[hr][hr][center][h1][color=9e0b0f][b]Российский императорский цирк[/b][/color][/h1][/center]
[center][color=9e0b0f][b](Russian Imperial Circus)[/b][/color][/center]
[center][img]https://image.ibb.co/jVrOhp/Scythefalling.gif[/img][/center]
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	While the discussion raged on about the rare possibility of splitting up the Circus, some of the men and women began their own tiny side conversations. Many of them discussed which direction they wanted to go personally. It was not surprising that the majority wished to stay with the larger group that would be going north; after all, the general idea was that Circus sticks together. On the other hand, the Bazhooli Sem'ya was an even more tightly knit group than the rest of the Circus, and [i]they[/i] wished to go wherever The Great Bazhooli led them. He was chosen among them for a reason; he was the most skilled of his generation, the most dedicated to his people, and possessed the most extroverted [i]panache[/i] of anyone bearing the name Alexandrov. 

	In the end, there were very few that were able to make the decision for themselves. As much as these people were into free thought and tossing away the shackles of ordered, straightlaced society in lieu of a more mobile, expressive existence, they also understood the importance of following the wishes of those who had attained their positions of authority within the Barony that was The Circus. To that end, when Vladimir Dmitrievich Alexandrov spoke his mind, in his own grandiose manner, they listened. They followed. They did so with the passion an intensity that made the Russian Imperial Circus the best, most famous, and easily deadliest troupe that the world had ever known. 

	Pursuant to this, the two guards assigned to follow around Thalken (ensuring that he did not do anything he should not, and likewise making sure that no one of a vindictive or suspicious nature did anything too horribly impolite to him), stopped when their names were called. Apparently, Vladimir decreed that, even as Thalken voiced a choice that wasn't [i]quite[/i] his to make, that it is fact was prudent to have him stay with the rest of the Circus on the land route north. Moreover, his guards would be assigned to him on the permanent, continuing to ensure that he stay as safe as possible during his stay with the Circus and still did nothing ...evil. Neither one was particularly happy about it, but there was an understanding that this had to be done. It was their duty. Far be it for them to question the nature of their duty, not when it was so apparent. An honor, even, to have such a prominent role in the safety of their people. 

	Of the two of them, the elder guard carrying a fine and shiny flintlock straightened to his full height, put a prideful look on his face, and slapped his pistol-hand to his chest in grand, dramatic salute to his one and only Great Bazhooli. He was just as surprised as anyone when the gun went off. 

	The look on his face was priceless. The look on Thalken's face would have been likewise priceless except that his face was where the bullet entered. Without actually exiting the back of his head, it did manage to fully remove two of his cervical vertebrae and part of his lower skull, arcing out of the back of his head like a child's attempt at a spitting contest. 

	He crumpled like a boned fish. 

[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]

	Vladimir's eyes widened. There were not many things on this green and shiny earth that could make The Great Bazhooli immediately stop speaking, but watching someone accidentally and quite unexpectedly lose the back of their head due to a prematurely triggered flintlock was one of them. Exasperation sounded in his voice as picked back up his gift of speech, though why he chose to continue in English was beyond his reserves of logical thought. [color=firebrick]"VHAT HELL YOU DO, EH?"[/color] he bellowed, arms outstretched as if demanding an answer. He clasped his hands to the sides of his head, [color=firebrick]"No, no, no, NO! [i]Nyet[/i]! For vhy? [i]Now[/i] who vill guide us up to the Naughty Hams? Or the Gretna Green in Land of Scots? Who vill give lessons in custom of English? You? Gaaahh!"[/color] 

	His wordless exclamation was apparently the cue needed for his father, The Baron, to emerge from the northernmost parts of the procession. [b]"Death of mercenary is of no concern of ours. Ve take any Englishman on road and hire him for guide, one whose family does not vant Viscount James, our distant blood, dead. Now, [i]Great Bazhooli[/i], you are in charge of this expedition. Use vhat resources ve have now and make decision. Do not think. You have answer. Say. Say now."[/b] 

	Vladimir looked to his father. He looked past him to see his son atop his personal vardo, ready to move at his command. The all were. They were good people. Vlad sighed. [color=firebrick]"Path of Sea must be swift. Few in number. Fast to get to Bristol. Ludvig, Constantin, and myselv go to Bristol. Firevalker! Get [i]Brivaldi[/i] horse! You are vith us on sea!"[/color] He looked around the rest of his people, nodding his head. [color=firebrick]"Circus stays together. Iv sea claims me, another Great Bazhooli vill be tapped. Has been this vay since beginning. But Circus stay together! Bazhooli Sem'ya takes young Lord Crypt into safety. Little Adam stays vith him. Protected. Safe. As safe as ve can make them."[/color] 

	Determination washing over his face, Vlad clenched his fists and began to stride toward his vardo. There were a few things he would need from there to hopefully make his trip fruitful. As he walked, he gave a commanding yell of, [color=firebrick]"Five minute! Five! Then we go! Baron leads Circus north vith Ludvig's maps! I go vest, to Bristol! FIVE."[/color] Vladimir entered the door to his very exquisite vardo wagon, where a few things could be heard clunking around. When he emerged, he was carrying a set of two saddlebags, a blanket, and a long garment box tied together snugly with lengths of rope. His saber was still at his waist, and he was ever the living weapon with his knives, but sharpened steel would not be the only things he would need for this journey. Not a hell of a lot more, mind you. Speed was of importance. 

	He gave the offending guard a long, hard look as he passed by. The poor man was still standing exactly as he was earlier, frozen in time. Thalken's body still lay upon the ground; no amount of Rusyn Healing would have fixed that. Then an idea hit The Great Bazhooli. He looked to the second guard assigned to the Londoner, who was still carrying his belongings. [color=firebrick]"Give to me."[/color] he calmly ordered. [color=firebrick]"Now."[/color] The man promptly handed over the dead man's sword and knives, sheathes, belt, pistol and sundries thereof. On the way back to his horse, Tolstoy, he stopped, examining one of the gypsy dancers. This one had a large, wraparound black shawl with explosive floral pattern. [color=firebrick]"May I, please?"[/color] he asked of her, reaching out. She acquiesced with a girlish smile, and soon Vladimir had wrapped Thalken's tools of battle up and secured them to his horse's tack. 

	Upon mounting Tolstoy(!), Vlad turned him to the western road. The frozen guard from earlier, feeling that it might be his last chance, asked a question of The Great Bazhooli: 

	"Master, vhat with body?" he inquired in broken English.

		[color=firebrick]"Ah yes... Ve have bears, da? Russian Browns, Arctic Vhites? Ve feed yet today? Go."[/color] 

	This might not have been Vladimir's quest at the beginning of the day, but Elizaveta's actions and a series of [i]Tretiy Glaz[/i] visions had forced his hand. Though he had only caught a glimpse of her at Almack's, he had heard a few things about the woman. Whether she knew it or not, Millicent had allies. Friend of his blood, friend of his Grand Duchess... yes, he would go. He had to, now. And if Vladimir got to her first, she would be armed, clothed, and healed if required. If the Circus did, well, The Baron would make sure she had resources at her disposal. 

	But the moment he found Elizaveta, they would most certainly have words. 




[hr][hr][center][h1][color=c0c0c0][i][b]Sister Mary Ignatia Hale[/b][/i][/color][/h1][/center]
[center][img]https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HX-U83Mdz2Q/US2hdBjK4zI/AAAAAAAAD34/Z2EjdGYAc-0/s640/tumblr_migv0cqRkL1qic0y1o3_r1_500.png[/img]
[sub][color=c0c0c0]“The night is darkest just before the dawn. And I promise you, the dawn is coming.”[/color][/sub]
[hr][color=c0c0c0][b]Location:[/b][/color] Road between Nottingham & Manchester
[color=c0c0c0][b]Skills:[/b][/color] Horseback Riding [/center][hr][hr]

	Again, the discussion of murder. Mary wished that Virginia would at least use another word. Something more fitting to the task of dispatching two-legged vermin. In truth, Mary had her suspicions about the man in the first place, and his status among the Soulled. There were two off coincidences that occurred at Almack's. Maybe it was nothing. But to commit [i]murder[/i] the creature had to have a soul. How he evaded her ability to detect Soulless masquerading as living folk was beyond her, were that the case, but her abilities in this regard were imperfect. And as she had witnessed, there were more kinds of Soulless than were detailed in her initial Training. This was a dilemma. With hope and faith, the Almighty may reveal an answer when the time was right. 

	When the lightning struck to the north, Mary was oddly hopeful. Something about the white blaze in the face of a raging storm, perhaps. The touch of purity among the thunderbolts of blood across an angry sky was enough for her. If it was an enemy, then she would rather die facing it that a demonic storm. The feeling that she knew this white fire from somewhere was a drawing factor, as well. Driving forward in the growing surge of unnatural weather, Mary vowed to herself that she would get to the bottom of this, and that she would continue the mission. North it was, to the pure light and to close the gap between them and Scotland. [color=c0c0c0]"Do you know what that could be, Virginia?"[/color] she asked of her companion. It was familiar, but she could not place it. Maybe she remembered something.