Fate - First Reply Trying to Right a Wrong

A 1x1 Roleplay where the first writer to respond can join
Pretty yelped when the needle slid into his skin, and bucked against his restraints. He had to get out of here, and do it fast. He hissed at Blazh, watching the man. He was looking at his blood. Why would he need his blood? He didn’t like this, and he hadn’t even loosened his restraints so Pretty could lick at the needle site.

He looked so...pleased at stealing his blood. Pretty tugged at the bar again. It was too thick. Probably too deep into the stone. How long had this sadist been planning this. He sneered at Blazh. He was going in his stomach first opportunity he got. He was treating Pretty like an animal.

Why? Let go! Pretty scratched into the marble tiles.

Blazh
Pretty's distressed action regarding his statement only reinforced Blazh's theory. The devourer had a moderately developed grasp on linguistics of sapient creatures. Pretty lived near a human settlement, or at least came there often enough. There was a possibility of him learning bits and pieces of human speech through said interactions. The theory made him raise an eyebrow. It also made him re-evaluate his subversion in regards to Devourer intelligence. If they could understand human speech, then they were clearly more intelligent than dogs, and even some primates.

Sadly, it became obvious that Devourers, Pretty included, couldn't speak. Even if they understood the words and their meaning, they couldn't respond. It made him wonder if one could strike up a fruitful conversation with a Devourer.

Blazh hummed a low tune, looking satisfied with the discovery. So far he had gathered a couple important information regarding the devourer's biology and physiology. Their musculoskeletal structure, bone armor, high lung capacity and very high red blood cell count. Increased lung capacity and oxygen carrying ability of Pretty's blood bestowed the creature with increased stamina.

It was superior to that of Ursids and Felids, being more in line with canine endurance capabilities. That would explain how Pretty moved hundreds of meters at almost full speed without dropping dead from exhaustion. After all, the devourer was well over half a ton in weight. Blazh didn't know the exact number, but he made an educated guess. It had to be somewhere in a 900 to 1000 kg ballpark.

Blazh clicked his tongue, satisfied with how the events had unraveled so far. Grabbing a humble notebook from the table, he traced his fingers over its leather-bound exterior. He opened it, equipping a crude mechanical quill to his free hand. The paper was clear and perfect, as white as new snow once the storm has passed.

He started making notes. They were nothing special, just some pointers and reminders. He'd add more later, right now it was important to write down the more obscure details. His memory was good, but Blazh didn't feel like testing his luck today. If he forgot anything, he'd be forced to catch another Devourer. He jolted up at the thought of going through that clusterfuck a second time.

A handful of minutes had passed, he closed the book and set it aside. Making sure to leave the quill between the pages. Blazh then pulled up a chair. Olden but comfy. Fashioned from oiled Oak wood, the chair had little feather pillows attached to it. Sitting down almost instantly, Blazh crossed his legs and looked at Pretty.

The dim lightning amplified the exotic appearance of his eyes. The sclera was pitch black, contrasting the room's gloomy corner. And the irises were ghastly blue. Their glow only amplified by scleras light absorbing properties. His irises bounced up and down each time he repositioned his head to get a better look at Pretty.

He found it almost comical. The creature before him was erratic, foolish even. I didn't understand the complex machinations of his work. It thought that Blazh would harm it somehow. It'd be a lie to say that Blazh didn't derive some pleasure from spooking Pretty. Because he sure as hell did. His advanced age gave him an oddly acquired sense of humor.

“So.” He began, one foot dangling in the air, crossed over the other leg for support. He spoke slowly, meticulously. His words purposefully drawn out as he searched for what to say. He finally settled down on a simple question. “You think I am going to kill you? Is that why you are acting so erratic?”

Pretty Boy
 
Pretty filled his lungs and roared in Blazh’s face. He was not listening! Even if what he had done was fairly pedestrian, and it hadn’t hurt too badly, it was not done with consent. Blazh had kidnapped him, chained him up, and taken blood without asking, and he had the balls to wonder why Pretty was angry?

He slapped a paw down next to his words. Stupid two legs never listened! No wonder some of his kind found them more useful as snacks. At best they were ignorant and at worst arrogant. Pretty began to write again, claws squealing on the marble.

Did not ask! Kidnap me. Chain me. Not right. He underlined his words and slapped next to them, shaking his head. He had to get out of these chains. Maybe...he backed up as far as he could go, trying to get a good look at the chains on his neck. Ah. The collar didn’t fit quite right. He began pulling in his pouch a bit to work the collar up under his chin. With a little squirming, he managed to get it right behind his jaw.

He squirmed, and caught one of the links with his tusks. He couldn’t break the bars...but these chains? He might. He twisted mightily, and the metal groaned around the ivory tusk.

Blazh
 
Leaning further into the chair's warm embrace, Blazh gave Pretty the most unimpressed expression he could muster. The devourer had four chains to go through. Even if he did his best, it would still take minutes to be free. Blazh took Pretty's writing into consideration. He found it to be true, but not in any shape or form inductive to the current situation. He didn't injure the devourer seriously, he needed the sample and Pretty simply refused to cooperate. Blazh tried his best at being nice, when that failed, he resorted to well measured utilization of force.

He stared at Pretty for a moment, almost pitying the creature for its impulsive behavior. Blazh wasn't intent on harming the devourer. His original plan was to sedate Pretty, collect the samples before he woke up and then ship the creature to where he originally found it. Cut and dry, yet Pretty insisted on complicating the situation. This particular devourer was difficult to work with. Having intelligence on the level or slightly below that of an average human didn't seem to matter. Pretty still lacked the slightest grasp on the situation.

“Assuming that you free yourself, what then?” Blazh posed an absent-minded question, looking more at his hands than Pretty. “This mansion is located within the city's core. The area is frequently patrolled by the city guard. Numerous men, armed to the teeth with various instruments of murder.” Blazh knocked on the metal doors, they echoed resoundingly. Heavy, thick hunk of steel they were. Weighing at least 200 kilos, they were slightly taller than Blazh and about 6 cm thick. The cumbersome design was purposeful. If anything were to break free from the cage or chains, the door would likely stop it. Not to mention 70 cm thick granite walls.

Blazh didn't feel threatened, he could easily evade Pretty, but that would entail having to kill the creature. He wasn't exactly keen on having to renovate his basement either. Instead deciding to lay out the situation before Pretty. A small part of him hoped that the devourer could be reasoned with. “Assuming you break out of my house. One of two things will happen. The city guard will subdue, catch and put you in a dungeon of their own. You'd be back to square one. And I am pretty sure they'd use far more force than I have.” The city guard didn't rely on exotic toxins, if they went to subdue Pretty, it'd get ugly real fast.

“But that is unlikely. The more likely outcome is that they'll simply kill you.” Blazh yawned mid-sentence, cracking and twisting his neck to relieve tension. He still felt a little groggy from the yesterday's escapade. “You might be big, but there are dozens of them. They are trained, armed and coordinated. They'll wear you down and kill you eventually. Death by a thousand cuts. And afterwards, there is no insignificant chance that they'll hire a skilled butcher to skin your body. I am sure you wouldn't enjoy being someone's trophy carpet.”

Pretty Boy
 
Pretty ignored him. The chain gave with a loud snap. The Devourer shook his head, and began to work on the chains about his front paws. These he could manipulate a bit better with his neck free. He worked as quickly as he could while the man across from him talked. Yes, getting out was a risk. He had the mage to either disable or kill, then escape the basement and get upstairs.

He finally freed both front paws and reared, tossing his head. That felt better. He could pay a blacksmith to get the metal off his wrists and neck later. Right now he had to work on his back feet. He bared his teeth at Blazh, and scratched into the marble again. Not animal.

He pulled at the chains on his back feet and sat upright to tug on them, growling in frustration. He had never been restrained like this before.

Blazh
 
Pretty ignored him. The chain gave with a loud snap. The Devourer shook his head, and began to work on the chains about his front paws. These he could manipulate a bit better with his neck free. He worked as quickly as he could while the man across from him talked. Yes, getting out was a risk. He had the mage to either disable or kill, then escape the basement and get upstairs.

He finally freed both front paws and reared, tossing his head. That felt better. He could pay a blacksmith to get the metal off his wrists and neck later. Right now he had to work on his back feet. He bared his teeth at Blazh, and scratched into the marble again. Not animal.

He pulled at the chains on his back feet and sat upright to tug on them, growling in frustration. He had never been restrained like this before.

Blazh
The back chains were slightly thicker, and seemingly anchored at two different points instead of one. They were connected tho, by a third, shorter chain. It stretched between the back legs, horizontally. Two shackles to keep the legs close together and limit their movement.

Blazh still sat, shrugging his shoulders in response. If Pretty wanted to go out, he'd have to bring the metal doors down. And even he wasn't large enough to do it. They could endure several tons worth of force before the hinges gave out. And several more before the metal frame started to cave in.

Pretty Boy
 
Pretty sat back. He had to think about this. He growled at Blazh, showing him his teeth. He may not be able to get through the doors but he could make this man’s life hell for capturing him. He carefully leaned his weight back against the far wall and used one of the chains from around his neck to loop around the ones keeping his back feet to the wall. Then he leaned forward. It hurt, and bruised...but the chains began to groan.

They snapped from the pressure, angle, and sheer weight of the massive creature. Pretty was free. He tossed his head, and squatted. The chain between his legs went taut, and though it hurt his hocks...it snapped too.

Pretty marched up to Blazh and snorted at him. Hah. He looked proud of himself. Even more so when he lifted a leg and unleashed a torrent of urine on the desk, samples, and mage.

Blazh
 
Blazh could only watch as the creature pissed on his books. Surely, he could dry out the books, but he'd still have to go through entire process of cleaning and sterilizing the room, equipment in particular. At first, he said nothing, standing up and making his way to the room's other end. Digging through a pile of bags, Blazh finally pulled out a scabbard, complete with the sword nestling within it. He pulled it out, and it wasn't really a sword, more of a big knife, a kriegmesser. To anyone else, it'd look like a sword, a single edged sword with a cross guard. But the way it's hilt was attached made it into a knife. He inspected the rest of the sword. Touching the ornate cross-guard that spread out like a leaf, with a jewel embedded in the center. He ran his fingers across the runes filling the blade’s fuller.

The balance of the weapon was impeccable. The metal of the carved guard, and leather-bound hilt, balanced the thick, heavy blade efficiently. He gave it a few more swings, adjusting his stance to compensate to the weight of the sword, which seemed to become lighter as he became accustomed to it. As he did this, his body seemed to grow bulkier, larger. Blazh carefully re-arranged the structure of his muscles, as well as their attachment points, tendon strength and even the percentage of muscle fibers being utilized. Not only was he aiming to use unrestrained muscular output, but he also aimed to change his body in ways that'd allow it to handle the strain without tearing itself apart. Careful readjustments, increase of durability within tendons and ligaments made it plausible. He'd have increased strength as well as speed. Granted, he had to pump his blood full of adrenaline first, which made him shake for a split-second. This lowered his reaction times, allowing for quicker attacks, and faster response time.

“I am going to harm you now, in ways much more severe than you can imagine.”

Pretty Boy
 
Pretty could see he was angry. Angry and wet, and now had a weapon. Well, if Pretty had been asked instead of chained up he might have given the man some of his blood. As it was, he’d chosen to do things in a way that upset him, and now the room smelled like urine and testosterone. The Devourer watched him twitch and tense, huffing at him. He didn’t want to fight. He wanted to leave.

Pretty went to examine the door, sniffing around the borders. Hm. It was too thick to push down. He reared a bit and experimentally stiff armed the door like a bear with a rotten tree. No, nothing there either. He examined the hinges. Ah! There was something. He lipped at the pins. He’d seen these doors before. Pull the pins and they fell down. It was just hard getting a grip on them.

Blazh
 
Blazh lunged forward, slamming his dominant foot onto the ground. His feet were split apart, allowing for greater balance, one foot was aimed forward, while the other stood at 60 degrees angle. He took this stance deliberately, as it provided more balance than simply standing with his feet parallel to one another. Likewise, if Pretty turned around and decided to charge, Blazh could use his front foot as a pivoting point, moving out of harms way with minimal shifting in a stance. Blazh grip the sword hilt with both hands, one being closer to the cross guard, touching its bottom. While the other laid dangerously low.


In several milliseconds, a spark of kinetic energy ignited in Blazh's feet and surged through his core to his limbs before its eventual release.
Then he swung it, bringing down the blade at a commendable speed. He made sure that it went downwards at a sharp angle. That way the edge alignment would be better, allowing him to deliver a better cut than with a clumsy horizontal swing. His muscles worked to produce to force, but they weren't rigid, doing their best to retain the highest level of flexibility. Blazh was generating the power from his feet up.

As the blade moved closer to Pretty's hind leg, Blazh flicked his wrist, jerking at the hand which rested lower on the hilt, subtly pulling that end backwards. This shortened the impact of his blow, which compressed the force and made it all the more powerful. Even his leading and trailing legs straightened with a rapid, explosive knee extension, adding more velocity to the rapidly descending object.

Even if Blazh didn't cut off Pretty's back leg, if the blow landed, it'd still sever a major tendon, making the leg almost unusable for walking. The devourer was covered in a thick layer of boney chain mail, Blazh didn't see it as a wise idea to bother with cutting through it first. Aiming instead to first disable his target's limbs. Anything after that would be child's play.
Pretty Boy
 
Pretty managed to grasp a pin in his teeth, and pull upward. Searing pain struck his rear leg as the blade hitched, then tore through. His leg collapsed under him and he staggered, forced to suddenly transition all his weight onto the good leg. Pretty howled in pain, turning to get his injured back end against the door to protect it. It would take a while for the other man to move such a heavy weapon.

Pretty bared his teeth, his hackles bunching between his shoulders. He’d been kidnapped, drugged, chained up and stuck with a needle in this box of horrors. He’d had just about enough. He was bleeding, and afraid. He swung a fistful of claws toward the man’s arms, supporting himself with the other. He had to drive him back so he could work on the damn door.

Blazh
 
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