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Rain Drops
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A wall of warm, humid air as you enter the southern room.
It contains:
>A small, ornamental table, with a black square box about the size of a shoebox on top, inlaid with silver
>A carved ashwood stool before the table
>A miniature pond, neatly walled off by a two-foot high stone wall, with an estuary trailing into a low tunnel in the wall
>On the west end of the room, a rough-cut wooden table, flanked by two clay pots holding brambled flowers
>On the table, a meat cleaver, sitting in a brown splotch of dried blood
>A simple and severe door to the South, in appearance similar to your entrance
>A sturdy door to the West, jambed in brass
My pond catches your torchlight and throws it in a reflected tangle onto the ceiling.
I used to sit at that little table for hours and watch the fish swim around in there, just letting the ink bleed off my quill and ruin my treatises.
The fish are all gone now. But we've still plenty of ink.
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