The dangling of chains echoed silently in the dark chamber, again, and again. The person restrained by these chains kept pulling, trying to wrench himself free from its shackles.
It seemed he had given up now, and the chains only made whispers of clanging iron. The person stood in the center of a cell, two long, heavy chains bound to his hands and locked above the prison.
His face was filled with sweat, his eyes were tired and despairing, his breaths held a lot of rasp, and his clothes — a lined sleeved shirt and a rugged black tie with pants — were tattered and worn.
The cell was mounted in the center of a barren space, and footsteps echoed in this space, along with that was the noise of murmurings, coming from the man outside the cell; Osric Daligarth.