Originally Posted by Eddie
The Doctor, cautiously, stepped out of the TARDIS onto fragile looking wet sand. He tested it with his foot before putting his weight on it. In the distance he could hear children singing - children? singing? - "London Bridge is Falling Down...", but it was too dark around him to see from where, or in which direction. He sniffed the air. He could smell diesel, hot metal, like a railway track, and, as he stepped further from the light of the TARDIS door, he could see vague track humps, hidden in the wet sand. He turned to the TARDIS and absentmindedly clicked his fingers. The doors swung shut. The area around him, the dark sky, the wet sand, the hidden tracks, were suddenly plunged into darkness. The Doctor took his sonic screwdriver from him pocket and thumbed it into life, scanning the area. He looked at it.
"Impossible..." he did it again, then, aiming, it, changed the setting, fired. There was a screech, a roar, a flashing light, the sky brightened, but it wasn't a sun that rose, it was a disc, a massive, ornate, shining disc... with a swirling, stylised, engraved figure that looked like the number 8 on it...
The Doctor's eyes widened, he gulp. "It can't be..."
"THIS," a voice said behind him, and made him turn.
The man was tall and lean and bald. Keen eyes, a wolvine face, sharp nose. A man who demanded respect. He smiled at the Doctor and held his hands around a place of impossible things. He was dressed in a long, crimson, velvet robe. The collar was high, batwinged, gold.
"THIS," he said again... "IS THE GAME OF RASSILON..." Then he stopped, and stepped forward. "Welcome home, Doctor..."
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