I'm dead. Well, not dead exactly, but rather... Asleep. Nothing happened, there was no heart attack, no terminal illness, no masked murderer. My grip on life simply faded. I don't quite remember my history. I can think of a couple details, and things that have been hammered into me. Like speaking, or writing, or using a martial weapon (Dear old dad had been big on the last one). The question is, what happened? Why am I here? Where am I? When am I? Who am I? Along with many, many others. All I know with absolute, real certainty, is that something big, and bad, is going to happen soon. What is it? I can't say. All I know is that won't be good, to anyone.
-Journal of The Events, entry one.
You wake up. "Let's see. The flowers need watered, the dog needs fed, and I need to- Wait. Where... Where am I? Unless I got so drunk that I made my bedroom look like an evil wizard's tower, I'm not home." You are, in fact, quite correct. This is not your home. Rather, it's God-only-knows-where on God-only-knows at God-only-knows-O'clock-in-the-God-only-knows. The walls seem to be made of a rudimentary stone brick, with a scrawling, looping writing scribbled hastily on it, in what appears to be ink. There's a door on the Northern wall, though how you know it's north is unknown to you. The room is lit with several torches lining the walls, that don't seem to be releasing smoke. Or heat, for that matter, you think to yourself. Realizing it's icy cold in here, you notice that water is dripping down from the ceiling and freezing in the stonework, and occasionally in mid-air, causing a shattering sound to echo through the room. The bed you just got off of would seem to have just become nonexistent. No poof of smoke, no magical fading, just not there, as natural as can be.
What do you do?