Choose thy destination, what shall ye find?
Down the first path, a thin winding dirt trail leading off past the old dark spindily tree that has never held a leaf, to the large dark expanse of a mansion filled with a devine gallery.
Down the second path, a wide dirt road left unusually untravelled that lead into a dark thick almost impenitrable to the eye forest where a silky soft voice resounds and glides in the wind. Poetry sang in the voice of an angel surrounded in darkness.
Down the third path, into a town filled with deep laughter and the clincks of glass mugs smashing into each other in toasts, where a pale man in a dark cloak sits in a chair in the corner speaking of tales in far off places for the wandering ear to listen upon.