He makes a face, eyes blearily blinking open just a crack to stare at the speaker - and then closing again with a groan. His whole body aches.

"Hey, now, don't go back to sleep," the speaker says, crouching down to hover over him. "I saw those beautiful eyes flicker! You can't fool me. Up and at 'em, cutie." 

"Ugh..." he rolls onto his side, away from the person speaking, and presses his face into the crook of his arm. 

After a long moment of adjusting to being awake, he lifts his head, turning to squint at the stranger. 

"What-" he begins, before his attention is diverted by the rest of his surroundings. This is really not where he was last he remembers. He sits up in a hurry, pushing away from the person and looking around. 

-well, trying to, at any rate. His stomach lurches when he moves, and then he's quickly too busy retching to look around.

The person retreats a bit, too, "There we are," he murmurs. "Easy, now, this place takes a bit of getting used to. Lighter gravity than you're used to, I bet, never mind whatever happened to you before you got here." 

He nods in acknowledgement, automatically, trying to swallow down the sickness. 

After a few more moments, he manages it, and carefully, slowly, tries sitting up again. 

"...Where am I?" 

The room he finds himself is large, but empty aside from himself and the stranger. All the surfaces appear to be made of the same material - a pale grey metal of some kind, not exactly comfortable to lie on. As far as he can tell there's no door. No seams at all, actually. The light appears to be emanating from the ceiling, but there's no obvious source beyond that.

"This is the world between worlds," the stranger explains, crouching down again to make speaking easier. This puts him properly into Rigel's field of view, allowing him to take the person in, in all his non-human glory.

The eyes are first drawn to the large blue-black wings mantled over his bare shoulders, lending him a somewhat gargoyle-like air. Next, perhaps, to the complimentary frosty blue tint of his skin, or perhaps the blue-black scales, speckled with gold, which climb up his hips from the waistline of his pants. A pair of smooth gold horns emerge from his brow to curve back over his hair, striking against the inky strands, and his fingers are tipped with gold claws, a fact revealed when he offers his hand for a shake.

"Ymir Sidereus," he introduces himself. "Former and unlamented so-called Iron King of Oradim. I'm your guide."

...Rigel takes his hand, careful of the claws. 

"Rigel Theobald," he offers in return, almost automatic. 

He glances down at himself, taking inventory - plain white t-shirt, black slacks, socks but no shoes. He pats his thighs to check the pockets, but they prove to be empty. Okay. 

He looks back up at his 'guide' - 'seek more information' seems the next obvious step. "My guide to what, exactly?"