The kitchens seem to be in near-constant motion, teapots whistling on every stove, and the smell of bread (always bread) lingering in the air. A large blackboard hangs on the far wall with today's meal options written in three different handwritings, all arguing via crossed-out words.
Pots and pans are arranged via hooks on the wall based on size and shape, creating an almost puzzle-esque mosaic in an effort to make them all fit.
Student stations, for those in official culinary clubs or those who just have a passion for it, are pushed haphazardly in one corner, implying that a hard-fought battle was only fractionally won in some year long passed. All are tepidly welcome, so long as they clean up after themselves.

Largely used as a storeroom for both the kitchens and the alchemy classroom, the cellars have a uniquely earthy scent to them, both from the subterranean nature of the space, as well as from all the herbs and other aromatic plants that are stored within it. Cherry, oak, and elm wood barrels line the walls, and shelves laden with large wheels of cheese and various canned goods stand ready to feed hungry students. Disconcertingly, the northernmost wing of the cellars is dedicated to far less appetizing alchemy ingredients such as beetle eyes, boomslang skin, and flobberworm mucus. Pray that the kitchen staff never gets these two sets of jars confused. Quiet and scarcely occupied, the cellars have a reputation for being the ideal locale for the occasional unsavory meetup between ne'er-do-wells.

Tucked into one of the castle’s lower corridors stands aweathered iron arch, beside which sits a carved stone hellhound. Most mistake it for house decoration until they step close, when the hound will lift its head and greet those who come near. The hound speaks, a voice only heard by the one he speaks to, and asks a question. Questions range from surface level to profound, but are always personal. Students who have developed a good relationship with the hound tend to be asked questions that are easier to answer.
To pass into their commons, a Modron student must answer the hound’s question and, in turn, ask one of their own. The exchange must be genuine; careless or self-serving words earn only silence. If the student engages sincerely, the hound replies to the question, then the archway ripples open to reveal the staircase down into the Modron common room.
Fail to ask, or take too long to do so, and the hound refuses to yield. Instead, it continues its own line of inquiry, asking follow-up questions one after another. Some students have found themselves stuck in its relentless conversation for hours, answering politely while the entrance stubbornly refuses to yield.

Tucked away in one of the corridors near Mercator house is a mirror, which reflects normally by day, but shows no reflection at dusk. If you stand close to the mirror and speak the correct password, the glass turns liquid and pulls you through, like passing through water.

Not far from the Greenhouses lies a path leading downhill, ending at a cellar door. Opening it, you'll find a stone hallway that opens up into a circular room with a curved ceiling. The Alchemy classroom is filled with the scent of herbs and earth, and the slight smell of something unpleasant that students don't want to name. Long worktables scarred by heat and age, stretch across the room, each neatly equipped with mortars, pestles, cauldrons, and vials. Shelves line the walls, stocked with jars of dried leaves, roots, powders, and animal parts that may make students squirm if they look too long. A small variety of potted magical plants reaches toward the high, arched windows beside botanical sketches and centuries-old notes pinned to the walls.