Methuseld raised her eyebrows, bemused by his confusion. Yes, that made sense; to him she'd been a singleminded crazed warrior. She kept silent while he worked through it a bit, milking as much out of the moment as she could. "Yes. I want away from the Spire, and away from the Vizier. You could say I had a change of heart; I no longer wish to be his chained lapdog." But in exchange for her sword, he told her he wanted something from her. The warrior frowned, watching him with icy gray, suspicious eyes. Usually when men asked for favors, nothing good came of it. If she had to, she'd fight him for the sword and escape from this blasted ship, but she hoped it wouldn't come to that.<br/><br/>In fact, it came to something else entirely. And the blasted ship suddenly became a whole<em>other</em>blasted ship. The corridor stretched out between them, putting dozens of feet between the two warriors who scrambled for footing as the magic threatened to through them off balance. "Blast! What in all the hells?!" Time slowed down as adrenaline took over. Faced with such a bizarre situation as a ship suddenly beginning to transform, fear permeated her every fiber. She glanced at her armor in the other room, saw it engulfed in unnatural terrifying shadow. No! Those hunks of metal were expensive. Donovan called to her, and for a second she was torn. Save her armor out of the shadows and try to make a run for it, perhaps with Donovan, or leave the armor to its fate (hope it was left unchanged by the shadows, which seemed unlikely) and run with Donovan to try to put a stop to this. groaning, she sprinted for the other warrior, crossing the elongated corridor in a few seconds. Bizarre paintings popped into view lining the hallway as she reached him. Lewd acts in some, displayed with little regard for propriety; gorey battles with demons in others, with all manner of horrible acts portrayed; yet still other art in others.<br/><br/>Methuseld did her best to ignore this. Some things were beyond the average human's understanding. She was just that, her martial skills notwithstanding. Perhaps she could begin to comprehend what was happening if given a month of reading or lectures, but for the moment enlightenment was beyond her. And so she concentrated merely on what was in front of her, what was two or three or four feet away. And nothing else. Right now, that was Donovan, and wherever he led her to do whatever he wanted to do to end this. As they tried to make their way to the deck of the ship, they crossed weird rooms that led to places that were distinctly NOT a part of the ship they'd been in but a few moments earlier. In one room she saw herself, being made love to, rather vigorously, by Dean and Donovan. Red flushed Methuseld's cheeks and she quickly turned away. In another she saw demons wearing the armor of her homeland, running towards her, weapons drawn. Confusion, nervousness, and sheet blinding terror swirled around her like a powerful whirlpool, threatening to suck her down to her death. She fought it as hard as she could, concentrating on her footsteps following Donovan.