The troupe wordlessly nods and stumbles "east" along the path toward Dreg. You trudge along with the sick amongst you making the way slow and laborious and several more hours pass; you each surmise that you must have passed several leagues at least. You would each guess that it's late in the day, despite the fact that there is no sun in this weird and accursed land, Solon points out that there does seem to be a pattern resolving itself with the passage of time (such as it is), you start to notice that as reverie approaches the opalescent sky that coruscates between green, purple and silver seems to shade more strongly to deep hues of violet, and that is exactly what you observe overhead.
The dense, forested hills begin to thin out and the land flattens out. You walk for a bit longer and you come to an abrupt drop-off. You are staring out across a very deep and narrow gorge that is probably at least a mile deep and half-again as wide. The road appears to be carved into a steep cliff face and it falls away to the south. You can make out several switchbacks and at the bottom of the gorge you see smoke curling from the chimney's of a cluster of buildings built into this side of the river that rushes through the bottom of the canyon. In the center of the river appears to be an rocky island that adjacent to the settlement below. You can make out tiny pinpricks of light covering the top of this tor, that appears to have some sort of tower built atop it.
With no other obvious paths to take, you carefully navigate the steep path cut from the cliff and descend to the village below. About a mile away from the village you round a bend in the trail and you are confronted with something you couldn't see before you began your descent. Built into the cliff side and astride the path is a stone building, with a portcullis barring your way. A ridiculous looking man with spindly arms, green warty skin, a huge belly, and a nose like a diseased carrot is standing atop a small barbican, with a crossbow held casually at his side. He calls out from about fifty feet away, in a weird form of speech that sounds like a bastardized, mangled dialect of Keltic, mixed with something you don't recognize, "Ooo goes dar? All must'n pay der toll, o' Midgemarrow, er ye ken get fook't."
