The night, otherwise, passes uneventfully.<br/><br/>The last leg of their journey is brief, and they arrive while the sun is still rising. Scrapwall is an intimidating sight; Towers of rusted iron and hills of rubble and ruin, long ago divested of anything of remote value by tech-hungry scavengers, loom from the dusty surrounding plains. Immense lengths of chain, coils of jagged wire, giant clockwork gears, and old corrugated metal cargo  containers riddled with gashes, bullet holes, and the telltale pockmarks of laser fire are piled high, forming a jagged and intimidating hill-like wall surrounding the interior. Scrapwall is 3 miles across at its widest point, and the walls of junk enclosing its interior are an average of 30 feet high.<br/><br/>The most obvious way in is the ramshackle pair of buildings with walls and roofs made of strips of leather and fur, timbers, metal plates, and other junk lashed and bolted together, which sits in a gap in the surrounding mounds of refuse. Between the two buildings runs a metal gate, closed to block passage into the open area beyond.