Charis - Water Resevoir

As you approach the small stone building, the first thing that strikes you is its simplicity. It’s round, with smooth stone walls worn by time and weather, almost as if the building has grown from the earth itself. There is no grand entrance, no ornate carvings or displays—just the plain stone structure standing quietly in the midst of the overgrown landscape.   A broken door swings slightly on its hinges, creaking in the wind, while above it, a small, shattered window allows a glimpse of the darkened interior. The glass in the window is cracked, with jagged edges of old, stained panes scattered on the ground beneath it. The door itself looks weathered and worn, as though it has seen decades of neglect, with the wood warped and cracked. No signs or markings hint at what the building once was, leaving only an air of mystery.   As you step closer, the darkness inside seems almost palpable, like a heavy curtain waiting to swallow up the light. From the doorway, you can barely make out the faint outline of a winding staircase descending into the ground below, its steps disappearing into the shadows. The air around you feels cool and damp, as if the building has been closed off from the outside world for a long time, its secrets hidden deep within.   A faint smell of earth and old stone wafts from inside, mixing with the musty scent of forgotten things. The quiet is almost oppressive, and you get the distinct sense that this place has been left undisturbed for a long time, its history buried beneath the weight of time.   The staircase, though narrow and worn, beckons you forward. It looks sturdy enough to support your weight, though the darkness below seems to hold something just out of sight, perhaps waiting for you to make your move. The silence of the place seems to press in on you, broken only by the distant rustling of the wind through the surrounding trees.   You step cautiously through the broken doorway, entering the dim interior of the small stone building. The air is musty, heavy with the smell of wet stone and old earth. Your footfalls echo faintly as you move across the cold, hard floor, and the darkness ahead only grows deeper as you step further inside.   The staircase begins its descent immediately, winding downward in a spiral. The stone steps are worn with age, and some are cracked or uneven, making the way a bit precarious in places. A few steps feel loose underfoot, threatening to shift with even the slightest pressure, but with careful attention, you manage to navigate them without incident. Each step creaks underfoot, but there’s a strange stillness around you as if the building has been silent for ages.   Faint, soft light begins to emerge as the descent continues. Crystals embedded in the stone walls glow weakly, casting a soft, ethereal light that reflects off the surfaces of the damp stones, flickering like distant stars. Their faint glow is just enough to guide your way, their glow almost as if the very walls themselves are alive with the passage of time.   The air around you is thick with moisture, and as you move further down, you notice the temperature rising slightly, the dampness clinging to your skin. The coolness of the upper rooms fades away, replaced by a growing humidity that seems to fill your lungs with each breath. It’s almost as if the deeper you go, the more the earth itself wraps itself around you, and you can't help but feel the weight of the underground world pressing in on you.   Below, the sound of dripping water is faint but persistent, echoing in the distance like a quiet rhythm, its source hidden somewhere out of view.   You emerge into a vast cavern, the air thick with the cool dampness of the underground, and the space ahead stretches far and wide. The soft hum of water fills your ears, its rhythmic sound reverberating off the high, jagged ceiling above. Before you lies a large, deep reservoir of water, its surface still and clear, reflecting the dim light from the faintly glowing crystals scattered throughout the cavern.   Around the edge of the reservoir is a sturdy landing, a smooth stone platform that curves along its perimeter. A rail guards the edge, made of a material that seems immune to the water's natural corrosiveness. It’s solid, and in surprisingly good condition, despite the years of humidity and the constant presence of moisture in the air. Standing at the edge of the platform, you get a sense of the cavern's grandeur—this is no small, insignificant space, but a purposeful area built to contain and manage vast amounts of water.   Just to the side of the landing is a desk and a chair, remarkably well-preserved despite the elements. The chair’s wood is polished and the desk, though worn by age, remains sturdy. There’s an enchantment to them, surely, to withstand the dampness that permeates the air. The ink pots and quills resting upon the desk are dry, but the stone surfaces around the furnishings gleam as if untouched by time. It seems someone cared deeply for this space, or perhaps, someone still does.   The water in the large reservoir is a striking sight—clear, clean, and calm. It mirrors the surrounding cavern, the surface only broken by the gentle ripples of water moving through various channels. These channels, carved into the stone with precision, direct the water from this main pool to other areas of the cavern. One channel leads the water to another large pool nearby, one with fixtures set into its base that house pure white crystals. They glow faintly, their light soft and serene, but you notice that some of them have dimmed, their radiance almost gone. The crystals that still shine provide a gentle, ethereal light, illuminating the cavern in quiet, delicate hues.   Another channel of water heads toward one of two deep reservoirs situated on either side of the cavern. The first one holds similar white crystals to those in the other pools, their pale glow standing out in contrast to the dark stone. But the second reservoir contains an addition: orange crystals, like flickering embers, though they too have mostly faded. A few still emit a faint warmth, but many have long since burned out, their light extinguished by the passage of time. The light they once provided seems to have dimmed the cavern's energy, leaving behind only faint traces of their former brilliance.   A series of pipes extends from the pools, carrying water away to other parts of the cavern or to destinations beyond. You imagine these pipes must have once supplied water to the houses and businesses that depended on them, perhaps even a bathhouse nearby. The pipes are worn, some cracked, others obscured by moss and debris, but still functioning in parts. They snake their way through the stone like veins, carrying life to the city.   As you search the desk, your fingers brush against its smooth, well-preserved surface, a testament to whatever enchantment has kept it from succumbing to time and moisture. The drawers slide open with ease, revealing neatly arranged compartments, though their contents have been undisturbed for what looks like years—perhaps even decades.   Among the scattered papers, you find a worn leather-bound journal. The cover is cracked but intact, its edges softened from frequent use. As you flip through the pages, you see meticulous records, handwritten in an elegant but practical script. The journal appears to be a logbook, detailing the maintenance of the crystals and their replacement schedule.   The entries span decades, each one marking the date when the glowing crystals in the reservoirs were swapped out. It seems they needed to be changed every few years, the writer carefully noting when the old ones began to dim and when fresh ones were installed. There are references to fluctuations in their effectiveness—mentions of how some crystals burned out faster than others and the occasional note of concern about supply shortages.   Further in, you find records of shipments detailing the sources of the two types of crystals. The white crystals, used for purifying the water, were gathered from deposits near Bineth’s Temple. There’s mention of careful extraction, as though the process required both precision and reverence.   The orange crystals, which provided warmth to the reservoirs and pipes, were sourced from near Fryldrith’s Temple and Mount Ventstone, a volcanic region known for its powerful geothermal energy. The notes suggest that these crystals absorbed and retained heat from the mountain itself, allowing them to keep the water warm for years before needing replacement.   One of the last entries in the journal is written in a slightly more frantic hand, detailing a delay in a shipment of the orange crystals. The writer expresses concern that without them, the bathhouse and the city’s heating system may begin to cool. There’s no follow-up entry to indicate whether the shipment ever arrived.