(LOG)Cyrus is released

Christoph Valvogt trudged up the tower stairs, having grabbed the nearest guard to accompany him into Morcant's domain. Certainly the Justicar would be pleased to see him. What bastard had found himself bedding the damnable princess now? Was there more than the bald serving man? Of course, all he had on that was a look, perhaps it was all there was. Though ribs ached and his leg seemed not to want to climb the stairs, he pressed onward. It was doubtful that Morcant would let him help make the captive scream, shame that. Tugging on his gloves and straightening, he knocked loudly on the door of the dungeon. "Steward by order of the King." He boomed through the door, voice loud to be sure he was heard over whatever might be going on inside.

Morcant hadn't even begun yet. In fact, he'd only recently been summoned out of another 'meeting' in a cell down the corridor, and had emerged down the corridor clad in his usual odd state - no shirt, but a cloak. The winding tattoo of his wife's name across his abdomen tended to be grubbed over when he was down here; still visible, simply layered with smoke grime and whatever unfortunate smatterings happened to be smudged over him. Today was no different. He'd been briefed, and on entering could tell that the presumption that this captive was 'some Hareshi cunt' was directly inaccurate. The guards somehow managed to be even dumber than he was. He was stood attaching his gauntlets properly, and glanced over his shoulder. "Come in, then," he thundered back. "Yeh won't see much frum out there."

Cyrus Kergard found himself shackled to the rough stone wall, his boots forgotten in a corner, toes poking through the bloodstained grate beneath him. To the great lumbering brute he offered only a smile, browned though it was due to his own lifeblood smearing his teeth. Idly, almost boredly, he tested the strength of the bonds holding him and judged them solid. The deep cold wanted to seep out, but he kept it in check, interested to see just where this rocky road would take him. "Reggir snak Bloh'gnut," he said helpfully when Morcant bade their guest entrance. A new playmate...

Julius Descartes followed after the Steward at his command, not bothering to discern what the reason was for his sudden removal from his current duties. No point in asking the man, he was much too obsessed with his own status to even bother speaking to a guard of his status. Julius rolled his eyes to the ceiling as he waited for something to happen. Obviously, he was bored but managed not to portray his feelings through his body language. Yes, he had heard the rumors and yes, he had figured that the Steward thought that it wouldn't be as likely that he would get his arse handed back to him with someone else present in the immediate vicinity. Though oblivious to some innuendos, he had more then enough sense to see that the Justicar would do as his own sense of morals commanded. Everyone had a breaking point and it seemed that Morcant was simply easier to anger then others.

Christoph Valvogt stalked into the room with a nod to the Justicar, eyes not yet taking stock of the captive. "This is the one-" His head had turned, that tongue far from Hareshi, very far indeed. His sharp eyes bulged nearly out of his head when he caught sight of just who was shackled. "Your Highness!" He managed to choke out, feeling as though is bowels might turn to water, only glad that the man had spoken lest he think they'd arrested the King herself. Beastly woman. Instinctively, he sunk into a deep bow before the Prince Consort of Nyrthlond. "There has been some mistake. A terrible one. I will see this righted immediately." That smooth polite voice turned to fury as he snapped upright, blazing eyes focusing on the guard. "To the King at once and tell him your bloody comrades have managed to arrest Prince Cyrus. I swear if you go slower than a run, I'll gut you myself." Disbelief rode in his expression as he glanced over at the Justicar.

Morcant's pierced eyebrow lifted once Christoph effectively shit a brick all over his dungeon floor, eyes turning back towards Cyrus. Well. "Fetch 'is things, too," he rumbled quietly to the no doubt departing guard, suddenly looking just about as displeased as Christoph was. "An' I want ter know which cretins were on duty, tew." Wonderful, they really were denser than he was. Rather than bowing, he made more use of himself and hoisted the keys off the nearby table, going over to unlock the Nyrthlonder's shackles. Hareshi indeed, there was more chance of Morcant being mistaken for one of them. "Apologies for the discomfort, yer 'Ighness," he continued in his usual impossibly cavernous fashion. "Apparently th'guards get more'n more dimwitted as time goes by." He tucked the keys away once he'd done, effectively leaving Cyrus to do as he fancied.

Julius Descartes formed his features into a neutral expression, giving the Steward a respectful half bow and then quickly strode out of the room. Julius made a quick mention to one of the guards at the bottom of the stairs, telling hiim to inform the superiors of the travesty that had just happened. Someone would surely become the scapegoat, but through his actions he intended to have no reason for the superiors to blame him for their mistakes. He lengthened his stride, moving as fast as he could without simply running. The guards along the corridors watched Julius with a curious expression, wondering why the man was in such a rush. Rumours were sure to fly and they were bound to get out of hand, especially considering how fast gossip traveled around the castle. He slowed his pace and knocked calmly on the wooden door as if the matter was of no importance. The King ran on his own time and he would decide what was urgent or not in his own kingdom. Julius understood the nobles and he stepped lightly around them.

Cyrus Kergard's iced gaze moved between Morcant and Christoph, catching at the strapping young guard the steward had dragged in behind. Nearly all hope the Prince had for an interesting resolution drained as soon as those two vile words slipped from Christoph's lips, a great sigh passing from his lungs. Now it begins, he lamented when the big one moved to release him from his bonds. Rubbing at his wrists, the Prince considered freezing them all to death out of sheer spite, his eyes trailing the fleeing guard. "They tease me and then let me go," he twittered lightly to himself, rolling his eyes as he stretched his shoulders. "Not even a single lash. How boring." He walked to the center of the cell, fingering one of the hanging hooks in the dim light of the torch.

Christoph Valvogt's stomach still roiled with the thought of what might have happened had he been any later in arriving, though the sigh from the Prince made him glance up. "My apologies, Your Highness. We'll see that proper quarters are laid by for you at once." They'd not even known the Nyrthlonder had arrived, and ..it hit him suddenly that Synaria had known and not told them. Something was afoot whether the King believed him or not. Subservience remained on his face, though the expression that rose at the man's comments made him look as though his head ached furiously. "Are there things here for His Highness to clean up, Morcant?" He stepped toward the door, yanking whatever things they'd collected of the Prince's from one of the guards' hands and handing them to him with another deep bow.

Morcant was already looking for said things, though there wasn't exactly an entire lounge of luxurious bathwater and candles when one was in the Justiciar's dungeon. The place was as clean as he could possibly get it, but really, when it housed people being tortured, how clean was possible? "Nuthin' fancy," he answered, eventually turning around with a bucket of water, several cloths and a clean towel (usually his own cleaning tools for if he had to venture out into the world - if he happened to bump into the Princesses looking like he'd been slaughtering pigs it'd not go down too well). "But it'll do til th'quarters get sorted." He was sure he'd have plenty of work ahead of him sometime soon. Disciplining his own guards left something of a sour taste in his mouth.

Cyrus Kergard huffed. Were the fools not even listening to him? But of course, not. He turned just in time to collect his scant belongings...a purse, empty of course; a few affects that he quicky stuffed back into his pockets; and of course his boots, from the dank corner. He tugged them onto his bare feet with a grimace. He rolled his eyes and disdained the rank bucket of water...if they couldn't lend him the hospitality of a little torture, he wouldn't cooperate with their truer torture of courtesy. "No one need lose their head over this," he sighed. "I take all responsibility." As if they would heed his words. Ah, well...some poor sop would pay for it, anyway. There was little enough he could do.

Julius Descartes made his way back into the room, neutral expression glued to his visage and movements purposefully relaxed. Oh yes sir, nothing wrong at all. No need to fret, everything's in order. In fact, things couldn't be any better. Sarcastic thoughts darted through his mind as he gave the Steward another half bow and spoke just loud enough for him to hear. It was almost a whisper, but his usually quiet voice echoed much too easily against the stone walls. "Sir, King Wyld requests that you escort Lord Kergard to his chambers." A flicker of a grimace happened across his face, just quick enough to catch if one were watching intently enough. Julius preferred quiet discretion over boisterous noise and he felt for a moment as if he had chosen the latter. He stepped back, giving another quick half bow as he waited for his dismissal or a command.

Christoph Valvogt simply couldn't believe that the prince had any desire for actual flogging, the steward standing stiffly as he waited for the guard to return. The glance he shot toward Morcant was something between annoyed and apologetic, and the guard received a curt nod for the delivered message. "Thank you, Descartes. That will be all." Straightening, he bowed to Morcant, and then deeper to the Prince. "Your Highness, King Wyldrigrenkledrysllthen has invited you for an audience with him. Would you please accompany me?" Yes, it was going to be a very late night indeed. "My apologies, Morcant, that we've disturbed your work. Good evening." With that, the steward stepped toward the door, waiting to show the Prince the way. "I'm sure the King will be glad to hear that."