A sense of foreboding churned in Neveah's gut as a man stepped into the light. He was clad in a gray, weathered robe, sporting more than a few rips and stains, and he looked like he'd missed more than a few weeks worth of beard trims.
He moved with a wobbling gait, like he'd broken a few bones in his lower limbs that hadn't quite healed. He dragged behind him a long chain that accounted for the grating sound. It was attached to a cuff clasped tightly around his wrists, and the length of it kept him restricted to a few metres from the wall, as it only allowed limited movement.
At first glance, it was difficult to tell his age, but on closer look, Neveah guessed he was somewhere in his early to late forties. But she couldn't be sure.
His face was haggard and his eyes were sunken. His skin looked waxy, and grayish-yellow, Neveah assumed he'd been imprisoned here for at least a month and being exposed to the ice for that long was taking its toll on him.
