The shelter calls out to Eifan, and he is drawn toward it. A cool breeze blows in off the sea and with it a hint of a voice, as if a vapor. Almost that voice entices him away from his explorations, but he impatiently shrugs it off. There is mystery in that shelter, and he must have it for himself.
He approaches the dark opening of the stone structure and finds himself at the head of a winding stair. The steps themselves are old, crumbling. The walls are covered in moss and seep a dark, ocherous fluid. Eifan reaches out, just brushing a fingertip through the liquid — and withdraws it sharply. A shock of emotion blasts his psyche, there but for a split second and then gone again. It is a rage unlike any he has ever experienced.
A moment’s pause to collect himself, and he descends once more. The flight of stairs is short and within moments he finds himself at the bottom. A room, scented strangely of incense, opens to his right. A corridor, black and forbidding and lit distantly by fire, yawns before him.