This remind of a story my uncle Bobbin used to say, in between asking us if we were his mother. You see, uncle Bobbin was what you would call an opportunist, and he had his pry-bar and bucket of water with him at all times. He and his companions - the so called Alibi Gang - had a brilliant idea of cleaning out an old dungeon and turning it into a turnip cellar. What you may not know is that turnips require storage in places of death and dread and dungeons or traditional gnomish cellars are perfect for it. Not that there is much dread or death in a gnomish cellar, mind you - gnomes are known to be peaceful folk - it just so happens that they are apt to emulate similar effects through their connection to illusion magic. And, as I'm sure you know, turnips are not very intelligent creatures, they can't really discern illusion from reality. Anyway, uncle Bobbin and his friends started cleaning vigorously. Any old garbage they found they moved out. And, since there was pawn shop nearby and the Alibi Gang felt that a compensation for their good deed wouldn't hurt, they sold the useless crowns and jewels and other such trash. They knew that a long time ago a grumpy wizard decided to make his home underground in the very same dungeon they were cleaning, but they rationalized that since the mage was human, he must've surely perished from the old age. You see, old age is caused by build up of a very nasty miniature imps, that gather in dirty places, that is why your mother cleaned your house every week, and that is why gnomes do the same every day and live to such respectful old age. But I digress.