The Cellar
The Cellar of The Last Home is exactly what it should be—a cool, dark space beneath the kitchen, lined with shelves of preserved goods, barrels of flour, and casks of ale. It is always stocked, always sorted, and always precise.
And yet, despite its mundane nature, no one in their right mind enters the Cellar without permission. Not out of fear. Not out of superstition. But because Mama Jori always knows what’s in the Cellar. And more importantly, she always knows who’s in the Cellar.
And if she doesn’t?
Well.
Then you may have a problem.
A Place That Knows What It’s Doing, Even If You Don’t
The Cellar does not misbehave. It does not defy logic out of spite, nor does it rearrange itself purely to unsettle newcomers. It is, in fact, very well organized. It is just that… no one organizes it.
The barrels are always exactly where they need to be. The shelves are always full. If an item is missing, it will return in time. If something new is needed, it will arrive before anyone thinks to request it. No one sees it happen. No one asks questions.
Mama Jori does not question the Cellar. She always knows where everything is. If an ingredient cannot be found, she simply waits a few moments and checks again. It will be there. And if it isn’t—then you were not meant to have it. The staff follow her lead.
Restocking the Cellar
Restocking the Cellar is a simple process. You bring the supplies in, place them in the middle of the room, turn around, and—most importantly—you do not look back. If done correctly, the next time someone enters, the supplies will be neatly stored, categorized, and in precisely the right place.
No one has ever seen this happen. No one has ever watched the shelves fill themselves. But they do.
Once, a new hire made the mistake of turning back. They saw something. They refused to say what. They also refused to enter the Cellar ever again. Mama Jori said nothing. The staff followed her lead.
The Rats
There are rats in The Last Home. These are not the ordinary, scrabbling little creatures found in most taverns—chewing through sacks, stealing crumbs, and darting into the shadows at the first sign of movement. These are bigger. Smarter. Faster.
These do not scurry.
They watch.
They hunt.
They have very sharp teeth.
Most of the time, Whiskers handles it. The drake takes his pest control duties seriously, and as far as anyone knows, no rat has ever bested him. Usually.
Occasionally, one survives. Even more occasionally, one gets out.
And when that happens, it is best not to ask where it has gone, or what it has learned. Just hope that, when Whiskers finds it, he is still the biggest thing in the room.
The Lost and The Found
Occasionally, someone retrieving supplies will find something that should not be there. A sack of onions might become a carefully wrapped package of unknown origin, labelled in a language no one can read. A bottle of vinegar might shift just slightly to the left, revealing a key to a door that no longer exists.
Most of these objects are ignored, returned to the shelf, or, in the case of the key, quietly placed back exactly as it was found. Some, however, are not so easily dismissed.
There are things in the Cellar that do not belong.
The trick is knowing what is safe to take.
And knowing when to walk away.
The Rules of the Cellar
There are few rules, but they are unspoken and absolute.
Mama Jori does not question the Cellar.
The staff follow her lead.
You take what you need.
You do not go looking for anything you do not need.
You do not open barrels that are not already in use.
You do not question the things that appear on the shelves.
And most importantly—
You do not enter the Cellar without Mama Jori’s permission.
Partly out of respect.
But mostly—mostly—because if she doesn’t know you are down there, the chances of you getting out are very, very low.
Final Thoughts
The Cellar is not haunted.
It is not dangerous.
It is not malevolent.
But it has opinions.
Mama Jori does not question the Cellar.
And if Mama Jori does not question something, neither should you.
At A Glance
Atmosphere
A cool, dimly lit space beneath the kitchen, filled with the scent of aged wood, dried herbs, and something faintly metallic. The air is thick with the quiet certainty that everything is exactly where it should be—even if no one remembers putting it there.
What It Is
A vast, perfectly organised storage space that never runs out of stock, never stays the same for long, and does not take kindly to unnecessary questions.
How It Works
Supplies are brought in, placed in the centre of the room, and left alone. They will be sorted. No one sees how. No one asks.
Who Runs It
Mama Jori. She alone knows where everything is. She does not question the Cellar. Neither should you.
The Rats
Not ordinary vermin. They are big. They are clever. They hunt. Whiskers deals with them—most of the time. Occasionally, one gets out. No one talks about those times.
The Lost and the Found
Things appear in the Cellar that were not put there. A missing crate may return, but not where it was left. A misplaced bottle may bring with it something else—something wrapped, labelled in a language no one reads, or humming faintly with the promise of being better left untouched.
The Rules
Do not question the Cellar. Do not enter without permission. Do not touch what you do not need. And, above all, if you hear something moving in the dark—leave.
Final Warning
The Cellar is not haunted. It is not dangerous. It simply is. And if Mama Jori does not question it, neither should you.
Comments