The Drow Queen of Glaley [Very NSFW]

[The Iron Bull]

"I can left a riding horse over my head, punch through an oak door in one hit and I can use pretty much any weapon  that involves a sharp side or a heavy end." Bull pauses for a second, then adds almost as an afterthought, "and I can manifest my killing rage into a semi-physical force that attacks my foes." He peers at her curiously. "Any of that seem likely to get an invite?"

[GamesMaster]

She shrugs. "Sounds impressive but this ain't mah area'o expertise."

[The Iron Bull]

"Fairie's muff," he says with a faint grin. "So; chickens?"

[GamesMaster]

She leads him around to the back, where he gets to meet the resident animals: several chickens, each of whom has some deformity, such as a partially reconstructed beak made of wood (Helga, Annabelle) or a missing wing (Cookie) or foot (Susan). There is also a three-legged goat and two kids, as well as an aging, blind donkey. 

Over the next few days he gets to know the animals fairly well, as care of them is turned over to him while he recovers. In fact, he's got Helga in his lap fixing a split in her beak when they come for him, though thankfully they give him enough time to gently put her down before they drag him back to The Pits. 

The differences are evident immediately when they shove him through the door. The room stinks of piss and pussy. The emaciated feline chained to the bed this time has enough tether to reach a pisspot, thankfully, though nobody's been emptying it. Her tail is a stub, too short to really be a danger, and her hands are chained to her collar, preventing her from touching herself. Nevertheless, she's dripping with juice, rubbing herself as best she can against the smooth edge of the cot as though to get herself some small measure of relief. She can't speak much around the gag in her mouth, but the look of pure naked hunger in her eyes speaks for itself. 

[The Iron Bull]

Clever, Bull has to admit. Of course, he doesn't comply this time either. "Sorry," he murmurs to the catfolk woman as they close the door behind him. He approaches her slowly, just in case she's actually crazed and not in heat, right up until he's only a yard or so away. Bursting into movement, he slaps one hand down on her back, right between her shoulders, to pin her in place. The other hand clamps around her neck, strong fingers pressing against the arteries there to knock her out swiftly.

[GamesMaster]

"-ease-", she whines through the gag, voice muffled too heavily to make out her accent. Then she succumbs, slumping against him in a warm, sticky pile. 

The door doesn't open to let him out. His guards have clearly vanished, locking the two of them in the room, though he'd be surprised if the mirror on one wall isn't a window as well, or magicked in some way. 

[The Iron Bull]

The female handled-- for a short time at least, as that technique doesn't disable people for long-- Bull refocuses. The collar is just leather and so swiftly parts under Bull's hands, but that was the easy part. With a pained grunt and a low, torturous groan of metal, Bull pries the anchor for the chain out of the wall. Rolling his shoulders, the imisy minotaur wraps the leather around the palm of his left hand and gives the length of chain a testing whirl. 

A slow baring of teeth is aimed at the mirror. "Now this is my kind of dance," he rumbles with dark glee. "No interest in fucking, boyos; I want blood. And make sure you send someone fucking decent in here, you little shits!"

[GamesMaster]

No-one comes for him. Is no-one watching? Or are they all cowards? Regardless, the female stirs before anyone bothers checking in on him. 

[The Iron Bull]

"Tch," Bull says, absently playing with the make-shift flail. Practicing with the make-shift flail. He shakes his head, then moves to put his back to the wall opposite the mirror, putting both door and catfolk in view while he waits.

[GamesMaster]

She begins whimpering even before she notices the gag is gone, wriggling a little. Finding her hands free, they go right for her crotch, petting and stroking what she finds there. "Please," she whimpers, eyes alighting on Bull. "Please, I need it."

[The Iron Bull]

Bull flicks the chain towards her, a low warning growl rumbling in his throat. "Give it ta yerself then," he says darkly.

[GamesMaster]

"can't, they'll punish me," she whimpers, her hands never ceasing. 

[The Iron Bull]

"Shame," Bull replies laconically. 

[GamesMaster]

"Please, please," she whimpers. "Been in heat twelve days, they'll keep on until I'm knocked up."

[The Iron Bull]

"No," Bull says, tone not unkind but resolute, unyielding.