The captured general struggled a bit more once commanded to stop but eventually ceased. Her ears perked up when the man headed up to cast off - honestly she was surprised it took them this long. Amateurs? Waiting for the Elf? No, she'd already established that the blonde beauty and the rest were not affiliated. But she was not eager to find out what sort of "beneficial arrangement" the three would come up with regarding herself and Aza. Or maybe understanding everyone's angle in this would be useful.<br/><br/>"Oh, violence will be kept to a minimum, I assure you. And we<em>will</em>be back home soon enough. With you two in tow. No... three; I'm sure the Vizier would love a magical little slave such as yourself!" She did not care for the Elf's flirtatious attitude - she herself had not bothered with such behavior for years now, and would not. She was trapped by the Vizier, a slave to a curse and thereby to his will, and flirting and seduction were not on her list of top priorities. Especially when the Vizier saw fit to partake of what few charms his general had left to offer, curse be damned (too many times his men had had to pry him off).<br/><br/>She also did not care for the shadow man's clearly vile thoughts and actions. She got the distinct sense that he wanted to try his luck at her, and bound up as she was she didn't know whether she could (or should, since she'd partially slipped free) stop him from trying. And if he'd succeeded? Perhaps there would be no stopping him whatsoever. Wouldn't that be a terrible end for her... These thoughts crossed her mind just as Dean directed his attention towards the fox, asking her various suggestive and inappropriate (according to Methuseld) questions. The fox seemed terrified by this, or... no, the fox was terrified of something else entirely. Shadows began licking at the poor creature, swirling and rolling like vile ocean waves covered in leering fanged faces and tentacle-like shapes. Methuseld recoiled, turning her face away from the unpleasant image just as the ship suddenly lurched - hard.<br/><br/>One moment, everything had been as calm as they could be with evil shadows suggestively surrounding a helpless shapeshifter. The next, movement and heat and everything in between - an hour-long couple of seconds that shook the hammocks so hard that the bound general spilled out pathetically, landing on her armor-clad stomach but banging her chin and face on the hard wooden floor. Stunned and unable to apply pressure to keep her hands appearing bound, the natural tension of being pressed up against armor and bent in ways they shouldn't be caused them to slip out of the bindings and onto her sides while their owner attempted to recover. Somewhere in her mind, she heard the Elf ask Dean if he liked what he saw. Suggested they could have some fun with Methuseld. But she wasn't really processing it.<br/><br/>Groaning, she tried to get up, and that was when the second shock hit.<br/><br/>To everyone else on the ship - nothing had happened, there was only one magical shock wave. But suddenly the general rolled over, eyes half-lidded, back arched as she twitched and grunted as if she was having a seizure. To the golden-haired ivory-skinned foreigner, it was as if another wave of energy rocked the boat, its invisible hand seizing her and trying to pry her from the mortal realm up to the stars. She fought, truly she did, mentally holding on to any little thing she could - any memory, any principle, anything at all to ground herself in the land of the living. And then she saw that it was not her that was being pried away, but the djinn that had cursed her. Or something that resembled the djinn - like a reflection in a mirror, both separate yet inseparable from the original. And she let him go instantly, he who had caused her so much heartache and suffering - may he never come back.<br/><br/>In the real world, after a battle that lasted minutes the general now lied on the ground, exhausted but now still. Her face red and drenched in sweat from exertion whose cause would have befuddled any but the most gifted wizards, Methuseld von Ellegarde slowly opened her gray eyes and looked around. And felt... Free? Tight rope bindings still held together two metal-clad feet, but she no longer felt a pull.<em>The</em>pull. The need to obey the Vizier's command, like a constant twitch in the back of her mind that threatened to drive her mad unless she obeyed. The curse wasn't lifted entirely; she could tell other aspects of it were still there. And perhaps this was only a momentary lift. But still... it was something. It was freedom. And like any slave recently freed, von Ellegarde had no idea what to do with that freedom or what to think. She was too perplexed and too unused to it to even sigh or be happy. Too used to the helplessness of having one's free will stripped away to know how to re-assume control of herself. She looked at the Fox, then at Dean and the now nude elf. An almost blank, emotionless stare.<br/><br/>The tumble out of the hammock had given her a cut on the chin from the old wooden deck, and blood was seeping between her lips from a bitten tongue. But she didn't seem to mind all that. "Just ignore me - go back to what you two were doing. I'm going to lie here... And..." Accented voice trailed off. A most un-Methuseld thing to do.