Charis - Pools of Healing
General Summary
As you make your way through the wealthier district of the ruined town, the remnants of its former grandeur are still visible beneath the decay. A small building stands alone in what was once a beautifully maintained garden. The stone beds that once held vibrant flowers and lush greenery are now choked with wild overgrowth, vines creeping over low walls, and weeds pushing up through the cracks in the paved walkways. Faded, wrought-iron lamp posts line the path, their delicate curves and flourishes now marred by rust. The glass lanterns that once housed warm, inviting light have long since shattered, their jagged remnants glinting dully in the faint sunlight.
The building itself is modest in size but intricate in design, crafted from pale stone that has darkened with age and exposure. The front facade is adorned with elegant carvings—delicate vines and swirling patterns etched into the stone—but time and weather have softened their details. Stained glass windows, once vibrant with color, are now shattered, their jagged edges catching the light like fractured jewels. Bits of deep blues, rich purples, and fiery golds still cling to the frames, hinting at the artistry that once decorated this place.
The entrance is framed by filigree iron doors, their intricate patterns of curling vines and flowers now twisted and broken. One door hangs askew on its rusted hinges, the other lies half-buried in the weeds, its delicate patterns warped and torn as if forced open long ago.
As you step inside, the air is cool and still, thick with the scent of dust and damp stone. The once-polished stone floor, veined with deep emerald and ivory, is now dulled and cracked with age. Scattered across the floor are the broken remains of decorative planters, their finely carved stone shattered into jagged pieces. Dry, brittle vines have crept through the cracks, winding their way through the debris, as if nature is slowly reclaiming what was left behind.
A dark stain mars the floor, an ominous smear of dried, blackened residue trailing toward the grand staircase that descends beneath the earth. Whatever happened here, it was not swift nor clean. The stain pools near the top step, then disappears into the shadows below.
The staircase itself is striking, its craftsmanship undeniable even in decay. The banisters are made of an exquisite greenish metal, shaped into delicate vines that curl and twist like living tendrils frozen in time. Despite the years, they still gleam faintly in the dim light, untouched by rust. Their elegance stands in stark contrast to the ruin around them.
A few benches line the walls, their carved wooden frames long since weakened by time and neglect. Some remain standing, though their cushions have rotted away, while others have collapsed into splintered heaps. The room is eerily quiet, the only sound your own footsteps echoing softly off the stone as you stand before the descending stairway, where the darkness below seems to beckon.
Five stone doorways lead off from this central hall. One stands at the very end, slightly larger than the others, its presence commanding. Two more flank the hall, each set into opposite walls, and another pair rests on either side of the staircase behind you. Each doorway is veiled by a curtain of fine crystal beads, their strands swaying gently in the faint currents of air. Despite their age, the beads remain strangely untouched by dust or decay, catching the dim light in glimmers of blues, purples, and pale gold.
As you step through the doorway beside the stairs, you enter a large, dimly lit room. The air is cool and carries the faint scent of stone and dampness, mingled with the quiet remnants of something that once smelled sweet, now faded with time. The room is expansive, with high stone walls and a vaulted ceiling that gives the space an echoing emptiness. Rows of stone benches stretch down the center of the room, their surfaces smooth from use but weathered by age. The benches are arranged in neat lines, as if they once served a communal purpose, but now they stand empty and forlorn. Some are cracked, their edges worn, and the stone beneath them is chipped and uneven. Moss and lichen have begun to creep across the stone, adding splashes of green to the otherwise grey and worn surroundings. Along one of the walls, shelves were once filled with bottles of some kind, but now they are nearly all broken or shattered, leaving only a few remnants of glass and cork behind. Some shelves still hold half-tumbled bottles, their contents long gone, but their remnants still catch the light in faint, glassy reflections. The bottles’ labels are indistinguishable, their inscriptions worn away by time and decay. On another wall, small cubbies have been carved into the stone, creating shallow alcoves. These cubbies seem to have once held items but now they stand empty. The cubbies are worn in places, as though time itself has made its mark here, their edges softened and rounded with the passing years.
As you step through the doorway to the left of the stairs, you enter a large, open room, its expanse stretching before you in quiet stillness. The air is damp, and the faint scent of moisture lingers, mingling with the earthy smell of stone. The sound of running water fills the room, though it’s softer now, the flow reduced to a mere trickle. The walls are lined with large sconces, their metal frames intricately wrought with delicate patterns, but most of the sconces remain unlit, their once-brilliant light long extinguished. A few still hold dim, flickering embers or small, weak flames, casting long shadows across the room and revealing glimpses of its once-grand design. At the center of the room sits a large, black pool, its waters thick with age and shadowed by years of neglect. The water, once clear and shimmering, now looks as though it has absorbed the darkness of the room, swirling with a deep, almost impenetrable hue. The surface is still, save for the occasional ripple, as if disturbed by some unseen force beneath. The pool’s edge is cracked and uneven, the stonework rough where time has eroded its once-pristine features. In the middle of the pool stands a fountain, its shape still discernible but worn and weathered by time. The fountain, which once would have cascaded water into the pool, now produces little more than a thin, feeble trickle, dripping softly into the murky depths below. At the very center of the fountain stands a statue—a striking representation of three women, carved with elegance and grace, their features softened by age but still recognizable. They are depicted holding a small basin together, their hands cupped delicately beneath it. The basin looks as though it once held something significant, something large and round, but whatever that object was is now long gone, leaving the basin hollow and empty, the stone rim chipped and eroded. Water once cascaded from a small waterfall above, now barely a trickle that flows from the ceiling into the basin, creating a faint, almost mournful sound. The room feels heavy with silence, and the water’s slow drip echoes in the stillness, as though the very room mourns the loss of whatever once was here. The dark pool and the empty statue speak of forgotten rituals, a place that once held significance, now left in solitude. The faint trickle of water is all that remains of its former grandeur.
As you step through the doorway to the right of the stairs, you find yourself in a room that mirrors the one to the left—identical in size, shape, and structure, though there are subtle differences that speak to its own unique history. The air is heavy with the scent of damp stone, and the sound of trickling water fills the space with a serene, almost mournful cadence. Much like the other room, large sconces line the walls, their wrought metal frames still intricate and graceful, though the flames that once illuminated the room have long since flickered out. A few remain with faint embers, casting weak light across the stone, but it does little to chase away the shadows that cling to the edges of the room. At the center of the room, there is another large pool—this one also black, its dark waters reflecting the dim light of the room. Like its twin across the hall, the pool once held the promise of beauty, but now it is a dark and silent expanse. The stone around it is worn, with cracks running through the surface, evidence of age and neglect. A single fountain stands at the center of the pool, similar in shape to the one across the way, though it is here that the most significant difference becomes apparent. The fountain's base is occupied by a statue. The pose is nearly identical to the other statue, but with a notable difference: instead of 3 women, these figures are a pair of women and a man. Interestingly, one of the women is the same as one of the women from the other fountain. The basin, like the other one, appears to have once held something grand, something now long absent. The absence of that object leaves the basin hollow, and the stone around its rim is worn and chipped with age. Water still trickles gently from above, just as it did in the other room, though the stream here is soft and sparse, barely enough to create the faintest ripple across the surface of the black pool.
As you step into the doorway at the end of the hall, you are greeted by a quiet, serene scene that feels different from the other rooms you’ve explored. Two stone benches sit on either side of the doorway, their surfaces smooth but weathered by time. They stand as if placed for quiet contemplation, perhaps once inviting those who entered to pause and reflect. The room itself is modest in comparison to the grandeur of the previous spaces, yet there’s a peaceful aura here that draws you in. At the center of the room, three statues stand together—a woman and two men, all carved from the same soft stone, their features refined and elegant, though time has taken its toll on their once-detailed surfaces. The woman at the center is the same one you’ve seen in the fountains in the other rooms, her likeness repeated in each space. She stands with grace, her expression calm and gentle, her hands cradling a small, simple stone cup—something unassuming but significant. At their feet, the earth is alive in a way that stands in stark contrast to the silence of the rest of the building. A spring bubbles up from the ground, its waters crystal clear and fresh. The sound of the water gently trickling into a small stone basin carved into the floor is the only sound that fills the space, its gentle murmur creating a sense of calm. The basin itself is simple, elegant in its design—nothing ornate, but carefully crafted to catch the pure water flowing from the spring. The water, unlike the dark, stagnant pools in the other rooms, is cool and clean, as if it’s untouched by time, untouched by the decay around it.
As you step through the doorway beside the stairs, you enter a large, dimly lit room. The air is cool and carries the faint scent of stone and dampness, mingled with the quiet remnants of something that once smelled sweet, now faded with time. The room is expansive, with high stone walls and a vaulted ceiling that gives the space an echoing emptiness. Rows of stone benches stretch down the center of the room, their surfaces smooth from use but weathered by age. The benches are arranged in neat lines, as if they once served a communal purpose, but now they stand empty and forlorn. Some are cracked, their edges worn, and the stone beneath them is chipped and uneven. Moss and lichen have begun to creep across the stone, adding splashes of green to the otherwise grey and worn surroundings. Along one of the walls, shelves were once filled with bottles of some kind, but now they are nearly all broken or shattered, leaving only a few remnants of glass and cork behind. Some shelves still hold half-tumbled bottles, their contents long gone, but their remnants still catch the light in faint, glassy reflections. The bottles’ labels are indistinguishable, their inscriptions worn away by time and decay. On another wall, small cubbies have been carved into the stone, creating shallow alcoves. These cubbies seem to have once held items but now they stand empty. The cubbies are worn in places, as though time itself has made its mark here, their edges softened and rounded with the passing years.
As you step through the doorway to the left of the stairs, you enter a large, open room, its expanse stretching before you in quiet stillness. The air is damp, and the faint scent of moisture lingers, mingling with the earthy smell of stone. The sound of running water fills the room, though it’s softer now, the flow reduced to a mere trickle. The walls are lined with large sconces, their metal frames intricately wrought with delicate patterns, but most of the sconces remain unlit, their once-brilliant light long extinguished. A few still hold dim, flickering embers or small, weak flames, casting long shadows across the room and revealing glimpses of its once-grand design. At the center of the room sits a large, black pool, its waters thick with age and shadowed by years of neglect. The water, once clear and shimmering, now looks as though it has absorbed the darkness of the room, swirling with a deep, almost impenetrable hue. The surface is still, save for the occasional ripple, as if disturbed by some unseen force beneath. The pool’s edge is cracked and uneven, the stonework rough where time has eroded its once-pristine features. In the middle of the pool stands a fountain, its shape still discernible but worn and weathered by time. The fountain, which once would have cascaded water into the pool, now produces little more than a thin, feeble trickle, dripping softly into the murky depths below. At the very center of the fountain stands a statue—a striking representation of three women, carved with elegance and grace, their features softened by age but still recognizable. They are depicted holding a small basin together, their hands cupped delicately beneath it. The basin looks as though it once held something significant, something large and round, but whatever that object was is now long gone, leaving the basin hollow and empty, the stone rim chipped and eroded. Water once cascaded from a small waterfall above, now barely a trickle that flows from the ceiling into the basin, creating a faint, almost mournful sound. The room feels heavy with silence, and the water’s slow drip echoes in the stillness, as though the very room mourns the loss of whatever once was here. The dark pool and the empty statue speak of forgotten rituals, a place that once held significance, now left in solitude. The faint trickle of water is all that remains of its former grandeur.
As you step through the doorway to the right of the stairs, you find yourself in a room that mirrors the one to the left—identical in size, shape, and structure, though there are subtle differences that speak to its own unique history. The air is heavy with the scent of damp stone, and the sound of trickling water fills the space with a serene, almost mournful cadence. Much like the other room, large sconces line the walls, their wrought metal frames still intricate and graceful, though the flames that once illuminated the room have long since flickered out. A few remain with faint embers, casting weak light across the stone, but it does little to chase away the shadows that cling to the edges of the room. At the center of the room, there is another large pool—this one also black, its dark waters reflecting the dim light of the room. Like its twin across the hall, the pool once held the promise of beauty, but now it is a dark and silent expanse. The stone around it is worn, with cracks running through the surface, evidence of age and neglect. A single fountain stands at the center of the pool, similar in shape to the one across the way, though it is here that the most significant difference becomes apparent. The fountain's base is occupied by a statue. The pose is nearly identical to the other statue, but with a notable difference: instead of 3 women, these figures are a pair of women and a man. Interestingly, one of the women is the same as one of the women from the other fountain. The basin, like the other one, appears to have once held something grand, something now long absent. The absence of that object leaves the basin hollow, and the stone around its rim is worn and chipped with age. Water still trickles gently from above, just as it did in the other room, though the stream here is soft and sparse, barely enough to create the faintest ripple across the surface of the black pool.
As you step into the doorway at the end of the hall, you are greeted by a quiet, serene scene that feels different from the other rooms you’ve explored. Two stone benches sit on either side of the doorway, their surfaces smooth but weathered by time. They stand as if placed for quiet contemplation, perhaps once inviting those who entered to pause and reflect. The room itself is modest in comparison to the grandeur of the previous spaces, yet there’s a peaceful aura here that draws you in. At the center of the room, three statues stand together—a woman and two men, all carved from the same soft stone, their features refined and elegant, though time has taken its toll on their once-detailed surfaces. The woman at the center is the same one you’ve seen in the fountains in the other rooms, her likeness repeated in each space. She stands with grace, her expression calm and gentle, her hands cradling a small, simple stone cup—something unassuming but significant. At their feet, the earth is alive in a way that stands in stark contrast to the silence of the rest of the building. A spring bubbles up from the ground, its waters crystal clear and fresh. The sound of the water gently trickling into a small stone basin carved into the floor is the only sound that fills the space, its gentle murmur creating a sense of calm. The basin itself is simple, elegant in its design—nothing ornate, but carefully crafted to catch the pure water flowing from the spring. The water, unlike the dark, stagnant pools in the other rooms, is cool and clean, as if it’s untouched by time, untouched by the decay around it.
Report Date
28 Mar 2025
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