PROSE: Night of the Kraken [Ch. 14, 59]

Standing before him is a thing that was once a man. Its flesh is grey, its hair matted with grave-dirt, and its nose is missing entirely. The corpse-like figure lunges for the Doctor with a speed he wouldn’t have expected and he finds himself in its bony grip, a grip that is as strong as a steel trap.
‘What is this?’ the Time Lord challenges the rider. ‘You find making friends so hard you have to go digging them up?’
The next thing the Doctor feels is a sharp blow to the back of the head, and then nothing more.

[---]

The Doctor blearily opens his eyes, blinking them into focus as he slowly becomes aware of his surroundings. He is slouched against a wall in the corner of a well-lit chamber. Large barrels line the walls along with a number of wooden crates, some of which have straw spilling from them. There are no windows and the air smells damp, so the Doctor assumes that he is underground.
Fortunately his hands are untied and he does not appear to have suffered any lasting damage. He clearly hasn’t regenerated either; running a hand over his face, he discovers that his attack eyebrows are still in place. On the opposite side of the underground storeroom, a passageway leads away into darkness. Next to this stands a makeshift table fashioned from an old door placed across a pair of upended barrels. Standing in front of the table is a man dressed in a long cape, his black hair tied in a ponytail. He has his back to the Doctor.