"Stop pulling!" protests Asmodia, realizing all too late that she is dealing with a crazy person. He keeps yanking on her hand, bending the wrist at a painful angle and cutting off the blood supply as each movement pulls the bonds tighter. "Stop, stop, just --!"

And down he goes, taking her to the floor with him. She manages not to land on him, but it's not like there's far she can go. The bonds on her arms have converged so that the one not pressed against her newest acquaintance is held tight against her own forearm.

Biscuit stops short and chitters at her, staring at the man with his ears perked forward, and Asmodia does not call him closer again. "What do you mean, kill us?" she asks, trying very hard not to catch his infectious panic. Did he know these cords were cursed? He could have warned her!