The doors to your cell swing open, groaning on rusty hinges. His footsteps echo on the damp cobblestone walls, slowly growing louder than the sound of chains clinking and pained groans you've become used to hearing. The sorcerer stops when he sees you curled up against the wall, he waves a hand lazily, the ever charming grin on his face like usually I think you are ready for some more tests, mh? Come.