[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=firebrick]Vladimir Alexandrov[/color][/i][/b][/h1][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/3068ada6-2525-4e47-b1a8-14d98dfb6177.jpg[/img][h3][color=firebrick][b][i]"[u]The Great Bazhooli[/u]"[/i][/b][/color][/h3][/center][hr][hr][center][color=firebrick][b]Location:[/b][/color] Russian Imperial Circus (Regent's Park), Vladimir's Vardo -> Main Tent
[color=firebrick][b]Skills:[/b][/color] [i]Fal'shbort[/i] (Passive), [i]Tretiy Glaz[/i] (Passive), English [/center][hr]

	A determined flush of red swelled Vlad's cheeks, along with a clarifying hint of brightness to his eyes. He began with a walk, a very solid walk to return to the main tent, but it was not fast enough. Both hands worked sharp and pointy objects, twirling them back and forth wit rapid precision, a supposed cadence for his steps that never seemed fast enough. Soon, Vladimir found himself running. It wasn't but a short walk, but his willingness to get it over and done with was strong. When he had switched to the wide, reaching pace of a runner, the knives in his hands had ceased their nervous, twirling constitutionals, having settled into underhanded grips at the sides of the man known as the reigning Great Bazhooli. Safety, and such. 

	The run took him around carts and baskets of wares, vaulting over displays and spinning his physicality about groups of Circus Folk. He leapt over a brazier at one point, its smoke clinging to his body for a split second, giving the appearance of a men trailing vengeful, smoldering embers. Somehow, his ponderously tall hat clung to his head. It lent his appearance the barest of comical notes which no one in their right mind would snicker upon viewing, not if they wished to continue their evening untouched by the growing fervor of Vladimir's march. Such as it could be called a march at any rate, and not a mad dash to battle. 

	But battle was not to be had, as he set foot back inside of the Main Tent. He tucked his knives away, and with a look of high disbelief, pondered a question in something akin to The King's English: [color=firebrick]"Vhat, ah... [i]Vhat in leftover ass transpires here? Eh?"[/i][/color]



[hr][hr][center][h1][color=c0c0c0][i][b]Sister Mary Ignatia Hale[/b][/i][/color][/h1][/center]
[center][img]http://image.phimmoi.net/profile/356/medium.jpg[/img]
[sub][color=c0c0c0]"In God's name let us go on bravely." -Joan of Arc[/color][/sub]
[hr][color=c0c0c0][b]Location:[/b][/color] Jericho's Barricade
[color=c0c0c0][b]Skills:[/b][/color] Horseback Riding [/center][hr][hr]

	Defiance was not one of Mary's strong points. It wasn't who she was. In fact, one of the oaths that she had taken was one of Obedience. It was not as strict as that of a fully Cloistered nun, but it was enough to demonstrate that Mary was not given to open acts of rebellion against authority purely for the sake of it. (As an interesting side note, now that Mary was the Arch Graveolase, did that mean that her Oath of Obedience now limited her to orders given purely from the mouth of God? She would have to reconcile this new situation with her duties to the Church, as she now represented a lot more than Knights of the Papacy.) Nor was she inclined to give trouble to the men guarding the Wall, all protectors of the lives and souls of the people of London. But their business was urgent and they had to depart. 

[color=c0c0c0]"Da mihi fortitudinem, et patientia, Dei Omnipotentis..."[/color][sub]1[/sub] said Mary in a clear but quiet voice as she edged Cassius forward a step or two. She kept her halberd within her horse's tack, but turned her mount slightly so that the distinctive weapon of the Swiss Guard could be seen readily. It was not a show of force more than providing something of an identifying marker to back up her words to the guard. [color=c0c0c0]"I am Commander Hale, Venator of the Order of St. Sylvester,"[/color] she began, speaking to the man from atop her horse as an equal, rather than a woman who felt obliged to wait and answer questions. If word had gotten around London as per the local rumormill's reputation, this man knew the most recent title she had acquired; a young, fiery-haired Catholic girl, a Scottish Lady Knight of the Papacy and Soulless Hunter who had landed in the highest position in the land. People already knew about her in London. Being female, Catholic, and having her occupation had made her a well-known outcast (until they needed her), becoming Arch Graveolase even in the Interim was bound to get around. [color=c0c0c0]"I am pursuing business of my Order. By what cause do you interrogate persons leaving London, Sir Guard? What has happened?"[/color] 

	Mary considered not revealing her name, not saying anything that might tip their hand. It was not a falsehood to say that she was pursuing business of her Order. If given a command, a Knight of St. Sylvester was expected to carry it out expediently. It just happened that she, flexing the muscle of her new title, gave herself the order. Also, it would be rather difficult to go incognito from this point with a Russian lady riding a tiger. That was far too conspicuous. The Circus would know exactly who all three of them were from that detail alone, as might the good people of St. Etheldreda. But as far as they knew, the Circus didn't miss them yet, and the Church was not expected to check up on Mary that evening. 




[hider=Translations]
1	=	Give me strength and endurance, Almighty God
[/hider]