He was all banged up-he had that nasty black eye and split lip...
Virgil
Virgil leaned back against the tree, staring blankly up at the sky, knowing that this would be his last time seeing it. He was going to die. He was going to die and there was nothing he could do about it. He was acutely aware of death, being homeless would do that to you, and yet he'd never thought he'd end up here. Tied up uncomfortably against a tree by his own village, and left to be snatched up by the jaws of a hungry naga. Maybe it wouldn't want to eat him. Maybe it'd think he was too scrawny, too sickly looking. Imagine, even a monster not wanting him-he honestly wouldn't be surprised. His whole body ached-he hadn't been surprised when the villagers had grabbed him off the streets where he'd been sleeping, but the violence he'd suffered seemed unnecessary-it's not like he could put up a good fight anyway-but still they'd felt it nessecary to knock him out, whacking him upside the head and leaving him strapped to this great oak. Well-great to know that his final moments would be spent with great back discomfort.