Spoiler! :
Sorenson stirred from his sleep. His back was a bit sore, and this didn't feel much like the bed of leaves he'd fallen asleep on. It was quite stony, to be honest. He rubbed a hand along what felt like the arm of a chair and determined this was, in fact, rock. Sorenson tilted his head thoughtfully, then opened his eyes.
He was seated in a grand throne of rough slate, a rusty sword resting against the right side. All around him were high stone walls, and from those walls protruded porcelain faces twisted into mad laughter. Painted tears slipped down these faces, which were of every race and species Sorenson had ever seen, and much more. The ground was white tile decked every six feet with square green hedges. Across from Sorenson was another throne, which also held a person.
Sorenson frowned and stood slowly, narrowing his eyes at the individual--male, perhaps? A male human, quite young, yes.
"Hmm," he mused, and meandered over to the young man. "Hello? Are you alive, old chap?"
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