The hustle and bustle of the awakening city began to distract Methuseld from her melancholy, if only briefly. Many folk began their days early - before the sun was even up - and so by this point in the morning it was hard to imagine how the throng could swell in size any more than it already had. Such places made Methuseld uncomfortable by habit. So many strangers crossing paths, brushing up, walking with... any one of them could be an assassin. It was something she'd always relied on bodyguards for, for the task was thankless, nerve-wracking, and neigh-impossible to perform perfectly. Now, without a security detail save for three partners of dubious loyalty and skill, she would have to take on the menial task of guarding bodies, her own especially. Leaving little room for thinking about the big picture - the kind of art she excelled at painting.<br/><br/>It was likely this unfamiliarity with her new role that led to Dean spotting the threat first; applying principles, even well-known ones, could take time. Silver eyes tracked to their targets, one by one, as General von Ellegarde contemplated action but quickly came to a conclusion. Between the nebulous yet all too sinister threat living inside her armor, the mob of innocent by-standers who would likely fetch the city guard, and the difficulty of navigating such bustling human terrain with any great speed, it seemed a daunting task (to say the least) to engage the men, avoid whatever magic plagued her, prevent them from getting away, and avoid an engagement with the city guard that led to either death or, even worse, imprisonment. The dungeon was the last place she wanted to be - she would not trade a magical cage for a physical one.<br/><br/>"No. No attack here. Somewhere less busy, more favorable."<br/><br/>She didn't mention anything about her armor. How could she? Likely, she needed these people to survive, at least for the time being. It seemed doubtful they'd let her stay if they knew that at any point, something lurking just out of reach could... do something? She didn't even know what. 'Give me yourself willingly, and I will not take more than my fair share', it had said. And then parted with the words 'be sure to kill something soon.' Presumably it wanted her to do just that - kill something. But why? What would it do once she had? And what did it mean for her to give herself willingly? Goose bumps ran up and down her skin, a shiver despite the rising sun's warmth. She would try to avoid killing, so she could avoid finding out what lay beneath.<br/><br/>Avoiding killing when there were assassins after them. The irony was so thick she could take a big bite and spit it out with disgust.<br/><br/><em>Thunk.</em>The boat hit the side of the dock softly, both Azas hopping off without skipping a beat. Methuseld secured the craft, thick old wet rope abused by the armored hands that tied it, and began piling what bags they'd brought onto land. It was just enough for them to carry, though horses would make for easier travel. Then when she finished, she hopped off the boat herself, making sure her sword belt and armor were secure.<br/><br/>"Well?" She shouted, above the din of tradesmen, fishermen, children, animals, and all the other joys that a harbor had to offer.