The Rolling Joint CoLtd. (1)

Maybe not forty days in the wilderness, but it has been hard going, the progress constant but slow. At times it seems more of a wait than a journey, like at sea, when looking at the wake it becomes unsure if it is the ship or the water that is moving. The books only hint at how much patience an adventurer needs. Finally, on small rises, or where some natural feature breaks the vegetation, the adventurer makes out in the distance what may be his destination, the regular shapes of towers and walls. But well before he can close the distance, he finds a vast clearing littered with rusting machinery and slabs of metal. And in the newer grass and shrubs, what looks to be a surprising amount of weathered bones. He walks around the first crumbling, overgrown artefact. It is clearly a machine, but he cannot even begin to guess its purpose from its shape. On one plate, beneath the corrosion, he can still read stamped into the metal:
“The Rolling Joint CoLtd. Dunwich”.