Slowly he came to consciousness. Formal thought hurt, reminding him just why you should not get drunk with dwarfs, yet again! Sensory input was about all his mind could deal with for the moment. He cracked open his right eyelid just a sliver. The world vomited itself in six dimensions. He shut his eye quickly before he lost himself in that swirling maelstrom of space and time. A dry groan cracked from somewhere in his chest.
How long have I been out?
His limbs felt heavier than ever before. Both his arms and legs didn’t seem to listen to his muscles. Something was wrong, but it meant opening his eyes to find out what.
Damn. Decisions, decisions.
Pain exploded in breathtaking severity as held his breath and ripped open eyelids sealed by what must have been way too much blood, mucus, and/or just plain crud. A kaleidoscope of colors and patterns shifted and undulated out from his corneas and moved away from all sides of him and into the distance; all at ninety degree angles to themselves.
Desperately he fought the urge to puke all over himself. After all, humans were never meant to see in six dimensions. Concentrating on the need not to puke, the 6 dimensions moved to five then four then three and his brain could formalize just what he was seeing, an open damp stone chamber lit by many oil and pitch torches. There must have been some herb mixed in with the pitch because along with the acrid smell of burning pitch there was a heavy almost gagging earthy odor, reminiscent to him of wet moss. When he looked to his left he was surprised to find that his arm and foot were bound tight to the floor with some kind of silvery shimmery rope, There seemed to be an odd perspective somehow and in looking closer he realized he was not on the floor after all, it ended several inches past his left hand. When he looked to his right it seemed to mirror his left side.
“Oh shit”, His voice sounding like broken twigs and as dry as a Stiggian dessert.
The first really coherent thoughts crept into his mind. How and why am I on a dais in the center of a room lit by torches. Please let this be some crude backwoods healers’ dogen.
A chime sounds it seems to reverberate off every piece of stone. Through gritty eyes he can see figures approach. But they seem odd somehow-still hidden in shadow. Then it registers, they are naked. As they enter the middle of the room the torch light falls on their cloth-less forms. They appeared to be all women, of every shape, size, race and age. Some moved in exotic enticing ways others moved more manly than some men he knew, but they all moved to encircle him. Their oiled bodies glistening in the firelight, breasts glowing, the oil making their nipples appear hard and erect. At least he hoped it was just an illusion of the oil. If not and the women were actually excited over his predicament. If that were true, well he was in more trouble than he thought. There were more naked women around him than he had seen in all his life now. Even with the dwarven ale hangover and the fact that he was tied up he felt his lower member starting to stir. He could see that they each held an object, all different, all for different jobs. Some had large bowls, some had herbs, some had linens, some had food, some had wine, and some had knives…
With an inward sigh he thought, “Ahhh Crom what now…”
That is the question readers. What should become of our…, dare we call him a hero we barely know him? You tell me…