Father Smith nods. "The gods go with you then." He glances to the side: "Brother Lake?"
A short, wiry looking half elf steps forward. "Of course, Father. Follow me, please." With that, he opens the door and leads the three of you into the hill. Down a short ramp is the cellar itself; a stone vault some 15 feet wide and forty feet long which has three rows of barrels stacked up on guides. Or rather, two and a half rows; one of them is half empty, and the wall has an opening about six feet high and four feet wide near the back where the barrels aren't. Dirt was tracked in rather freely, but the most of the stone from the wall was neatly stacked to the side, and some of the stones were rearranged with a few wedges to form an arch to hold up the wall over the hole. Brother Lake points to that. "Whoever they are, they're skilled masons. I didn't want to say this in front of some of my brothers and sisters, but I suspect dwarves were involved."