To the otherworld

Alastor had regained his consciousness for a while now. His back against the cold wall, he clenched his fist, felt the absence of his sword. He saw Hannibal’s mumbling the spells under his breath accompanied by shuffling squeaks of his boots. His footsteps paced, suggesting that the ground made of cobble is too slippery for him to walk, it could also be that he’s tired due to almost an hour of walking and reciting.