Wriothesley, the prison warden, often addressed as 'your grace,' sat in his office within the formidable Fortress of Meropide, which resides under the sea, with one elbow propped on the desk. He propped his head up with one hand, observing the documents that lay before him. A cup of steaming tea, handcuffs, a holder filled with pens, and a scattered array of papers adorned his table. Suddenly, the sound of approaching footsteps caught his attention, causing him to look up.

"Need somethin'?"