[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=556B2F]Thalken Talink[/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[img]https://media.giphy.com/media/9uIx88eShj8OKrdkHU/giphy.gif[/img][/center][center][I][h3][color=556B2F]I've said it so many times. I would change my ways.
No, nevermind. God knows I've tried...

[/color][/h3][/I][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XbzkaznpZD0][color=556B2F]- [I]"Call Me" by Shinedown[/I][/color][/url][/center]
[hr][hr][center][b][color=556B2F]Location:[/color][/b] Russian Imperial Circus Tent City (Regent's Park) - Stables
[b][color=556B2F]Skills:[/color][/b] None currently
[/center][hr]
	Thalken's eyes fluttered open, and a groan soon left his lips. His face contorted into a grimace at the pounding in his head. It took a moment for the sensation of thick fabric wrapped around him and something [I]else[/I] touching him to pervade him. When it did, he suddenly started flailing his arms and legs in an attempt to unwedge himself. Once free of the fabric's constraint, he quickly sat up, a little [I]too[/I] quickly actually. His head spun, the pounding seemingly filling his ears. His nose simultaneously wrinkled as a foul stench hit his nose. The pain coupled with the godawful smell made him feel sick to his stomach, and if it weren't for the fact that he had an empty stomach, he probably would've vomited. [color=556B2F]"God,"[/color] he mumbled, his voice a bit muffled due to his parched mouth. He absentmindedly licked his lips to moisten them. He lifted a hand to rub his head before his squinted gaze slowly took in his strange surroundings, feeling a tad disoriented. More so, his migraine made it hard to think straight, as such he was confused where [I]and when[/I] he was. 

	And then, it hit him like a massive tidal wave. Everything that had gone down the night before, from the mildly annoying to the downright horrific, came back to him. His eyes widened, and he paled slightly. [I]God. Dammit.[/i] He gritted his teeth through the pain as he hoisted himself up onto his feet, grabbing onto the nearest sturdy fixture for support. As his clothes rubbed against him, his skin felt raw, no doubt due to sleeping in his--he didn't even want to finish that statement. He glanced outside of the makeshift stall that he was in. He let out a low growl when he noted the presence of guards. [color=556B2F]"Piss off,"[/color] he irritably grumbled under his breath. He let out a small huff when he looked down to see the buckets of water, soap, and change of clothes. He supposed he should be grateful. [i]Should[/i] being the operative word. Right now he was just in no mood for gratitude, or anything of a similarly positive nature, really. More than that, he was also thinking why the hell he thought this had all been a good idea.

	He glanced back over at the guards, making sure they were minding their own business before he undressed. He made quick work of cleaning himself up. Well, as quick as his raging hangover would allow. Soon enough, he was semi-dry and partially dressed, i.e. he had everything except for a shirt on. He put on the shirt he was provided as he shuffled out of the stall. If one was paying attention at the time, they could see a Chinese tattoo on his left pectoral before it was subsequently covered up by the fabric. He looked back over at the guards with a half-hearted sneer. 
[hr][hr]
[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=DC143C]Fyror Kildragon[/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[img]https://media.giphy.com/media/3oKIPfz9cQZIJsAMw0/giphy.gif[/img][/center][center][I][h3][color=DC143C]Good people are like candles;
They burn themselves up to give others light.
[/color][/h3][/I][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lhv_yFMuwxs][color=DC143C]- [I]"Vengeance" by Zack Hemsey[/I][/color][/url][/center]
[hr][hr][center][b][color=DC143C]Location:[/color][/b] Manchester, England 
[b][color=DC143C]Skills:[/color][/b] Country knowledge (England)
[/center][hr]
	As the sun rose up into the sky, rays of sunlight flittered into the carriage, casting shadows on Fyror's scarred face. There was a slight weariness weighing down on his features as he gazed out the window. He had slept little since he and Mr. Connolly had begun their journey to rescue Millicent the morning before. His mind had been, and still was, consumed by thoughts of her. He thought back on that moment they had shared whilst dancing together on that fateful night at Almack's. No matter how brief it had been, it was still one of his fondest memories after a lifetime of rejections. He could still vividly imagine the feel of her hand in his and picture the radiant smile that had graced her lips. Oh how he wished he could put a smile on her face again now. 

	Their moment was short lived. That night she was dealt a great blow with the tragic death of her stepsister at the hands of the Soulless, and in one fell swoop, she had nearly lost her stepmother too. And then there was Lord Rutherford. The mere thought of the despicable man made his blood boil, and he would be lying if he said it hadn't hurt his heart to see Millicent in his arms. Worse yet though, that poor excuse for a man, let alone a lord, took advantage of Millicent's moment of weakness and used it against her for his own nefarious desires. He was leading her on a path of ruin and torture, a path that would only lead to one thing: a slow, painful death. The information in Dr. Graham's file, the explicit details of what Lord Rutherford's previous wives had endured at the man's hands, was forever etched in Fyror's brain. And yet, despite how much it tortured him, in a way he honestly didn't want to forget it. For the moment he forgot Lord Rutherford's transgressions would be the moment that Millicent's plight was deemed as insignificant. It would be the moment that Lord Rutherford escaped justice. But was it really justice that Fyror wished to dish out? Or was it truly vengeance? 

	But as they reached the edge of Manchester, all thoughts on the matter quickly fled. Fyror was thrust back into reality at the sight of rising columns of smoke through the canopy of trees. The air became increasingly laden with the unmistakable stench of death and burnt remains the further they traveled into the heart of Manchester. He glanced back at Gerard, alarm lighting up the amber color of his one good eye. His jaw set in a hard line as his gaze returned to the window. His hands curled around the edge of his seat as if to steady himself. The moment the carriage stopped to change horses he was out the door in an instant. His red coat made him easy to spot, but the stern expression on his mangled face didn't necessarily make him seem the most inviting.