The door crumpled under the weight of dozens of pounds of steel-bound muscle. The men knew the procedure fairly well - knew what was expected of them. Methuseld was a phenomenal tactician - she knew that, generally, sending three men into the unknown was a great way to get them killed. But she knew that it was also a decent way to gauge what was inside with minimal risk to the rest of the men, and most importantly she knew that so long as she had a single ounce of strength left in her limbs, she would show the Vizier that she was not following his orders because she loved being his pet. So, on a routine basis, the lives of three men of his best men could be chalked up to the skill of whatever awaited them inside whatever building they were searching.<br/><br/>Judging by the sounds, and judging by the silent hand-signals from one of the men in front of the door but outside the building, trying to peer inside, Methuseld had a fairly good idea of the skill level of the men inside. No Drow, it appeared, which was good. Just these apparently excellent fighters, and a dog. That dog, she knew, was likely the Sorceress's pet fox. A few heads came tumbling out of the building toward her, to the sound of "catch pretty lady!" Methuseld cocked her head to the side in one smooth, controlled motion, letting the head sail harmlessly past her. The sight of the fresh blood on the men's throats caught her eye, even in the dim torch and lantern light. That red, that wonderful crimson red. Methuseld's upper lip twitched a little as her steel-gray eyes watched a few errant drips of the salty stuff fall. She knew what was coming over her. Like a buzz after a few ales, she felt different - just a little, just a whisper of a shadow. But still loud enough to hear. "Kill."<br/><br/>The pale golden woman dismounted, a slight flush in her cheek as if she really had been drinking. This would take a special touch - her direct involvement. She secured the heavy halberd she'd been holding to her horse - no room inside to swing it. "You know the drill," she said to her men as she approached the building. They got into position, lit torches. One ran off to notify the rest of the guard of what was happening. For her part, she removed the lantern hanging at her side and put a relaxed hand on the hilt of her sword, hanging at her waist. Still calmly walking, almost strolling, towards the entrance, woman's cool gaze locked on, unwavering, to the darkness inside. To whatever horrors awaited. Then, with one smooth motion, she tossed the lantern inside, instantly illuminating everything as it burst open on the hard floor and sent some oil splattering. At the same time, her men broke open the windows and tossed in torches.<br/><br/>The building wouldn't burn. At least not initially. If there hadn't been some prized goods inside she would have just set it ablaze and waited for the occupants to come to her or die inside. But this had to be handled personally. As soon as the inside was fully visible, a dozen soldiers burst in through windows and doors, the remainder waiting outside to spot any runners. In the lead was Methuseld, hand still calmly resting on the hilt of her sword as she took a surprisingly fast gauntleted swing at Dean, the nearest one to her. All the while her cool eyes watched while that flush on her cheeks, barely noticeable at first, began to imperceptibly spread to her face. The curse was alive - it hungered for blood. "Kill," it whispered, caressing its host. "Kill," it whispered, augmenting her already impressive abilities. "Kill!" it whispered a little louder, and shifted its gaze to the first target.