Imagine unexpectedly popping up in Valhalla with your pants around your ankles because just half a minute ago you were taking a shit so bad that the Viking gods decided that it should count as dying in battle.
Isn't it even worse? You don't just pop up there. You get carried there by a Valkyrie.
You're experiencing a gastrointestinal event, and are really not having a good time, and the suddenly, without any logical way to be present there's a Winged Woman in there with you, in Armor, with Weapons and Helmet, who looks like she could take down Sandor Clegane or Geralt of Rivia in the 10 minutes before waking up, just plugs you from your porcelain throne and doesn't even gives you the chance to pull up your pants before carrying you off.
pantsless Elvis, high off his gourd, being carried away from the mortal realm by a massive beautiful Brawnhilda valkyrie: ey woah pretty mama, where we goin
