You’re standing in a room. It’s poorly lit but in the dimness you can see the shape of a desk and attendant chair and the outline of a door. You approach the desk and after a little fumbling, you find a small candle in a holder and a box of matches. Upon lighting the candle, you can see that the room’s back wall has a painting on it.
You examine the painting. It’s a field of half-mown grass in mid-summer, almost white-yellow from sun bleaching. The canvas is roughly split into thirds by a man with a sickle with his back to the viewer and an enormous oak tree.
You may also examine the desk further. On the desk is a blotter and a half-empty bottle of ink. There is no quill. The drawers are empty, save for a stub of a pencil so small as to be unusable.
The door is locked.