Mibbet had learned a valuable, and somewhat itchy lesson. The take home lesson of the day was that swamps were less fun when you were human. She had taken her guards to explore while the celebration was prepared, and had found to her delight a gigantic bog. However such places are perilous to Princesses, and a pestilential preponderance of parasitic pests with pointy parts proceeded to pinch her precious plasma by the pint. Proving less than pleasant.

After swatting away yet another mosquito or midgie with the munches she had decided that was quite enough.

Errol in a manner most unbecoming of an apprentice knight gave a chuckle and handed her the bug repellent. As they explored Mibbet leapt from tree to tree to progress faster, as for some reason she had the impression that her human chassis was not built with very good flotation, and she had no desire to test her buoyancy by achieving splashdown in a bog. That seemed like a very good way to wind up in a museum display case when you finally show up again in a few years looking a little more leathery than you did going in.

As they explored they came across a series of old pillars poking past the peat like very rotten teeth. Then a platform with a fancy looking hole in the middle leading down. Oh Gods grumbled Sir Leeroy, this is going to lead to so many forms.

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Errol couldn’t believe what he was seeing, a gods damned dungeon, right here in the middle of nowhere. If it had been somewhere likely to be explored it would have been different. But this? Calling it the arse end of nowhere would be being overgenerous. Dungeons that went unexplored for long periods of time were bad news. Like overfilling a bathtub, there were measures in place to prevent overflow, but as anybody who has ever fallen asleep while the bath is running can tell you, no matter how well engineered the overflow eventually you are going to get wet feet.

He cautiously peered over the edge into the abyss, mercifully, (and luckily for him) the abyss did not stare back but that did not excuse the bloody silliness of his next move. Wondering how deep it was he took a pebble, and hurled it into the hole, listening for the sound at the bottom. 1..........2...........3............4............5..........6..........7............8............9..............GROWL. Well apparently while the abyss could not in fact stare back, it could it seemed growl. Apparently the dungeon had dwellers, who did not appreciate being knocked on the noggin by wayward ballistic masonry just so some pillock in a somewhat oversized tin suit could incorrectly gauge the depth of the void they had spent quite a lot of time making just the way they like it thank you very much.

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Graark the lizardman was said denizen, and after a few moments and a good growl to help him feel better he came up with a pointed response, in the form of a spear. Then with a roar to the others started to clamber out of the hole (luckily for him lizardmen have a little gecko in them otherwise their climbing would skink.) Scrambling out over the edge, encouraged by comrades who had no desire to be next for a bloody ballistic boulder bombardment.

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Mibbet meanwhile upon seeing what just happened made a mental note to smack Errol one, with (the flat of) choppy, upside the head when they got out of this. I mean who sees a sleeping bear and goes “ooooohhh let’s take a big stick and poke it.” Apparently Errol would.

“When we get back you are running so many laps for this.” Muttered Sir Leeroy as they prepared to fight. Rascal meanwhile following the instincts of cats everywhere on spotting so many things pouring out of a hole in the ground watched for more. Then with an interested pirrup and a twitchatail followed natures course, and scrambled down for a look.

Alba was having fun, of late she had been starting to enjoy a good scrap, so ran over to Mibbet’s side, batting aside any reptilian humanoid that dared cross her path with a SQWROOOAARRRKK.

Errol it would appear had put all his intelligence into learning how to hit things (he sure as hell didn’t save much for everyday life, as you have no doubt noticed.) He was ducking about, hacking and slashing like he had just escaped from a particularly fancy swashbuckler movie. It would have been impressive, if he had just realised that those plays use dinky rapiers and not bloody git broadswords for a reason. Meaning his swings were slow as all hell. But well supplemented by Sir Humphrey’s training, especially the bits about hitting them in the nadgers, and if they didn’t have those every creature has something rather tender somewhere round that region, keep hitting and you’ll get it eventually, (Unless your opponent is Granitas the wall demon, in which case don’t bother, they’re literally a wall with teeth, and you're screwed anyway.)

Mibbet jumped up on Albas back, as the owlbear took a leaf from Sir Leeroy’s book, and charged in headfirst. Between choppy and Alba’s claws they were making a fairly good showing of themselves, but they were still outnumbered and it was starting to bog them down.

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Rascal was having the time of his life, crawling down into a hole full of lizards to chase, and the biggest rats he had ever seen. Occasionally there was even a dangly toy to play with swinging from the ceiling, and that place where the floor got all hot and burny? Wow he loved that, only downside was occasionally the big lizards would jab him with a pokeystick (usually ending up minus the poking limb for their trouble.) One had even tried to BITE HIM, he hadn’t appreciated that one little bit, how dare they? Biting and mauling were cat heritage , and had let his dislike of their appropriation be known. Now there were no more lizards to play with, and the rats were hiding too, but what else was there to do down here?