It turns out that there really wasn’t much more to tell except a “please help us” and a carefully placed mark on a map, as the locals were rather too scared to go near the place as of late. Which was unusual given that the waters near the place when they weren’t dried up were apparently alligator territory, but it seemed that particular bit didn’t bother them overmuch, whereas whatever was going on there now really gave them the willies.

So after some thinking, and a little planning it was agreed they would get to the bottom of it (the breakdown, hopefully not a gator as Rosalind would probably handbag the poor things for trying anything like that.) Though getting through the dried up marshland was actually a tougher slog that getting through the regular kind. Especially considering that they needed to lug several small boats along just in case. Luckily the local Oracle had a couple of coracles that would float as well as a regular boat. though it took a while to dig them out, because for some reason they never saw the request coming, (though in fairness they did predict Errol commenting on that fact well enough that they cringed a few seconds before he opened his big gob.)

Of course Rascal and Alba stayed behind, because Mibbet suspected they wouldn’t be big fans of cramped passages, or excess water, or flame smothering sand for that matter, and it seemed this particular adventure would proudly provide a preponderance of all of the above. Addy did elect to come along, but agreed to stay out of narrow passages, and act as a relay in case of big trouble.

Once they got through the well dehydrated wetland the facility in question was rather hard to miss. The place looked to largely be made up of some kind of creepy glowy metal, which gave the feeling that if you tried to take any home as a souveneir it would be the last thing you did. There were multiple entrances about 9 feet tall. Which begged the question what the hell kind of people used to work here? Also the first and only set of hieroglyphs Mibbet had ever seen which indicated that hard hats must be worn at all times. Mibbet had no idea how she read that, as the answer just daubed itself in her brain for a moment in twelve foot high red letters, and stuck around until you paid attention to it. It gave the feeling that while you were trying to read it it was far more successfully making an effort at reading you, and considered you no more challenging a read than any book ever printed in chewable format. (Except the Necronomnomnomnomnomicon the first ever cookbook written for liches, which was written under the assumption of zombie kitchen assistants who may consider anything that is written down to be brainy enough to require an experimental nibble or two, you know? Just in case.)

Mibbet tried to step forward, but the hard hat image kept flashing in her mind with more persistence than a boyband related earworm, written as an advertising jingle, so eventually she searched until she located a box, well hidden in the undergrowth, containing helmets clearly crafted from some sort of a shell. The others all donned one each too, eventually. (Errol of course strapping his over his existing helmet, there was no way he was going in there without great grandads helmet. Because ancient mystery facilities potentially ass deep in alligators were no problem compared to to the sheer terror Errol’s mum would deliver unto him should she ever find out he was on duty out of uniform. There were some things just far too scary to consider.)

Next came getting in, which wasn’t as difficult as they expected, apparently whatever race had built this place had been freakishly tall, as evidenced by the parties ability to walk directly through the gaps in the security gate. But also freakishly thin, as evidenced by their construct companion not fitting width wise.

So the slightly smaller party headed inwards, surprised when Sir Leeroy started swearing at the light fittings.

“What’s going on?” Mibbet asked cautiously.

“Self lighting torches would be fine compared to this, glowy mana crystal lights. They’re always always ALWAYS bad news. It means a few things, first off nobody has nicked them despite them being valuable, that tells us that thieves don’t consider the trespassing to be worth the profit. Given how many numpties there are in the world who will go into the tomb of the spider queen and try to swipe the statues jewel eyes that should tell you a little about the security round here. Don’t let your guard down, even for a second. Second off it shows that whatever built this place packed enough mana into the place to keep those rocks glowing all these years, anything packing that much oomph? Well it’s bound to pack a wallop. This place has the feel of precursors of one type or another to me.”

“Precursors?”

“Think about it Princess, this world is billions of years old, in that time a lot of different races have reached our level of technology and beyond. Humans and humanoids are just the latest attempt at building a society. There have been at least a dozen prior civilisations to us, and are at least three of four parallel to us right now. Precursors are what we call the older races, history teachers should teach this, but the buggers are mostly snobs who would rather die than admit that other races were just as capable as us.”

“Why aren’t they around now?”

“Mostly because they started mucking around in places belonging to THEIR precursors, who did the same, all the way back to the first. Who tried mucking about with elder gods. Succeeded in mucking about with Elder Gods, got said Elder Gods attention, and then went completely and utterly bonkers. Then sealed up their places and cursed the hell out of them. May as well have called the buggers pre cursers. If you want to be an adventurer rule one is keep your nose out of the eldritch. That stuff never ends well.