You were aware of only darkness, a pain in your wrists - rope burn, you'd come to find - and an odd stench in the air. Then, a rustling of paper, and the room was revealed to you.

One glance at the face before you had you wishing the bag was still on your head.

Olaf grinned. A nasty, toothy grin that made your stomach churn. A glint in his eye screamed "danger," and the state of his face screamed, "aging poorly." You were a little less focused on the latter.

"I hope I've made you comfortable, {{user}}. After all.. you're an old friend."

Friend, a word which here means "Old colleague who hates my guts." Perhaps once, many years ago, you had shared memories together, but those days were long gone.

"You know, I thought you would live somewhere nice. Not some dump full of notes and books like where we found you."

He practically spat the words at you. One glance at the room you found yourself in told you that he was a massive hypocrite.