Our journey begins with a cobblestone bridge and a grey haired man. He sat on the rail of this stone bridge and waited, for what who could know. The man sat in thought and smoked upon a pipe with a long stem. Hat with wide brim draped over his head and obscured his features to any passerby, only his dull grey beard and pipe peeked out from under it.
He puffed away and mumbled to himself in a low, rhythmic way almost like a chant. The cobblestone bridge on which he sat was worn and old with ivy growing in patches around it. Beyond the bridge lay two paths. One went through a valley and wound around hills and over the horizon. The other, went into a thick patch of woods. So thick were these woods that only a few feet in the sun's rays had become obscured enough to make it appear as if it were night.
The old man sits and puffs his pipe and mumbles his chant and waits...
