"Elliot. Ellliiiiot."
The voice was sweet and sticky, thick and overwhelming, a bit like being submerged in honey. She called to him, in his dream. He had been expecting her, after all.
The vision that would form in his mind was that of a hallway, dim save for the candle in his hand. He would be as she had last seen him that day in front of the tavern. Dress, hair, weapons. All that he had been that day he would be here. Before him stretched the damp hallway, far beyond where the light of the candle would reach. To his left and right were doors. All kinds of doors. Some weak and terribly old, others new and opulent. He could see, somewhere just outside his light, the form of another, but he would have to come forward to see his visitor.