09-20-2016, 05:40 PM
“Alright, do your thing.” Sven ordered the prime.
“I have question.” His accent was thick, somewhere between French and Italian.
“What’s that?”
“My armor, it is designed to be taken off by machines. If I disengage now, it all comes off in pieces, in big pile.” The Furtumin made stretched his arms and legs out to mime the motions of being handled by robotic arms.
The guard looked around the empty cell with the bare floor. “I don’t see how that’s a problem here.”
“Very hard to get back on.”
“Oh, well we can probably just use magic or something for that.”
“Magic?”
“I’ll explain later. Just get it off.”
The prime nodded, but mumbled something that sounded reluctant under his breath, before speaking into his helm again. “Do, dellus cutu-tura serourou.” A voice speaking in the same language replied, and Sven felt himself step back a bit as suddenly the entire suit of armor fell apart. At least twenty separate pieces all fell off from different points on Ratione’s body, some incredibly small while others, like the breastplate, put their own craters in the floor.
When the dust settled, before the guards stood a very alien figure. The prime’s heels were raised off the ground, the balls of his feet enlarged, like some kind of animal’s legs. Even without the armor he was still incredibly tall in comparison, with a thick build. However, it seemed the giant suit of plate armor had now been replaced with some kind of black jumpsuit beneath. There were thick pads that Sven assumed was some kind of leather armor at the shoulders, chest, gut, legs, arms, and even a collar.
The guard frowned, glaring at the prime. “All of the armor. Not just your plate. Get your padding and leather off too.” He held Ratione’s eyes firmly for a few minutes, before the alien looked down with an uncomfortable expression.
“This is my clothing.”
“Your clothing?”
“Yes. There is nothing else under it. Except for underwear.” Ratione shifted from foot to foot.
“Then strip that, too. Sit in your underwear.” Sven stepped up closer to the prime, grabbing him by the thick collar around his neck. The material felt soft, yet hard. Like something that was moldable but stiff when it sets. “You’re in a prison. Not an inn. Strip.”
The Novan stood there, eyeing down the man. For what felt like an hour the two kept each other’s gazes, while the two other guards simply watched with amusement.
“I said strip!”
“Niho.”
Sven’s fist was drawn back and thrown forward stiffly, with restraint, into the Ratione’s jaw. The prime’s head turned just a bit before absorbing the blow. Slowly, the Furtumin managed to crank his neck back into place, pushing against the guard’s arm.
“This ain’t a damn sleepover, prime! Get in yer skivvies!”
“And why should I listen to you?” The Novan brought his own knee up into the guard’s gut, right into the plate. Even still, Sven felt the air leave his lungs, scrambling backwards with a hand on his stomach. “Give me a reason, you-“ Ratione’s bark was cut short as a short sword was suddenly drawn up to his throat, one of the other guards gripping it in his right while keeping his hand up to his chest, palm open and ready.
Ratione could feel the cold steel cooling his head, remembering that he was not currently in a position to argue. He was a prisoner, and these men would not hesitate to lob off his head if he did not respect their wishes.
“Fine.” The Furtumin waited for the blade to be pulled away, before feeling for zippers at first his armpits, then his thighs, separating four pieces for the arms and legs from a main torso section. After that came his collar, followed by a minute of the prime squirming his way out of the main piece. Every part that Ratione removed, he handed off to one named Sven, where they were set in the corner in a haphazard pile. The Novan now stood with almost all of his skin showing, having kept his boot pieces on and a single black garment covering his crotch, upper thighs, and lower abdomen.
The guards, now seeing the rest of the prime’s skin, felt themselves a little uneasy at the appearance. It looked like the hide of some animal, leathery and stiff. Almost like a lizard.
“Alright.” Sven grabbed at the prime’s shoulder, shoving him out of the cell and back down the row. The two other guards brought out their blades as they opened one of the two other cells containing prisoners, which Ratione promptly stepped into before Sven could push him in.
“Now stay there while we decided what to do with your dumb ass.”
“I have question.” His accent was thick, somewhere between French and Italian.
“What’s that?”
“My armor, it is designed to be taken off by machines. If I disengage now, it all comes off in pieces, in big pile.” The Furtumin made stretched his arms and legs out to mime the motions of being handled by robotic arms.
The guard looked around the empty cell with the bare floor. “I don’t see how that’s a problem here.”
“Very hard to get back on.”
“Oh, well we can probably just use magic or something for that.”
“Magic?”
“I’ll explain later. Just get it off.”
The prime nodded, but mumbled something that sounded reluctant under his breath, before speaking into his helm again. “Do, dellus cutu-tura serourou.” A voice speaking in the same language replied, and Sven felt himself step back a bit as suddenly the entire suit of armor fell apart. At least twenty separate pieces all fell off from different points on Ratione’s body, some incredibly small while others, like the breastplate, put their own craters in the floor.
When the dust settled, before the guards stood a very alien figure. The prime’s heels were raised off the ground, the balls of his feet enlarged, like some kind of animal’s legs. Even without the armor he was still incredibly tall in comparison, with a thick build. However, it seemed the giant suit of plate armor had now been replaced with some kind of black jumpsuit beneath. There were thick pads that Sven assumed was some kind of leather armor at the shoulders, chest, gut, legs, arms, and even a collar.
The guard frowned, glaring at the prime. “All of the armor. Not just your plate. Get your padding and leather off too.” He held Ratione’s eyes firmly for a few minutes, before the alien looked down with an uncomfortable expression.
“This is my clothing.”
“Your clothing?”
“Yes. There is nothing else under it. Except for underwear.” Ratione shifted from foot to foot.
“Then strip that, too. Sit in your underwear.” Sven stepped up closer to the prime, grabbing him by the thick collar around his neck. The material felt soft, yet hard. Like something that was moldable but stiff when it sets. “You’re in a prison. Not an inn. Strip.”
The Novan stood there, eyeing down the man. For what felt like an hour the two kept each other’s gazes, while the two other guards simply watched with amusement.
“I said strip!”
“Niho.”
Sven’s fist was drawn back and thrown forward stiffly, with restraint, into the Ratione’s jaw. The prime’s head turned just a bit before absorbing the blow. Slowly, the Furtumin managed to crank his neck back into place, pushing against the guard’s arm.
“This ain’t a damn sleepover, prime! Get in yer skivvies!”
“And why should I listen to you?” The Novan brought his own knee up into the guard’s gut, right into the plate. Even still, Sven felt the air leave his lungs, scrambling backwards with a hand on his stomach. “Give me a reason, you-“ Ratione’s bark was cut short as a short sword was suddenly drawn up to his throat, one of the other guards gripping it in his right while keeping his hand up to his chest, palm open and ready.
Ratione could feel the cold steel cooling his head, remembering that he was not currently in a position to argue. He was a prisoner, and these men would not hesitate to lob off his head if he did not respect their wishes.
“Fine.” The Furtumin waited for the blade to be pulled away, before feeling for zippers at first his armpits, then his thighs, separating four pieces for the arms and legs from a main torso section. After that came his collar, followed by a minute of the prime squirming his way out of the main piece. Every part that Ratione removed, he handed off to one named Sven, where they were set in the corner in a haphazard pile. The Novan now stood with almost all of his skin showing, having kept his boot pieces on and a single black garment covering his crotch, upper thighs, and lower abdomen.
The guards, now seeing the rest of the prime’s skin, felt themselves a little uneasy at the appearance. It looked like the hide of some animal, leathery and stiff. Almost like a lizard.
“Alright.” Sven grabbed at the prime’s shoulder, shoving him out of the cell and back down the row. The two other guards brought out their blades as they opened one of the two other cells containing prisoners, which Ratione promptly stepped into before Sven could push him in.
“Now stay there while we decided what to do with your dumb ass.”
"Our fear is our weapon."