At first, there is only white, an unbearable, all encompassing white. You begin to process other sensations: a high-pitched ringing fills your ears, like that of a tuning fork; the terrible stench of sulfur and burning flesh assaults your nostrils, along with an overwhelming aroma of decay; the cool smooth texture of polished flagstone presses against your side and cheek.
Slowly, your vision clears, the white draining to white blotches of yellow and purple. You see a slight, wizened figure in a white robes standing behind a cracked and smoking altar, leaning heavily on a staff of bone. Anadarko. He appears agitated, his face splotchy with rage and spittle flecking out of his mouth from noiseless shouts.
As you blink and shake your head from side to side, you see other figures, scattered about the cavernous hall you find yourself in. Friends. They appear to be trying to gather their wits, each stumbling to pick themselves off of the ground. As you attempt do the same, the ringing in your head subsides to the point that you can now hear the wild desperate screeches of the old man before you. “You fools! You have doomed us all! Now it will all be undone! WE WILL ALL BE UNDONE!”