22. The Cellar Is Where Evil Has Slumber Parties With Despair
Puddles of rank, unspecific liquid inches deep underfoot. Mildewed boxes of alcopops that went out of style shortly before the bottles went out of date. The corpses of empty kegs, stained and calcified from overuse. That one crackling bulb over the far end that throws the shadows of crumbling shelving into stark, jittering relief. If the world has monsters, the beer cellar is where they hang out and play Twister. And, as one of the few people who knows how everything down here works, youve spent long hours sweating away in the flickering half-light, feet squelching in muck as you strain to change a barrel, bashing your head on the goblin-level ceilings and trying to ignore the muttering of rats...