the evil eye has done its work;

The man Mordreaux had literally dragged with him was a curious one. Short, but who wasn’t, and his unrest was quite obvious to Aleister. “Together, tonight? Boy,” the mage laughs, “You think I’m spending one minute more in here than I need to? Make yourself useful and look for something we can use against the Wights.” That wasn’t fire. Because his brain kept tricking himself to think about just setting the forest on fire, and that was literally the most horrible plan.

Mordreux laughing at “Uwe Winkler” earned him a shake of Aleister’s head, unable to place the timing of that one after all. But he too continued to look around the shack for something to use, glad when Mordeaux picked up the book. “Have to agree with Mord here. I can hardly reassure anyone of them being safe in lighter circumstance. And let me confirm I do choose my own hide over anyone elses, if the choice has to be made.” He enjoyed being a little cryptic. And unsettling, at the best of times. “And call me Al. Aleister is such a mouthful.”

Some of the Blight Wights had started to rush in on the cabin, his familiars showed him as much.  At least they were mostly sticks, but even then, in overwhelming numbers even rats could be horribly deadly. Size nor strength mattered little.

Mordreux was already outside before Aleister could mutter any warning about the little critters bashing their bodies against the walls of the cabin. He turned to look at Uwe instead, there was something curious about this one. “You are a mage, right?” A curious tilt of his masked face as he stepped closer, “Are you with the order?” 

A sudden freezing breeze interrupted him, followed by a voice he did not recognize. As he turned to look for whoever was calling, gaze captured by the woman suddenly sitting at the previously empty table.

That was odd. More odd than being in a shack with a mage he did not know, and he let the thought go quickly. Was Uwe seeing this as well? Had the shack just gone entirely silent? It almost felt like his own magic was playing tricks on him now, which wouldn’t be a first.

Worse, he felt like he recognized the old woman.

The voice returned to his mind, and for the first time in a long while, he felt what others must feel like around him; anxious. Was he toyed with?

Do you know where you are?

Does he? Maybe he does. His eyes wandered the shack once more, briefly curious about where Mordreaux had gone; and if he’d set the forest on fire like Aleisters mind had been thinking of doing. It sure did smell like he had.

Where is he? Her eyes are on the pair, insistent for an answer, but Aleister can’t help but feel they’re locked on him. “The woods, in a shack- your house, I presume.” You know, had he seen her earlier, he might’ve introduced himself before just barging in.

Or brought a gift, as was polite.