It's warm with an oriental rug and a crimson couch with griffin talon feet. The room is a bit chilly in the back corner, but the front is warmed by a fire burning in a brick fireplace.
It's green, of course, but pretty primeval. There are ferns sprouting from just about every tree root, and the sound of birds fills the air. Sun shines in streaks through the trees, caught in the light mist that fills the forest
It's pretty obvious, but only a dirt path, covered with dead leaves, leading windingly through the forest, running down to a babbling brook.
It's a babbling brook, not too wide (maybe only seven or eight feet wide at the most), and only a foot or two deep. It is calm in places, but it can get a little turbulent in the shallower, rocky parts. The water is cold, quite cold, but clean and clear, and kind of refreshing to wade into.
It's a goblet, probably made out of bronze or copper, with an intricate series of impressions around the lip, making interesting designs that stretch down over the cups sides. The cup itself sits atop a stem that extends down a bit and flares out at the bottom.
It's shiny, polished copper or gold even. It is small, with a hollow ring for one end, and two little teeth at the other. Very stereotypical actually. It looks like the sort of key that would open an old lock or cabinet.