"Then we shall take the lower path, and do so as swiftly as we can," decides Duke Ghenthar. He spurs his steed onward, and he soon leads the group down the mountain and into a lower and more level route that the precarious trail farther up.
The sun lowers in the western sky, or what little you can see of it between cliffs and mountainsides. Shadows lengthen, and the Duke assures the group that a suitable campsite is not far off. Riding down into a canyon, about 100 feet long and 40 wide, by means of a narrow trail squeezed between two cliffsides, the party is surprised to find a pair of humans standing in the trail near a pair of boulders and an odd freestanding pillar of rock, resolutely . One, dirty, unshaven, and clad in breastplate, carries a heavy sword comfortably over his shoulder and wears a shield on his other arm. His companion, a considerably cleaner man, wears a fine suit of field plate, which, although covered in dust and dirt, still glistens a bit in what little sunlight makes its way into the canyon. He holds a poleaxe and wears a crossbow over his back.
"Hold there!" the halberd-wielding man shouts. "This pass be my an' Garan here's, and by our blades an' brawn it stays safe. If'n ya want to travel through, ye'll pay our toll in blood or gold. The choice be yers, and if it's coin, then we want... three hundred crowns," he demands, appraising the contents of the group. "An' if ya don't like it, just turn around and find yerself another way through!"