This is a plain stone room with many trunks piled high.  There's tables with paper records stacked high along with writing instruments.
Storage room, Dungeon
a priest
prisoner
I am a prisoner at the current point in my life. I was thrown in here for the wrong things and none of the guards will help me or let me explain my side. There is no way for me to fight this. I guess my only choice is to try and break out. I have a family I need to take care of.
The damned roaches crawl over my skin when I'm sleeping, and I'm not meant to BE here!  Ah, well, my son, your iron chains say otherwise. However, I have open ears and an open heart. Tell me of your injustice. They've told you of my supposed crimes, have they not? The jailers? Of course I have learned your crimes, my child. The King himself is quite outraged at your actions. Here, a parcel. Within this box; your salvation. Sign your name to the proclamation and you will merely suffer exile. Refusing to sign and account for your crimes is most certain death. What say you, my son?