The Fork In The Road They had finally broke free from the tree-line; the sweltering sticky air now traded for the brisk salt-tinged air of the shoreline. A road could be seen distantly, cutting through the sand like a man-made tectonic plate. The thrashing of the waves was almost reassuring after the suffocating stillness of the insect-laden forest. They were a party of eight; six human males, one grey-haired elderly elf and a hound as big as an ox and as black as midnight. They moved with an organised fluidity not unlike that employed by kingdoms military factions. The elf broke the silence, "the path ripples before us; two directions, two choices, two fates". "Do not all roads lead to Dalenthir, Old Man?" asked a hulking man, with a haggard beard and oval-shaped eyes. "All roads lead to death." The elf replied, with a dark grin tugging at his face, "some roads are just quicker than others..." The party went as quick as they came; the clash of steel, the whispering of sandals and the fading grunts of exertion left in their wake as they approached the fork in the road, and ultimately their fates.