Prince Kendrick Burson groaned in a groggy stupor, subconsciously bringing on hand to scratch his stomach as--he struggled to bring his hand to his stomach before his eyes shot wide open, the realization of what had just happened sobering him like a slap in the face. He tried tugging free, once, instinctively, gritting his teeth and grunting against the bindings before sighing in defeat. His shoulders and back were sore, his head throbbed, and his stomach was turned in a knot, an overall unpleasant set of circumstances that blurred his vision a bit as he tried to take in his surroundings. The floors looked like packed dirt that had been sprinkled with dust. Dust on dirt, who could live like this? A few threadbare blankets hung from brown, moldy lines drawn between the dilapidated walls. He'd seen nets with fewer holes than some of these covers. Rays of sunlight slipped in through cracks in the walls, but so did the occasional gust of a chill wind, pushing up little goosebumps over where they brushed against the man's skin.

And it [b]stank[/b]. Mud and sweat and filth all colluded to make some horrible stench to assault his senses as he sat there, tied to a chair. He glanced down as best he could before letting out a sigh; the chair had to be the most solid piece of carpentry in this place. Swearing, he decided to take his chances busting out. With as quiet a grunt as he could manage, the prince began hopping, while bound, chair and all, as best he could, slowly inching closer to the ramshackle exterior walls. Unfortunately the creak of the chair's joints, the creak of the ropes rubbing against each other, and the [i]thud[/i] of his landings were more than enough to alert anyone in earshot that Kendrick was conscious and trying to get loose.