[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]

	The German's bag was held gingerly by The Great Bazhooli, a testament to the fact that his personal feelings concerning a man turning into a fairy and climbing into said bag (which were not amazingly to the positive as he had not grown accustomed to seeing it as of yet) were not about to influence his actions. As momentarily offputting as it was wondrous, Ludwig was right. He was not a Brivaldi rider. His ferret was not a Brivaldi horse. There was zero chance that he would be able to keep up with Constantin and himself. It was the best decision to make, as his father the Baron put it, with the resources at his disposal. 

	Vladimir carried the bag over to his mighty black horse, debating exactly what to do with the sack full of ferret and German. Tie to his saddle or tack? Cram into some corner of his personal baggage, however little he might be carrying? In end short and purposeful end, Vladimir took a minute to redistribute the contents of his saddlebags, moving a spare article of clothing or two into his hat and placing backup knives in more conspicuous places to make room for the live cargo. If either Fey Ludwig or Deiter (ferret, not brother, damnit now he's doing it) wanted to get a glimpse of the countryside, they would do so by lifting the flap on his saddlebag. And as it turned out, if the situation was not to his immediate liking, alteration of the setup would have to wait until the first break period they would have to take to walk their horses. Even Brivaldi bred and trained mounts could not run indefinitely.

	Leaping atop noble Tolstoy(!), Vladimir reined the animal around, addressing his people for what he expected would be the last time for a while. [color=firebrick]"Having orders, having plans. Ve meet in Land of Scots, bringing glory to our peoples! No matter vhat, Circus helps Circus. Circus helps friends."[/color] He snapped his fingers, seemingly to the effect of materializing a broad knife in his hand. Using it as one might a saber, he gave a salute to everyone present and turned his horse back in the direction of the path Ludwig had pointed out earlier. 

	He finally paid notice to the presence of Constantin, intoning, [color=firebrick]"Very good. For thanking you to join us. Bristol, Sea, German, ferret, horses... is things of adventure! Ve go."[/color] Vladimir smiled broadly and resheathed his big knife. snapping a command in Rusyn, reinforced with specific pressure on the horse, he took off like an equestrian cannonball, hurtling toward England's western shore. 




[hr][hr][center][h1][color=c0c0c0][i][b]Sister Mary Ignatia Hale[/b][/i][/color][/h1][/center]
[center][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/4361c841-ebec-4377-b8bf-a81c46346e1c.jpg[/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]

	The storm was truly incredible. Dripping with unknown and unknowing malice, but most definitely incredible. Against it shone a beacon to the north, almost in the exact direction they meant to travel anyway. Was it a sign? Possibly. Yet it could also be a trap; when you see a thing that appears too convenient, it oft is, in fact, [i]too convenient[/i]. Having to shout to be heard, even from the distance she was from Virginia, Mary answered her friend. [color=c0c0c0]"Mosi?"[/color] She did not understand. 

	It took Mary a second or two to remember; Mosi was the name of the woman who had fallen at Almack's, the dear, dear departed friend of Virginia's that Mary regarded a little coldly, owing to her professional, distanced disposition during the attack. Such was the way of her kind while hunting or combating Soulless, passionate intensity channeled through a keyhole, the door thereof a bulwark of piety and discipline. The realization of what Virginia said, and the context under which she said it, only served to confuse the young Apostolic. 

	[color=c0c0c0]"I shall follow it, Virginia."[/color] replied Mary. If it was a phenomenon that her friend was familiar with, then it might mean aid or succour of some kind. [color=c0c0c0]"But if it is not helpful to our mission, I must insist that we continue onward."[/color] With that, Mary reined her Cassius in pursuit of the new occurrence in the distance.