[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=B22222]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=B22222][b]Location:[/b][/color] Bristol Ship 
[color=B22222][b]Skills:[/b][/color] [i]Fal'shbort[/i] (Passive), [i]Tretiy Glaz[/i] (Passive), English [/center][hr]

	Vladimir looked upon his Circus counterpart, Constantin, and noted his sudden trouble with the movement of the boat. Inwardly, he even giggled a little. Not that it showed past the briefest of smiles, followed by a dismissive wave of his hand that seemed to impart something to the effect of "it's okay", or "don't worry about it". These things happened, right? Perhaps if he had practiced his Training with the Rusyn skill of [i]Fal'shbort[/i], he wouldn't have been almost waylaid by the movement of a vessel upon the water. It was just motion, really. Up and down, up and down, steadily with the sea level. Back and forth, back and forth, tilting and listing regularly as the waves found the hull. Up and down, back and forth; up and down, back and for... [i]ah, borscht[/i]...

	As much as he claimed to be a worldly man, and indeed he was, The Great Bazhooli was not overly accustomed to ocean travel. Neither was his stomach. But after his own judgemental, inward thoughts, he wasn't about to give Constantin the satisfaction of seeing him horf his innards out to the light of day. Not after his haughty condescension. Oh no. He gave a minor, [color=B22222]"For excusing, da?"[/color] before standing and taking a single step toward the door. It was at this moment that he realized he was in trouble. The casual walk turned into a dead serious sprint to the upper deck, even as his Fishes and Chips promised immediate evacuation. 

	Vlad was able to make it out of his cabin's door. It flung wide and banged into the wall, revealing a very green Great Bazhooli. A dervished search located a fire bucket very nearby, which he scooped up as if it were a baby that needed saving from a rampaging horse. He could feel the masticated and gloopy former lunch making its way out, and damn fast, and took the nanosecond before it exited to look back upon one of his own philosophies. [i]"Now, let us do the same trick... ON FIRE!!!"[/i] No, not that one. Okay, maybe that one later, but for now, [i]"Everything; [u]everything[/u] vith panache!"[/i] Yes, that was the one. 

	Rather than try to force the rising vomit down, Vladimir instead let his voice carry across the deck and open waters. What began as a single, held note resembling opera quickly degenerated into a sustained, gurgling yell projected by a strained face with bloodshot eyes as The Great Bazhooli [i]scream-puked[/i] into the bucket he held before him. He serenaded the ship's crew with the song of his people, garbled to ruin by the rancid waterfall of used food flooding from his facial orifices, but doggedly maintaining as much volume as he could muster. While not epic, it was most assuredly notable. 

	When he was finally done, The Great Bazhooli held his arms wide and took a bow, dumped the contents of the bucket over the railing, and returned to his cabin with the stride of a conquering general. Then a hand poked back out and drug the bucket into the room. Just in case. 






[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/dd4e4d8d-94e8-4f69-a8f6-1063154d3810.jpg[/img]
[sub][color=silver]“Blessed be the Lord, my strength, who teaches my hands to war and my fingers to fight.” -Psalm 144:1[/color][/sub]
[hr][color=c0c0c0][b]Location:[/b][/color] Carlisle (F8) 
[color=c0c0c0][b]Skills:[/b][/color] [i]Audist[/i], Athletics [/center][hr][hr]

	Blood ran from Mary's arm. It could have been worse, but to be injured this early in the fight was definitely not advantageous. Nothing vital, but it did hurry the necessity to end this fight quickly and decisively, with herself and Virginia alive and surrounded by the inert bodies of the Ryne which closed in around them. Sadly, she was taking too many missteps. Poor judgement, maybe. Not overconfidence; Mary was a woman with a degree of humility that demonstrated itself more often than her sense of pride. But for the life of her, she did not know why this one Ryne was giving her so much trouble. 

	[color=c0c0c0]"[i]Fuerit Abominatio![/i][/color][sub]1[/sub][color=c0c0c0]"[/color] she hissed coldly, lunging once more with her halberd. The spike did not penetrate the flesh of the unclean, as the Ryne before her was able to avoid the sharpened, sanctified steel once again. It batted the haft to one side and stepped inward, hoping to catch more of Mary with a swipe of its claws, only to be denied by the grace of the fiery haired Venator. Mary crouched low and spun outward, the endcap of her weapon serving as counterbalance even as drops of her living blood made an irregular, but almost complete circle around her position. Her feet moved to a solid stance as she regarded the creature, looking for her opening to destroy it. 

[hider=Translations]
1	=	"Abomination" or "Unclean Thing"
[/hider]