark forest floor.
The path is narrow, but well-found. It seems to have been traveled a lot in not so recent times, but still maintains it's form, and shape.
It's a placid, calm lake without people around for miles. The water is cold and clear, lightly rippled by the wind.
It's a wooden flagon, plain and unadorned, but still usable, and clean.
The key is a plastic keycard, with no markings on it. It feels like it should open a room somewhere back in the city.