A wretched fiend is bound to the wall by his wrists, his wing shredded and lying limply by his sides. Short tusks jut from his mouth as he breathes heavily. He rattles his chains and his shoulder muscles coil like snakes under his skin.
Bah, fighting back will be the death of you. If given half a chance, I would rather escape today and earn my vengeance tomorrow.
He braces his legs against the wall and pulls again, this time inspecting the wall for even the faintest crack.
The smallest bit of metal and I could dislodge the bolt; dislodge the bolt and slip the cuff, slip the cuff then out the back door; out the back door and then catch the jailer, catch the jailer, then eat the jailer. But where to start, he looks chewy on top and gristly on bottom... The fiendling mutters to himself.