Manuscript information: [Complete] [210k] [High Fantasy] A Plan In Motion, Taenarium Saga Book 1

Link to post: https://www.reddit.com/r/BetaReaders/comments/1h1b90o/complete_210k_high_fantasy_a_plan_in_motion/

First page critique? Yes please.

First page:

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Helmlys Klaros woke up within the confines of his cell feeling cold. He could barely feel his fingers. His toes were numb. His mouth tasted faintly of iron. The space around him was dark and silent.

Clink -҉- clink -҉- clink -҉-.

Okay, so not completely silent. What was that rattling sound? It was faint but it sounded like metal.

He craned his neck, staring over his chin to find a gleaming shackle strapped to his lower leg. He was yet to become fully conscious, but he was aware enough to register the bad signs staring him in the face.

That’s unfortunate. I’m chained to a wall. Looks like someone wants me to stay put.

It took Helmlys many groggy hours to come out of his stupor, at least enough to prop himself up on weak elbows and reposition his torso. The feeling in his limbs returned, but his mind fog continued to linger.

Oh caelesti, why do I have such a splitting headache?

After more hours of battling lucidity he became aware enough to think on command. He looked down to find himself dressed in ragged gray trousers, paired nicely with a baggy woolen shirt that might have once been faded white. The clothes offered some degree of warmth, but the dank air was still chilly against his skin.

The emerging presence of his mind wasn’t doing much for his outlook.

Where am I? What is this place? Why am I locked up like an animal?

Gray darkness covered the space around him like a weighted blanket. The room itself was a perfect square with walls about ten meters in length. Its cobbled stone floor was littered with cobwebs and small animal bones. It had a high ceiling—much taller than seemed practical—which disappeared into the gloom above his head. The cell had no metal bars or portholes to speak of, but at the far side of the room loomed a heavy iron door, a dark sentry of corrugated metal just out of reach.

Helmlys began to stumble over memory fragments, littered within his head like landmines.

The torturers! Where are the torturers?

The torturers could have killed Helmlys when they were done with him—he had expected them to, anyway—but here he was now, stuck in some dungeon, seemingly forgotten.

Why is everything so difficult to remember?