[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] North of London (By means of Northwest Inner Wall)
[color=firebrick][b]Skills:[/b][/color] [i]Fal'shbort[/i] (Passive), [i]Tretiy Glaz[/i] (Passive), [i]Brivaldi[/i], English [/center][hr]

	[color=firebrick]"...bozhe moi..."[/color] breathed Vladimir, not particularly appreciating the sudden possible alteration of plans. The wall already being seen to was excellent news, no doubt, but now that left the matter of their route. It seemed like a simple affair, getting from one city to another. They would have street signs, like any civilized country might. And England did so pride themselves on being civilized. Just as civilized and bland as dry toast. The good people of London were lucky to have the temporary influence of people like himself and his cohorts. If nothing else, a little color courtesy of The Great Bazhooli would do them wonders. Or it would have, seeing as he was really only allowed two headlining appearances for the time that he was there. But he did leave quite the impression both times. London would whisper about the Russian Imperial Circus for a time to come, particularly the brave, dashing, handsome man who hurled knives; the one and only Great Bazhooli. So he hoped, anyway. 

	[color=firebrick]"Notting Ham, Naughty Ham, Not-A-Ham, am not caring."[/color] explained Vlad, reining his great black Brivaldi horse, Tolstoy about. The horse responded with a dramatic whinny, reared up slightly, and lay its hooves down so as to rest in precisely the direction Vladimir wanted to travel. [color=firebrick]"Is ham. Ham is good, yes? We go to Ham."[/color] It seemed a bit simple of a concept. There is where they needed to go, there is where they were going. They were packed to move en masse, all as one, purely off of the word of a Firewalker who had a vision and an oddly disturbed German fellow they had met the day before. Stranger things had happened. Again, simple.

	But things were so rarely simple. Ludwig put in his two rubles and threw the plan awry. Vladimir puffed out a breath, considering faking a massive headache and letting his father handle the decisions for the Circus. It was his Circus anyway, he [i]was[/i] The Baron. But this uproot and move was presented by Vladimir, so he took the reins for now. [color=firebrick]"Da! Bristol! Is on vay? Vhere is Bristol? Vhy is Bristol? Vhyfor do ve not go to the Naughtyham?"[/color] He would have to tell his people [i]something[/i] if this fairly simple Point A to Point B plan just got more complicated. 





[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]“Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.” -Psalm 19:105[/color][/sub]
[hr][color=c0c0c0][b]Location:[/b][/color] Nottingham
[color=c0c0c0][b]Skills:[/b][/color] Horseback Riding, Audist [/center][hr][hr]

        This was Soulless. It was obviously Soulless, though it was not of a type that corresponded to anything from Mary's training. In the fraction of a second that obscured frozen shock from immediate action, questions came to the young Dame Commander's mind. Did this thing follow the Circus from Russia? Was this the thing that was after Elizaveta from before? Mary did not seem to remember description of... skin flakes? Those were flakes of skin trailing? 

        It mattered not what this was, nor it's origin. The means of True Death could be established later. It had killed a fine and noble animal and was escaping with the Grand Duchess for its victim. [color=c0c0c0]"[i]By God, you shall not![/i]"[/color] challenged Mary, spurring her dappled grey stallion into a full gallop. Her hand found its way to her Swiss Halberd, a blessed weapon crafted for the protectors of the Papal throne, as she steeled herself for coming bloodshed. [color=c0c0c0]"[i]Blessed be the Lord my strength which teacheth my hands to war, and my fingers to fight.[/i]"[/color] she growled with the conviction of a crusader, maneuvering her horse into a parallel path and praying her Cassius had speed enough to overtake the creature in front of them.