Heinrich slowly came to with a raspy and labored breath. He struggled to open his eyes, but the bruising forced them mostly shut. Through the faintest glimpses he could manage, he became vaguely aware of a dark and heavy bag placed over his head. In a way it was a blessing, he thought, permitting his eyes to close and rest, no longer struggling against the painful swelling that prevented him from looking about. Nothing to see anyway, might as well not even bother. The air inside the bag was warm and damp, humid and gross. It smelled like dried blood, which Heinrich was pretty sure was his own. As his senses slowly came to him, his head began to throb with a vicious, piercing headache. His lips felt cracked and split, dried and rough. His throat was similarly parched, and the sides of his mouth stung every time he tried to open it. How long had he been here? He was a mess.
He begrudgingly attempted to move, to gently shift his weight against sore and cramped muscles, but found himself bound fast to a chair. Adjusting his posture as best he could, he felt blood rushing back to his legs, as the sting of pins and needles assailed him in protest. His shoulders seized up, sending a violent cramp rocketing down his arms and back, painfully clenching at him and refusing to loosen. The awkward strain teetered him in his chair, as he began to list, and then freefall. The chair tipped to the left, crashing down with Heinrich still helplessly bound to it, one of the feeble wooden legs audibly snapping and clattering across the stone floor. The rock felt cool against his face, and was a momentary soothing reprieve in an otherwise overwhelmingly painful existence. He resigned himself to his new position, and tried to remember how he’d gotten into this mess in the first place. His thoughts were blurry, and it was a struggle just to try to think past the oppressive headache that constantly assailed him. He let out a feeble breath and tried to focus, but his attention was quickly drawn to to sounds of jingling keys and approaching footsteps. As the noises neared they paused for a moment, giving way to a condescending voice.
“Ah, good. He’s awake…”