Rohaan could almost hear Berlin's voice in his head, berating him for his lack of forethought.

[I]You don't think things through, Rheoaan. It'll get  you into trouble someday.[/I]

It didn't usually. Usually, he had enough skill or luck or some mix of the two that he could just kind of do things on a whim, and come up with a plan as he went. Maybe that made him cocky, or maybe the soldiers here were just especially well trained, because more and more of them were pouring into the hall. They kept their distance but made sure to keep him surrounded. As new ones filed into place, he could hear them passing a simple word down the ranks in a hushed whisper. "Shifter!" And each soldier who heard the news gripped his weapon of choice just a little harder. They were afraid of him. Good. Yet they stood resolute against him.

Rohaan did a quick survey of his surroundings. No easily available windows, a whole lot of soldier-clogged doors, and the ceiling was too low to comfortably be out of spear range. They all had weapons and he only had a small knife that was more of a tool than anything else. But he didn't need weapons. 

"Do we really need to do this?" He gestured around the room. "C'mon now, I'm sure most of you have families to get back to." He frowned and pointed to a comparatively wispy young fellow. "Except you. You ought to get you one. But come now! Do you really want to fight me?" The soldiers each advanced cautiously, taking one step forward but nothing more. The blonde shifter shook his head and laughed. "Don't you know who I am?"
A man answered as he came through one of the doors, both sounding and looking a fair bit more confident than the rest. "I believe you're called Ja'aisen, aren't you?"
Rohaan bowed, fixing his attention on what appeared to be some kind of captain. "Rheoaan Rohaan Rio Ja'aisen. Heard of me, have you?" He secretly enjoyed the amount of uncomfortable shuffling from the rest of the men at hearing his name. 
The captain smiled humorlessly. "I have. And a great many other things about you. None of them pleasant. What's your choice, silverblood? Are we going to have to do this the hard way, or are you going to come with me?" 
Rohaan rolled his shoulders. He thought of some witty reply, and had just drawn in a breath to give it when something hard struck the back of his head. He dropped to his knees, wavering a little like a drunken man as he tried to regain his bearings. Damn, he'd been played, and he hadn't thought to look behind him. Stupid, really.

Before Rohaan could get back up, someone else had rushed in and put a shackle around one wrist. The icy metal touched his skin and suddenly it seemed that he was a large object being squeezed into an impossibly small space. An involuntary cry jumped from his lips and he bucked and thrashed like a feral animal, but it did him no good. There were to many of them, and now that the enchanted metal was firmly clasped around him, they were not so afraid of him. Before he knew it, Rohaan had been dragged away and shut in some dark place. 

They bound him hand and foot and tethered him to the wall by a chain attached to the enchanted shackle, then left him. His whole body burned. For a while, as he sat crumpled against the wall, he tried to compose himself. He had to think, had to have a clear head to get himself out of this. After all, he'd endured the squeezing misery of shifter-steel before, he could do it again. And it worked a little, and his breathing would calm a bit, but then he'd snap suddenly and wrench at the accursed thing like it was on fire. Rohaan was drenched with sweat, and a little liquid silver bead had formed in the places where he'd scraped the skin of his hand pulling at the shackle. Just a little blood. If he couldn't think of a better way, he'd break his hand just to get out of here. Still, as he heard footsteps approaching the cramped cell they threw him in, he was determined to keep at least some composure for pride's sake. It was the captain again, and a team of handlers that came to haul him out. Out where? He forced his breathing to be slow and even and tried to concentrate. If they thought he was done fighting, they were sorely mistaken. But he'd wait for the right moment.