The Chrion Legend: The Chosen

Metal.  The clinking and clanking of metal links.  Chains.  I was in chains.  My hands were bound by iron manacles, held above my head by a hook about seven feet above the ground.

"Where am I?"

"Some call it a pit, others call it a dungeon," rasped a voice from the darkness,  "Whatever name you give this place, no one will ever hear it."

I peered into the shadows, trying to discern the source of the voice.  As my eyes adjusted, I was able to make out snow white hair, gnarled skin that appeared as frail as paper, and a eyes as dull and lifeless as a corpse.

"Who are you?  Why are we here?"

"Who I am does not matter.  Why we are here..."  He trailed off.  With a strange look in his eye, one that depicted fear, excitement, and a little bit of hope, he whispered, "Are you one of them?  Are you one of the Chosen?"

"The Chosen?"  I asked. "I..."  Thinking back to the introduction to the book, I remembered that it had said I had been chosen for something.  "I think so.  I don't even know what that means though."

The man in the shadows seemed to be pondering the situation.  "Yes... yes... yes," he began to murmur over and over.

"What is it?"

He turned back to look at me again.  "I failed, but maybe you won't.  With the help of someone that has fallen, perhaps you will avoid my mistakes."

"What are you talking about?"

"I am talking about escaping."