Deep in the dank, dripping basement of the House of Paincakes Headquarters, it is very, very dark. No Terran alive could navigate the pitch blackness.
The two key words in that sentence, of course, are 'Terran' and 'alive,' for this is the very same basement that plumbers for hundreds of miles around call 'The Basement of Doom.'
Plumbers go in, but they don't come out- except one. One sole, solitary plumber has returned from the depths of the HoP basement still breathing and mostly intact, reeking of his own waste and...terror. Pure, unadulterated terror. He babbled incessantly about a maniacal blogger holding a strange, ornate box, and claimed to have found the remains of every other plumber that's disappeared in Basement of Doom.
And there have been many...
|* Walk it off, bro. You'll be alright...Somebody get this guy some gauze*|
Those rooms lie empty now, but a chill sense of something akin to anticipation hangs in the moist air, as if the rooms themselves hungrily await their masters return.
The thick iron chains clink against one another momentarily, disturbed by the pitter-patter passing of...a rodent, perhaps?
No. Not a rodent.