He blinked a few times, though that did not help. He noticed as he did that the skin of his forehead was tight. He couldn’t remember where he was or why he was there. His attempts at retrieving the past were met with a nominal force, just enough to push his tendrils of thought back to the dark room, which left him with nothing. He tried to raise his hand to his face but couldn’t. It was restrained he discovered as he wiggled it around, some very coarse rope binding his wrists around a thick pole or beam. He lifted his head, which initiated a tremendous pounding, and let it fall back against the pole, flinching at the impact. His legs were unbound, though that meant little. He slid his hands down to feel the ground, which was gritty and dirty, but solid underneath that; he guessed he was in a building that had fallen into disrepair, like everything else, or that wasn’t used much perhaps. There were no windows or lights, not even a crack in a wall or a glow underneath a door, so perhaps he was in a cellar or basement.
