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It was an uncommon occasion when someone at a high social gathering introduced themselves to Mary with a smile, and not an ulterior motive. "It is indeed a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Crane." responded Mary. Mosi's next words about less than ideal circumstances, followed by damaged Presence Guards and a lack of general security. While said fairly casually, it struck a note of alarm in Mary's thought process. Serenity still gracing her features, Mary attempted a diplomatic response.

"If the proprietors of Almack's Assembly Rooms has sent for someone like me, Miss Crane, you may rest assured that circumstances are far from optimal. Most people here would prefer not to speak with me at all, a testament to the desperation needed to request the help of a Papist, let alone a woman-knight of the Church." Her voice was still dulcet yet authoritative, passing along information in a matter-of-factly manner rather than offering complaint of her situation socially.

It was then Virginia's turn to drop troubling news. Something akin to a Cargast? Headed this way earlier today? Did no one hear that Jeanette had just said about downed Presence Guards? Mary's serene outer visage was becoming more difficult to maintain. Did these people not realize the dangerous position they were all in, caused either by design or neglect? Mary barely heard what Virginia said next, concentrating on her extra-sensory gift of Tanter. "Yes, Heresy. A long and complicated subject..." But her mind was not on the proper teaching of the subject. She had detected something. Not too near, nor too very far away; the shoddy and inadequate security of the event had failed to keep out that which it was tasked.

The odd feeling that Mary associated with looming combat took her. No longer serene of face, she quickly produced one of her flasks of holy water, wetting the cloth wraps around her forearms as a new couple approached and introduced themselves. Whomever the Lord Rutherford, Duke of the Realm was, and his fiancee, the first word either of them head Mary utter was a quiet but harsh issuance of Latin.

"Inanimati..."

She didn't bother introducing herself to the newcomers to the growing group of people around the Grand Duchess. No, Mary merely looked to Elizaveta for a second, moved her eyes to acknowledge the newcomers, and state openly, "Soulless. Already here." The Apostolic wished to study the reactions of those around her; who could be allies in this endeavor and who would be dead weight. "Indeed, Your Grace was correct. Blood will flow this evening."

Time to go to work.

Gerard was rather diffident in accepting the gentleman's kindly offer, he was not expecting anything in return for it but Mr. Ballard was insisting, which Gerard genuinely appreciates. After a short pause and hesitation, he eventually took the reward, and gave a gloomy smile to Mr. Ballard's kind gesture, pondering if it was proper to earn something from this after the family had lost someone. "I Thank you." he said as he rested the coins on his rough dirtied hands.

Gerard paused at Mr. Ballard's inquiry, "We need a constable to look in to something at the manor." Normally he would keep this private from anyone who would ask, as it would be inappropriate to be telling people in the neighborhood of the Wyndham manor's break in. Not to mention something like this would be prone to scandalous gossips within the neighborhood and Gerard would rather be anything but a scandalmonger. Yet Mr Ballard was once a close friend to the Wyndhams for a long time, and they still are now despite had been steering clear of his old friend's current spouse, and with that Gerard has a certain degree of trust and respect to the gentleman. And he would not pass the chance if Mr Ballard ever noticed something at the time of the robbery "We believed the manor was broken into." he uttered and turned his eyes to the constables next to the gentleman.

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“That I actually understand, strangely enough.” Mosi replied with a still wide smile at Mary's comment about her invitation to the event. Mosi was actually sure that she herself was probably in similar situation considering how people seemed to see her and that she got an invitation non the less... though then again she was from a decent family so it could have been a standard thing to invite her... She had no definite proof on either possibility.” Doesn't matter, what people think is irrelevant if you ask me. The way most people in London seem to think is just flawed. There may not have been need for desperation if they just had put the priorities right.”

“Ahhh.. the arrogance in the area just grew like a mushroom after rain.” Mosi stated when she noticed Rutherford present himself to Grand Duchess, but her attention on her future target to be taken care of was short lived as Mary made it pretty vocal about the situation at hand.

“As long as the soulless has a body to damage, I can help. Sadly I lack a means to battle cargasts.” Mosi stated, pulling one of her axes to inspect quickly, before putting it away once more in the holder on the back of her waist next to the other similar axe.

Calum looked nervously over towards Neasa and nodded a bit as he stepped closer to her but making sure to stay in the path of the brightest lights on the street. "Very much so. I am a local parson, my family called in a favor and I must help them," he said with all nervous honesty. The man was actually a parson, a card carrying member of the clergy. Now this was just not where he should have been. Writing sermons yes, helping run false named women through the streets in the middle of the night was not.

It was a few more twists and turns down the streets of the port city before they reached the outskirts and a humble looking inn. The inn didn't seem to house the ruffians of the docks; which was odd since it would have brought in far more profits. "Welcome to Teriny Inn. A safe haven in this den of snakes." Opening the door for her before stepping in himself and glancing around.

"Parson Cummings! Well it is truly good to see you this evening, even if it was unexpected," the man behind the long worn bar said with a jolly smile.

"Nigel, good to see you old man," Calum said, looking much more at ease now that they were inside.

"And who be this fire kissed beauty you are traveling with? Parson, have you tied the knot?" Nigel asked as his bushy caterpillar like eye brows lifted in excited questioning.

Calum nearly choked on the air as he started to trip over his own two feet again. "Oh fuddle..." he muttered as he grabbed the edge of the bar top to keep himself from tumbling over. "No, no. Sad to say, god has yet to see fit to find me a bride. This my old friend is Miss Neasa O'Connor. I am taking her to my benefactors."

"Oh you are the one hired to help Lady Kirkpatrick? I say, you will be a welcome addition to their home this season."




@Sputnik - "No, thank you Mr. Connolly, if not for you we would not know her fate," Mr. Ballard said before cocking a brow when Gerard mentioned the break in. "Dear heavens boy, was anyone hurt? Is Miss Millicent alright?" he asked in earnest.

"I see, well Constable Smith can come with you while we finish up here," one of the officers said. Smith stepped forward and nodded his head.

"Yes, of course sir," he said before motioning towards Gerard to lead the way.

"Do keep us informed, if the family or yourself need anything do not hesitate to ask lad. We owe you a great debt," Mr. Ballard said before turning back to the other bobby's and starting to head to hail a hackney to take them to the church to retrieve his nieces body.

"Ready when you are sir, now, whilst we walk, do tell me what you know so far," Constable Smith asked as he pulled out a small binding of paper and a piece of finely sharped charcoal in which to write with.



"It seems you tvo know each other, how splendid. If my new friend vould be kind enough in the coming days I vould love to introduce you tvo," Elizaveta said with a slight smile before turning her attention over to Millicent and Fyror. Something was happening, or had, she could not tell. Looking at Millicent she could read nothing but her skills were fickle that way, sometimes she saw great insight, other times there was nothing. Yet it did not take a trained soul to see that the woman was not happy.

Hearing Mary, Elizaveta nodded. "The ball should be cleared but I doubt these people vould leave."

"Soulless? Here, how preposterous." Rutherfords voice chiming in.

"Perhaps but ve should be vigilant none the less, perhaps you should escort your fiance to safety," Elizaveta suggested but Rutherford was having none of it.

"I have business to attend to, I will see you later this evening Millicent," Rutherford said before pacing a kiss to her cheek as he eyed Fyror and smirked. "I am very much looking forward to it," he hissed before leaving her to her own and walking off back into the crowd of people and across the room towards one of the drawing rooms.

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Millicent was doing all she could to keep her feelings buried deep within her but the torment was in her eyes and it was clear that this was not what she wished for her life. Yet her sense of duty to her sisters trumped all things in this life, including her own life. She felt sick to her stomach. One of her greatest fears was to be forced to marry without affection and here it was happening. She was engaged to man that she loathed while one stood within a hearts leap from her which she felt she could grow to care for deeply but that was not a thought that she should focus on right then and she knew it. Yet it was difficult, especially when her eyes drifted towards Fyror and she saw the look in his eyes, she felt the pain and it caused a twinge in her heart, pulling at the strings and making her wish she could reach out to him and explain everything.

A trickle of a tear slipped from the corner of her eyes as they filled with remorse. She shouldn't have taken his hand, let him hold her close while they danced, smiled at him, enjoyed herself. It had been selfish of her to want to steal a brief moment of happiness before her days grew so much darker and now he was paying the price for giving her that memory. The tear rolled down her cheek as she stood frozen looking at him. Her eyes closing sharply when she saw his look change even more when he found out she was now engaged. Her hand coming to her chest, a small silken embroidered handkerchief clutched in her gloved palm. Looking down to the floor everything but the darkness seemed to fade away. Her heart filled with remorse and shame to cause a man such as him such pain.

Her lips thinned as she realized this was the life she deserved. Her penance for causing one such as Sir Kildragon any suffering. Steeling her face she flicked the tear away and lifted her chin. She would take her punishment, whatever the man or god dealt to her. Perhaps in some way it would make up for what she had done. Her eyes forced forward as her sister Jane came over and rested a hand on her shoulder. Turning she looked over to her.

They seemed to share a mutual understanding in the look they exchanged, Jane looking at Rutherford for a moment before looking at Millicent with pity and yet gratitude. The younger sister mouthing to Millicent, "thank you". Millicent nodded and rested her hand over Janes, handing over the piece of silk before Jane turned and hurried away to the balcony. It was obvious Jane felt horrid her sister was in this situation.

Millicent's attention was torn from watching Jane walk off when she heard Elizaveta speak. Her brow rising as she looked at the Grand Duchess questioningly. "Image?" she asked quietly but Rutherford tightened his grip on her arm and she closed her lips, the light sound of her teeth snapping together barely audible.

Then Rutherford and Elizaveta started exchanging words about Soulless and Millicent's eyes widened. When he kissed her cheek she froze like stone, flinching as she tried not to pull away but letting out an audible sigh of relief once he walked away. Taking a moment she dropped her had from her chest as it finally dawned on her what Mary and the others were saying. "Excuse me, please, I must see that my sisters are safe," Millicent said as her hand reached between the folds of her dress, parting the long fabric to reveal her pale thigh as she drew a well hidden Jian sword from it's sheath strapped to her inner thigh.

Elizaveta simply watched her as she turned and left the group. "So fragile a moment ago yet when duty calls all that falls avay to strength. Interesting. Pity she has not someone to guard her vhile she guards others," Elizaveta said absently giving a small curl of her lips towards Fyror before turning back to Mosi, Mary, and Virginia. "Ladies, shall ve see vhat we can do about this situation?" she asked in a dove like voice as she pushed her robe aside and drew a Shashka from it's sheath. Virginia might recognize this blade, one used by the Cossacks of Russia for centuries.

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Had Virginia's mind not been swimming with thoughts of her parents, she perhaps would have outwardly chuckled at Mosi's comment about the Lord Rutherford. She knew that her friend, Millicent, must have been feeling an even greater pain--yet her thoughts had been plagued since the Grand Duchess's announcement. If news was not had of her parents soon, then James would be forced to take the family title. He would be thrown into the den of vultures, a den of scum just like Lord Rutherford. She would have to design some scheme before it was too late to save her dear brother.

Virginia tried her best to look comforting towards Millicent as the woman shed a single tear, stuck on the arm of that loathsome creature. But she doubted that it was successful. Crypts were not known for being great at providing comfort. But her friend had raised her chin, and Virginia felt comforted by it. Millicent would be defiant to the last--she knew her friend was gripped by terror, but there was a strength to her. The fire danced in her eyes, the very reason that Virginia was so fond of Miss Millicent Wyndham. Of course, some emotions were best left unspoken.

As for her other dear friends, Mary and Mosi, they both appeared to be readying themselves for battle. Mary's serene complexion was gone, and Mosi was handling her axes, inspecting them. As Mosi explained her uselessness with regard to the cargast, Virginia came to the conclusion that Mary's skills would perhaps be similar. So many were prepared for the physical soulless--yet the ethereal was perhaps less trained for.

"Leave the cargast for me," Virginia said, an almost dark grin on her face. "And if someone would keep my corpse from expiring while I combat the cargast in the astral form, that would be most welcome." However, even though she knew that she would likely spend most of this fight in an unconscious state on the ground, her mind struggling against the cargast, she still kept her two axes in her hands. The ebony blades gleamed.

"Millicent should perhaps be the one to escort Lord Rutherford," Virginia mused. There was little chance that Millicent would ever seek protection from that man. However...The Soulless present at the night may prove useful for dispatching the man. In the chaos and the death, his soul may be one of those that are claimed. It would be a fortunate stroke of luck.

As her friend rushed off to protect her sisters, Virginia wished she could tell Millicent that she would personally ensure she had no harm to fear from Rutherford. But it was time for action. She recognized the Russian blade, a dim memory of one of the Cossack Crypts tossing it during the mamushka, only to be caught by her father's hand. "Let's," Virginia agreed, at Elizaveta's prompting for the women to handle the Soulless situation.

Virginia could not help but doubt that any man--perhaps save Fyror--would follow their example.

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It would have been more humorous to Maeve, that Calum truly was a parson, had she not a strong distaste for protestants. A proper Catholic girl, the protestants were associated with the British, with those who sought to enslave Ireland. She would have preferred for Calum to be playing at the role of a parson, though she supposed only protestants could be so clumsy and fuddle quite so often.

"'Tis al' in the walk, Parson. Confidence. that's al' yer need to pass," Maeve instructed quietly. It was the singular skillset needed to navigate port towns like these, in her opinion. She couldn't help but wonder how Calum made his way here without falling into some trouble or the other. He was a boy, sent to do a man's job in this so called haven of snakes. With his nervousness as they walked to their destination, she couldn't help but wonder what the parson thought of her.

"Seems right more proper for you, lad," Maeve teased ever so slightly, before entering the inn in front of Calum. The elderly man, Nigel, appeared to be rather kind, even if the thought of marrying a protestant repulsed her. It wasn't obvious on the Irish girl's face, however, out of politeness. And besides, with Calum constantly tripping over himself, Maeve had to do her very best not to giggle. A few chuckles escaped nonetheless.

"Thank ya, sir," Maeve nodded, after the introductions and Nigel's assurance that she'd be a welcome addition to Lady Kirkpatrick's home this season. She nearly signed her thanks as well, catching herself just in time before moving her hands. Muscle memory was hard to kick. "Is Parson Cummings always trippin' and stumblin' about?" Maeve asked good-naturedly.

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Fyror could see the distress in Millicent’s demeanor. Her emotions seemed to roll off of her in palatable waves that one with even an inkling of empathy could easily perceive. The fact that Lord Rutherford clearly had no such empathy, or any regard for her wellbeing, alarmed Fyror and tore him up inside. He should have never allowed himself to even hope that he had found a woman he could grow to love, for life had a cruel tendency of squashing hope. He of all people should know that.

Yet, here he was nonetheless, in an entirely foreign dilemma, torn between desire and honor. His mind told him that it would be dishonorable to mettle in the affairs of those who were to be wed. However, he also questioned if it was honorable to allow a woman to be forced to wed a dishonorable man whom she clearly did not want. As a tear rolled down Millicent’s cheek, Fyror desired more than anything to hold her in his arms once more and wipe away her tears. He wanted to comfort her and put her at ease, something Lord Rutherford seemed incapable and uninterested in doing. He wanted to fight tooth and nail for this woman, to protect her from this wretched man and whatever darkness lied ahead.

Why did she go back to Lord Rutherford, when the man clearly caused her such pain? Fyror’s internal questioning seemed to answer itself when Millicent’s younger sister Jane came over. The two sisters shared a silent, mutually understood conversation with one another. It seemed that Jane felt bad that her sister was in this current predicament, but she also seemed…grateful? It suddenly dawned on Fyror that perhaps Millicent had saved her sisters from similar fates. How dare that man put these women into such compromising positions! And how dare their mother for encouraging this! A newfound fire lit up his eyes as his now angry gaze swung to Lord Rutherford.

He found that the man was paying no attention to him or his fiancé. Instead he was preoccupied with the Grand Duchess Elizaveta. Fyror turned his attention to Dame Mary Hale as she spoke up. Soulless are already here?! His jaw clenched, and his heart dropped into his stomach. His hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword before his gaze returned to Millicent. Despite how much he hated and distrusted Lord Rutherford, the man needed to get his fiancé to somewhere safer. However, the man ignorantly scoffed at the idea that Soulless were here and had the gall to leave Millicent undefended!

Fyror glared at Lord Rutherford as the man left. His gaze softened once more when he looked at Millicent again. She seemed to take a moment to comprehend the current situation before hurrying to leave. He was about to protest, but his thoughts were quickly jumbled by her subsequent action. As she parted the folds of her dress to unsheathe a well-hidden sword, she revealed part of her pale thigh. He gulped and quickly averted his gaze as his face flushed. He awkwardly stood like that for a few moments, trying to keep his thoughts from lingering on the amount of skin he had just seen.

He eventually returned his gaze in a hesitant manner. Unfortunately, she had already taken off. He spotted her swiftly crossing the room with her sword at hand. He was compelled to go after her and ensure her safety. However, he just stood there for a moment, weighing his options as he rubbed his temple with his fingers. Though it pained him to do so, he reluctantly came to the decision that he had to let her go. It was not right and honorable for him to solely protect her, as if the lives of the others here were significantly less important or less valuable than hers.

He let out a sigh and turned to the group of women surrounding him. “I need to alert my father Colonel Theodore of this new predicament, that way he can gather up the other officers and do as he sees fit with them. From thereafter, consider myself at your service ladies, Grand Duchess Romanova, Dame Hale, Ms. Crane, and Ms. Crypt,” he stated, addressing each individual. He gave a slight respectful bow before going off to find his father.

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As was typical of him, Thalken’s first course of action at any given place was to find a good vantage point. His criteria were specific. It must be relatively secluded, and it must provide him a broad overall view of the room. In other words, it had to be an area that not many people saw or visited, a low traffic area essentially. This would help prevent him from being detected by most people. Ultimately, this spot had to give him the ability to view the world under his critical gaze without having to directly engage with it. For that was just the way he liked it.

Thalken, with his twin sister Thalcona in tow, found a nearby vantage point that would suffice. It was tucked away at the edge of the ballroom, hidden partially in shadows. It provided him a decent view of the room, which was bustling with activity. His intense dark eyed gaze scanned the crowds, focusing momentarily on different groups of people before quickly moving on to more interesting subjects. The music continued to drone on as people danced and conversed with one another. Supposedly, this was meant to be an enjoyable and enriching event of the Season, but Thalken found it to be quite the contrary. It was really just depressing, and the whole atmosphere of fake civility truly grated on his nerves.

He let out a sigh as he leaned back against the wall. He pushed back his long overcoat and pulled out one of his throwing knives from its sheath attached to his left thigh. He began twirling the knife in his hand, liking the way the cool metal felt on his skin, as he continued to look about the room. His gaze eventually landed on the group surrounding the Grand Duchess Elizaveta, as they stood out from the rest of the people here. There were two finely dressed gentlemen present in the group, one whom was clearly an officer in the British infantry. The other man had a sullen looking woman on his arm. There were four other additional women in the group: a foreigner of noble birth, a woman of the Catholic church, a veiled woman dressed in all black, and that pale skinned woman he had noticed earlier. There was a tension about them that sort of intrigued him.

“So are we just going stand—” Thalcona started to speak up but Thalken quickly held up a finger to silence her. He stopped twirling the knife in his hand and abruptly pushed away from the wall. His gaze was locked intently on the group as the glint of metal had caught his attention. Several of the women were unsheathing weapons, and soon some of those in the group broke away from the others. His gaze followed a chestnut-haired woman as she determinedly made her way across the room with what appeared to be a Chinese style Jian sword in her hand. It looks like this hell is about to get interesting.

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“Quite so...” Mosi sighed at Elizaveta's comment about Millicent.” All of those who grew up in this strange island just confuse me to no end.” She added as she stretched her arms for a moment and reached to the edge where the skirt of her dress connected to the bodice of it.” People here are all soo... chained by those hollow ideas... Of society's proper etiquette... just do what you believe you should and no one has the right to judge you.” She continued and sharply pulled at the edges, causing a very distinct tearing sound as she quickly tore it from all around until the skirt fell to the ground, revealing she wore trousers underneath!” Now we are talking! Dresses are so constricting!” She stated and stepped out of the ring of cloth that was on the ground.” So, it's going to be like we were taught back the Americas, eh Virginia? You taking care of the soul while I take care of the body~”

She had nodded to Fyror when he stated he had to go inform his father.” Fyror, good luck.” She just reached and pulled the veil off her head and pushed it in a pocket of her trousers. She liked that piece of cloth! She then pulled her axes once more to be ready to swing." If we survive this, the alcohol's on me."

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The mood and body language of most of the people in Mary's circle hinted strongly that there were other dramatic elements in play long before she entered the scene. Much as the talented Apostolic would have loved to lend her support with this possible social crisis, there were more pressing matters afoot. The serene look of the young woman was replaced with cold, prideless determination. They all had bigger problems that needed impaling right then.

But the thing about crisis was that it had ways of revealing truths about people. The Duke, Rutherford, revealed what Mary supposed was either denial or anxiety; whatever the case he felt the need to vacate the immediate area and leave the woman to which he was betrothed to fend for herself. The woman herself, Millicent, thought to protect her family with zero regard to the Duke. It was a telling action. Likewise, the Captain who had chiefly ignored her presence thusfar gave her (and everyone else) a curt farewell and left to inform his father. It was a curse and a blessing, Mary supposed, having family.

From Mary's standpoint, all of this was tactically a bad idea. Perhaps it was time she spoke up. A voice with more assertive experience than her slender frame would have suggested interjected into the situation before more people decided to go it on their own. "The Soulless are not in this room, so far as I can perceive, my Ladies. It cannot be assumed that we would have an element of surprise, as I suspect that the Presence Guards were intentionally disrupted, likely by persons or forces still present for the purpose of allowing the Inanimati entry onto the grounds. I am shocked that this was not immediately reported to the authorities and this event cancelled."

Mary looked around the room; the people and walls, ceiling, fixtures. She noted the location of the room in comparison to the doors leading out of it, possible access points and paths of escape. Which door Rutherford used most recently in his exit, the direction Millicent took, and the present location of Fryor. The other women were getting ready for a fight, and truthfully, so was Mary. It was rather hard not to be ready for a fight when your forearms were covered with wraps drenched in holy water, wearing a long chain rosary about a wrist, and hefting a blessed light halberd like you're a Pontifical Bodyguard. "The whole affair reeks of incompetent negligence on behalf of the venue's benefactors; that or this whole event is a trap. The persons responsible would surely have taken note of a handful of Trained opponents as they entered the building."

Her thought process sped into some alarm as a realization dawned upon her. There was a meeting of Trained leadership in this place, and this was likely one of the first public outings of Her Grace, the Grand Duchess Elizaveta Romanova. Mary looked to her new friend, intoning in a quieter voice, "Or just one very important one." She looked for any sign of soldiery or security. If this was a trap, they had already stepped into it. Mary had an obligation to see to Elizaveta's safety, and she intended to carry out that duty. "She's right. These people shouldn't be in here. We need to secure this area now."

"Everett took a few but the old man's tougher than that." Gerard said with a mellow smile, for his age the old man cant simply be wavered by a mere bleeding to the head. ” Ms. Millie and her family were out at Almack’s, fortunately. ” There, she was spared of the danger and hoping that Almack’s wouldnt turn out worst for her. He knew Millie wasnt quite fond of such social gatherings, her mother would be to blamed most for the most of it.

Gerard gave Mr. Ballard a respectful nod before he left for the church to retrieve the body. “Of course. We appreciate it, sir.” After that the constable directed him to one of them and motioned him to lead the way. He nodded, and went on their way.

Constable Smith walked with Gerard to the manor, and asked him for some details of the break in while on the way. Gerard thoroughly described from the moment he was alerted by Abigail, the office turned inside out, the flowers and the details she noticed around the house while he was out. “ But It seemed nothing that’s of value was stolen. How odd.”Then he mentioned the broken trellis that led to the open window above the office which was Millicent’s bedroom. “Could someone might have gone up there?” He mused.

The night had arrived and the moon was full, hanging low in the sky. A few wisps of clouds dotting the sky and swirling as the winds picked up. Inside Almack's things were starting to get interesting. Several were alerted to the feeling of Soulless in the building, or at least on the grounds but where exactly was anyone's guess at this point. Earlier in the day the Presence Guards had been tampered with, causing issue but had been repaired. So everything seemed well enough but now that was a different story and as the page turned... things changed.

Elizaveta stood watching as her slender fingers curled around the unguarded hilt of her blade. Giving Sir Kildragon a slight nod as he left. She wondered why he was leaving, from what she understood of the European world, very few were trained. She was right, there were only one in one thousand that were trained anymore. The military would be lucky to have one person per regiment and while she understood him going to warn his father, it was a family thing after all, there were few military folk there. This was a social event, not a crown event. He and his father were perhaps the only military folk there; perhaps a few others that were seated well enough in the ton but at most, there would be three dozen in the the over fifteen hundred people at Almack's right then. (And less than half would be under his fathers command.)

"Etiquette is one thing, judging is another. They are not interchangeable my dear. Courtesy is a vital part of our world. Such as being invited to an event that requires a certain dress, you should follov that when you accept the invitation no matter your vievs on it. Respect should not be expected if one does not give it," Elizaveta said to Mosi as she looked down at the pants she revealed and how the woman had had them hidden beneath a pull-away dress of sorts. "It is hypocritical," she added before turning her attention towards Mary. It was not that Elizaveta had a problem with women in trousers, she wore them herself from time to time but she had accepted an invite to this gathering, so she followed the rules of said gathering. One does not piss in a neighbors front lawn. It lowered her first impression of the woman.

"It is not I if that is the case. The Arch Graveolase Buckingham vas only informed of my arrival an hour before ve arrived. This appearance has been kept close within the highest rankings of the church, if it leaked, it was by your bishop. I do not think a man of god would have done such a thing," Elizaveta commented as her eyes scanned the room. Mary was right though, the place needed to be secured but things would not be that easy. Telling someone there were Soulless in an event like this would not go over well in her mind. Rutherford was a prime example.

"Perhaps we should spread out and search. Pairs seems to be the right notion. Miss Crane, Lady Crypt; you tvo seem to knov each other vell. Lady Hale and myself are of a different path." Elizaveta thought for a moment, trying to remember the lay out she had been instructed on about Almack's. (Something the others would know by heart by now since it is assumed this isn't their first event at Almack's)

The layout was as follows...Floor Plans Now these are not for Almack's, information on the exact floor plans is vague and even theones found are not accurate. We will be using these for out setting. Balcony's and patios surround the building on east, west, and north sides. Entrance is through the south into the building. There is a second story: it holds various studies, private meeting rooms, and so forth. The square footage of the second floor is much less since the main rooms of the buildings have high ceilings that are over 30 feet. There is also a basement where the kitchen, storage, boiler, and so forth is.

Currently everyone in the group is in the main ballroom on the ground floor. Lord Rutherford went through the doors and will be found in sitting room marked Card Room playing cards. Millicent went after Jane, who went through the doors at east marked Colonnade Sedan Chairs. No one knows where Mrs. Wyndham or Emma went currently. Last they were seen was in the ballroom but currently their location is unknown as people glance around: they will not be seen.

"Shall ve take the main floor so that you can secure it?" Elizaveta asked of Mary as she reached up and undid the broach on her cloak. Letting it fall away and handing it over to a passing servant. "Do be kind and check this form me if you vould. Then please, see to the safety of the staff," she asked kindly of the older man who smiled towards her in a worrisome sort of way before he nodded and scurried off.

Now that you all know the past happenings and set up, shall we proceed to the current. I do know your heart is waiting to see how lives and who survived the first set of rolls. Well, let us begin. Over in the Card Room, Lord Rutherford sits gambling with a broad smile on his face, as if nothing wrong has happened. He is playing poker with several others: including the Arch Graveolase. There are other faces there as well...

• Lord Cunningham: Earl - owns a country estate adjacent to the Crypts. Kind hearted soul but naive. Usually spooked out by the Crypts but always polite to them. Understands James position as he became Earl when he was just 12 after his father died in a carriage accident.
• Lord Galloway: Duke, owns half of Gretna Green but resides in Sussex where his families seat in the House of Lords is. Is on his sixth wife, who the most current is only sixteen years of age while he is in his fifties. No one knows what she looks like, she has not yet been presented to the court. He has yet to produce an heir.
• Mr. Dubufe: Engineer of high standing with London Society. His father designed the Jericho Brigade and he has taken up the mantel, being responsible for most of the designs used these days to keep country estates secure from the Soulless.

So, I am very sorry but Rutherford has not perished yet. Mores the pity. Now, back to the others.... Where was I? Oh yes, the lovely Miss Millicent Wyndham. Poor thing, being coerced into wedding that horrid man Rutherford. Perhaps death would be welcome for her? There are some things worse than death, I believe being married to him would be one of them. Shall we peek in on Miss Milli? ~pulls back the curtains and cringes~ Oh my, that is a lot of blood....

What happened? Let me see if I can explain....

Things with the Soulless can happen quickly and without warning. Jane had stepped out to get a breath of fresh air and to calm herself but she found she could only weep into the silk her sister had passed her. This was not right in her mind, that Millicent should have to marry this man to give Emma and Jane more of a choice in who they married. Rutherford would have quickly snatched up any of the sisters and wanted Jane to start with but because Millicent was the eldest he had to settle. Such was the agreement. Emma would have married him willingly but Millicent could not bear the thought.

As Jane wept she did not take notice of her surroundings. While the building of Almack's was packed, those outside paid her no mind. They were in the middle of their tryst's: hiding in the shadows and walking the gardens. A single weeping woman was not uncommon at an event, so they paid her no nevermind. Yet two did take notice. Her mother and her sister Emma, who had slipped out to see if they could lay their eyes on a target for Emma. Jane looked over to them with reddened eyes, cheeks stained with tears.

"Oh stop your weeping, we will find you a husband soon enough," Mrs Wyndham said with a bright smile. Emma smirked a bit, knowing that wasn't the reason that Jane was crying but she felt no remorse for her step sister.

"Mother..." Jane wept, wishing the woman would understand. Emma rolled her eyes and leaned back against the stone side of the balcony, about to say something when as her lips parted she felt a cold touch on her shoulder. Jane's eyes widened as Emma was shoved forward by a pale hand from the shadows. Which sent Emma crashing into Mrs. Wyndham. The two spilling out on the ground. Mrs. Wyndham's side caught on the edge of one of the many tables, sending it toppling over and the iron stand which the glass top sat on pushed through her flesh and out the front of her. Blood splattering from her lips. The glass breaking and cutting Emma's arm.

Jane wanted to scream but the figure moved quickly and came to her, face to face. Nose to nose as his albino like eyes glinted in the moon light. The scream wanted to come but was cut short as long teeth pierced the side of her throat. The blood flowing freely as Jane's spine went rigid, her hands trying to grab the dagger Millicent had given her but the blood loss was so quick, she felt her strength vanish like a dream.

Millicent stepped out onto the balcony, her eyes darting around for her family only to be met with one of her worst nightmares. It was her nightmare. The pale skin as they eyes of the Ryne fed from Jane, her heart stopping as her sisters did just then. Millicent had fought Ryne before, battle was nothing but right then she froze. The dark hair the same chestnut color of Millicents cascading down and soaking up the blood that poured from the now deceased body of Jane.

"Mother..." she whimpered. Yet this woman was no longer the kind sweet woman who had loved her and brought her into this world. This was a Soulless. But seeing Catherine there, like that, taking the life of her sister... How could it be? Millicent felt her heart breaking. Stepping towards Catherine slowly, her sword spinning slightly in her hand. She knew what she had to do but could she really. Catherine dropping Jane's drained body to the ground as Emma cried out; not knowing what to do as her own mother lay there bleeding with iron holding her to her spot.

Catherine stalked Millicent and then rushed her. Millicent was frozen, no... This shouldn't be happening. But it was and that was made clear as the hand of her mother struck the side of her face. It sending Millicent stumbling to one side as the Ryne went for blood. Millicent couldn't find it in her to fight back and before she could catch herself or her breath her mother, dear Catherine was on top of her. The sound of Millicent's blade clanging against the ground. Millicent reached for it but could only grab the blade. Her fingers curling around it, cutting through the glove and thrusting it up as she fought to keep her mothers fangs from her neck. She could feel the broken glass cutting into her gown and skin, the nails of her mother digging into her arms, and the blade slicing into her hand as it pierced Catherine's chest. It would be at this time that Thalken would be able to finally make his way out onto the balcony where he had seen Millicent go.

The scream from the Ryne. That broke the silence. Like a banshee wailing. All within a block would hear it. Those outside who had been trying to find a moment were now in a panic, running for their lives as more Soulless started to show up. They came from the gardens. On the second floor the doors opened as Ryne and Hraew started to filter in. Downstairs in the basement, there was a sudden drop in temperature. Soulless, working together? The attack on Almack's was on.



Nigel, well he smiled at his new guest and nodded with a laugh. "Oh my heavens yes lass. A dear man of god but he has two left feet. Lord blessed him with many talents, bein' surefooted was not one of them," Nigel chuckled as he cleaned off the bar top with a damp rag.

"You must have had a long travel to be portin' here in Annan. What can I get's fer the two of ya?" he asked as Calum finally found solid ground and made his way over to the bar.

"If you could, a meal and two rooms this evening," the parson said.

"I see, well I got one," Nigel snickered as he motioned to one of the ladies in the tavern and held up two fingers. She was not dressed like most tavern "ladies," much more reserved and she was older. Perhaps an eldest daughter of Nigel? Either way, it was clear that this was not an establishment for those wanting to find "company" for the evening.

Calum turned red and coughed slightly. "Surely there is something you can do?"

"I can give you an open stall in the barn," Nigel laughed, joking but Calum nodded.

"Please set the dear lady up in the room, can you secure me a blanket for the barn? I will make due with the hay loft," he said forcing a bit of a smile. Nigel's long haired brows rose but it was obvious that Calum was being as serious as the day was long.

"Um, alright... Anything to drink?"

"Tea."



Constable Smith followed Gerard and took notes. "It is good that the ladies of the house were not at home though I am sorry that one was injured. Do I need to send for a surgeon?" he asked as they stepped into the house.

"Fuddle all that, I am fine," Everett chimed in as he came in from the sitting room, his head bandaged up.

"You go upstairs right now and rest!" Cook yelled as she waddled in from the kitchen carrying a tray with tea and scones on it. "Now!"

"Listen here," Everett started.

"Don't you listen here to me Ev, now go. Mrs. Wyndham will have a fit if she sees you like this, now go. Abby take this up, and make sure he gets in bed," Cook said as she handed off the tray to Abigail and the two started heading up the stairs. Wiping her hands off she turned her attention back towards the Constable and Gerard. "Would you two like anything?"

"Tea would be marvelous, thank you," Constable Smith said before looking over towards Gerard and nodding. "Let us take a look," he said before heading outside through the back door in the kitchen and examining the area where Gerard had spoken about.

"Yes, it looks like they climbed up here to get inside," he said. "Please show me the room where that window is," he added and waited for Gerard to lead the way. Constable Smith kept taking notes as he looked at things outside. Seeing a few brightly colored petals on the ground. "Wonder where these came from," he mused out loud as he picked up one of the petals and ran it between his fingers.

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Maeve laughed politely and earnestly, enjoying the mental image of the parson fuddling about from the day of his birth onwards. Perhaps he had never really learned how to walk, Maeve mused--but who could blame him? He was a Protestant, after all, and heaven knows they know nearly nothing about anything of real importance.

"Seems a miracle yer man 'asn't gone and lost a leg like this," Maeve chuckled, noticing that the parson had finally gotten his feet under control. He'd be rotten in a boat, she surmised, trying to hold back laughter as she imagined him trying to get his sea legs, when he could hardly walk on land.

Maeve smiled pleasantly at the prospect of a meal for the evening. The conditions on the boat had been...Well, a meal and a strong drink would be incredibly welcome. It might have been cliché and expected for an Irish woman, but she loved a good whiskey. She tried to keep herself from joining in with Nigel at laughing at Calum. It would be improper, of course, for her to share a room with the parson, and while she did not enjoy the idea either, the embarrassment on his face was most amusing.

For a moment, Maeve pondered as to whether or not Nigel was actively attempting to find a bride for the parson. First asking if he had tied the knot, now sticking them in a shared room, potentially? Yet she could not long entertain the notion of marrying such a righteous and godly man, a protestant nonetheless, without feeling disgust.

"You'll be playin' Joseph withoyt a Mary, Parson," Maeve quipped. It hardly seemed safe to her, to sleep out in the barn--but the parson could do with himself what he would. She hardly cared, as long as she was rewarded handsomely for her future efforts.

As they went in the house, before Gerard could assure the constable of their injured butler Everett chiming in, continued to insist he was fine. "You could get worst if you don't lay down for a bit at least, Everett." Concernedly, Gerard tried to urge him even though it's almost impossible to make him. Cook then argued with their stubborn old man, and in the end she asked Abby to escort him upstairs.

" A tall glass of water's alright, Cook." Gerard gestured her, he had almost forgotten his dryness after that long distance trekking this morning. Gerard nodded to the constable when he had decided to take a look at the scene.

They both went around the back to show the scene to the constable. "This was the trellis I mentioned awhile ago. They could've used it as a ladder to go up I reckon." The constable then asked to show him the room which they could have gotten in, which was Millicent's room. Gerard nodded, hopefully what they were looking could lie beyond there. Probably for the first time he puts his trust on the constable and gestured him to follow, but before they could leave he heard Constable Smith uttered something while he takes his notes. Gerard turned and saw the bright colored petals, he took out the flowers in his inner pocket and showed it to the constable. "Those are from this. I thought to take it with me." His mellow eyes looked down , gently gripping at it's almost wilted stems. "I figured it had fallen from the window above."

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Thalken’s dark eyes narrowed as his gaze followed the armed chestnut-haired woman. His view of her came in and out as she weaved through the crowds undisturbed. It never ceased to amaze him how oblivious people could be to their surroundings, that a woman with a drawn sword could go seemingly unnoticed. And yet, if the slightest of scandals occurred the whole ton noticed. It was truly ironic.

“What the hell is going on?” Thalcona’s hushed voice sounded in his ear as she eyed the armed women. ‘That’s what I intend to find out,’ he thought to himself as he continued to watch Millicent make her way through the crowded ballroom. She eventually disappeared from his view altogether as she headed out onto the east balcony. Thalken glanced over at his sister before stalking off after Millicent, his throwing knife still held steadily in his hand.

The thick crowds made his advance slower than he would have liked. To save time he had to nimbly dodge some people while more forcibly shoving his way past others. They’ll be damned if he cannot catch up to that woman before she slips off to wherever she was going. As he neared the balcony, he heard the dull clang of metal. He picked up his pace the best he could before finally shoving past the last few people in his way.

The all too familiar smell of blood assailed him as he walked out onto the balcony. His intense gaze swept the area before eventually finding the source. His eyes landed on a limp body surrounded by a large ever-growing pool of blood. Poor Jane hadn't stood a chance, no training thanks to her mother putting society norms above and beyond safety. Nearby two people tussled violently on the ground. Emma looked around frantically, not knowing what to do as her mother lay there bleeding out. She had been of the same opinion as her mother but if she could think right then she might have admitted that she should have taken Millicent's insistence that they get trained a bit more seriously.

A piercing scream suddenly broke through the relative silence, and chaos ensued as those around him began to panic and blindly run for their lives. However, Thalken was not so easily frightened. Instead, he jogged forward in the direction of the two people tussling on the ground. He raised his throwing knife as he deftly weaved through the crowd of panicking people, waiting for a decent opening. He wasted little time and took the first opening he was given, hurling the knife at the assailant. Catherine's nails dug into Millicent's arms, trying to get a grip to pull her closer and sink her teeth into her daughter. Millicent's legs coming up from the ground and trying to kick her mother off of her.

"Mother!" she yelled but it didn't seem to register.

“Dammit,” he hissed as the knife missed its intended target. The blade instead nicked the thigh of the chestnut-haired woman (Millicent) on bottom. Millicent grunting from the sudden stabbing pain in her thigh but she kept driving the blade in. The aggressor abruptly stopped its attack and turned towards Thalken, revealing that it was not just any average person. It was a Soulless, a Ryne more specifically. It angrily bared its teeth at him, causing his heart to beat a little faster in his chest. He inwardly cursed, but nevertheless, he kept his wits about him as the Ryne turned its sights on him. However, as it was about to stalk over to him, Millicent managed to drive her sword further into the Ryne’s chest. This ultimately caused the Ryne to fall over backward, pulling the blade the with it.

Millicent gasped for breath and coughed as she rolled over onto her knees. Her hands leaving bloodied prints on the concrete from the cuts and slices the swords blade had left on them. The pain seared through her hands, a tremble rocking down her spine as she pushed herself to standing. She could feel the scratches burning her arms as blood trickled down and stained her not so white gloves. Crimson taking over for pearl. Her thigh twitched as she put weight on her leg. Her pretty curls were disheveled and had come loose in the tussle, cascading down her back now. Her head jerking to the side as she watched her mother stumble back.

The girl was still in shock, seeing her mother there yet her mother not seeming to know that she was attacking her own daughter. Soulless had been a plague because they could blend in, because they knew their lives before the chance. Many families helped their mothers, fathers, children stay in hiding. They normally did not attack them, the connection they had in life still very strong but her mother didn't even seem to know who she was. And her eyes, once dark and loving were pale and amber now. That wasn't the look of a typical Ryne. Something was off here but it wasn't something she could worry about right then.

As the woman was able to break free from the Ryne, Thalken noticed that she appeared to be the same armed chestnut-haired woman he had been following. Granted, her disheveled hair and blood stained arms and hands made proper identification a bit harder. Nevertheless, he was almost certain that she was the same woman. It did not seem like it was merely a coincidence that he found the woman fighting a Soulless. Perhaps she knew of the threat and was going to dispatch of it. Well, whatever the case, he would inquire of it and ponder upon it later, for now the threat was still imminent. He kept his eyes trained on the Ryne, closely watching its movements.

Catherine reaching up and pulling the blade from her shoulder. Tossing it to the side as she eyed Thalken. Baring her fangs as she hissed. Then she sprung, rising to her feet and lunging towards the man. The crowds were quickly clearing but there were more and more Soulless showing up. Millicent's eyes widened as she watched her mother drop the sword. Focusing on the techniques she was taught in China, she drew from her knowledge of the Fu Mei and moved quickly. Her body slipping down and around her mother, getting in the woman's path. Her mother trying to claw at her but Millicent was able to turn her movements against her. Using the force and strength of Catherines attempted strike at her head to roll her to the side and flip her head over heels as Millicent launched Catherine over her shoulder. Catherine went tumbling like a rag doll against the concrete and stopped when she hit the balcony's banister.

Thalken unsheathed his Dao, a Chinese style sabre, with ease. As Millicent skillfully knocked the Ryne to the ground, he advanced with his raised sabre. He let out what was a mixture of a huff and a growl as a young, oblivious couple rushed in front of him. The blade of the sabre caught on the woman’s dress, ripping the cheap fabric and nearly maiming her in the process. The woman shrieked in horror and fainted, hitting the ground with a dull thud. The woman’s male partner ditched her, choosing to save himself rather than helping her up. I don’t have time for this idiocy. I’ve got places to be and things to kill. Thalken rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated huff as he stepped over the woman. He continued his advance towards the Ryne, which was dazedly struggling to get up.

Millicent cringed when she saw the body of her mother crumple on the ground and slide across it. She knew she was fighting for her life and the lives of others. She had lost Jane. Jane and her were close and she loved her dearly even if she was her step sister. She even felt a small twinge of anger seeing Mrs. Wyndham impaled, which only grew as Emma sat there weeping trying to stave off the bleeding while people ran around ignoring them. Yet, this was her mother. Her only saving grace was that her father was not here to see this, yet where was he. The thought he could have fallen to the same fate as Catherine felt like a knife through her heart as she reached down and picked up the discarded blade.

Catherine's head leaned back against the wall of the balcony, her arm coming up and wrapping over the top edge of the marble railing as she started to hoist herself up and onto her feet. Spreading them apart she bent her knees, eying Thalken as he stalked towards her, ready to spring at him. "Mǔ qīn! Zhàn!" Millicent yelled in Mandarin towards Catherine. Catherine's attention was gotten and her eyes flashed for a brief moment as she looked towards Millicent.

Thalken’s typical cold exterior darkened further as he stalked towards the Ryne, which was quickly pulling itself up onto its feet. His dark, piercing gaze was locked unflinchingly on it, and his head cocked slightly to the side as he watched its every move. His hand flexed on the hilt of his raised sabre, and his muscles tightened in anticipation of the inevitable fight to come. His whole demeanor exuded a menacing, predatory quality to it that was much like the Ryne itself.

The Ryne regained its footing and tensed as if it was about ready to spring at him. Thalken mentally anticipated said movement and readied himself to switch to a more defensive tactic at a moment’s notice. Planting oneself in front of a charging Ryne was a suicide mission, so dodging and slashing it as it passed would be the more appropriate course of action. However, when Millicent yelled at the Ryne, successfully distracting it, his plans quickly changed and conformed to something much more offensive. Without any hesitation, he lunged forward to take full advantage of this convenient opening. With his strength and momentum on his side, he precisely slashed his sabre in a downward arc aimed at the base of the Ryne’s neck. The blade cleanly cut through flesh and bone, successfully beheading Catherine.

A soundless scream came from Millicent's lips as the blade cut through the flesh of Catherine's neck. A swift cut that went through the Soulless flesh like a hot knife through butter. Catherine's head rolling from her neck as the body began to fell and everything went into slow motion. Millicent found her knees buckling as the head of her mother hit the concrete, a thudding echoing sound that came from it as it bounced. Roll, bounce, roll, bounce. Millicent's knees hitting the ground with her hands hanging limply at her sides as the now hollow eyes o her mother came to a stop before her. There was no blood, the flesh dark and turned. Millicent could only stare as her body trembled. She did not hear the screams of others running around in a panic, nor the pained echoes of her step mothers voice crying for help. It was white noise to the girl before the eyes closed of Catherine.

Thalken watched as the Ryne crumpled to the ground, its severed head hitting the ground before its body soon followed. The head bounced slightly before rolling towards Millicent. There was no remorse or revulsion in his dark eyes. The gore surrounding him did not seem to faze him. And in the moment, he had no regard for the beloved person this Soulless was before it had turned or the daughters who had lost so much in the blink of an eye. All there was in his demeanor was a menacing coldness. He was more a predator than a hero. He could not deny that he got a thrill from this kill. It was so different from his family’s usual targets, humans with a bounty on their heads. Unlike hunting innocent humans, he had no qualms about hunting the Soulless as they were just that, soul less. Ridding the earth of these abominations felt righter than anything he had ever felt in his life before. He reveled in the feeling of doing something right for a change as it helped ease the weight of his family’s sins.

Thalken’s head whipped to the side as Millicent’s stepsister Emma screamed out in horror at the gruesome beheading she had just witnessed. His gaze for once took in the massacre the Ryne had left in its wake. An older woman laid by Emma with an iron rod protruding from her and blood pouring out profusely from the wound. Nearby the lifeless body of a young woman was sprawled out on the ground with blood pouring from her ravaged throat. His gaze finally landed on the chestnut-haired woman he had saved from the Ryne. He could tell by her demeanor that she was truly traumatized. His mind suddenly recalled something she had cried out amidst the attack, mother. The Ryne had been her mother. Thalken felt a twinge of regret and sorrow for her plight, though his demeanor gave none of this way. His mind thought back to his own mother who was murdered thanks to his father’s line of work. He quickly pushed all of these thoughts away. Emotions are weakness, his father had always said. He was not sure that statement was entirely true, but in the moment, he would abide by it. He did not want to be distracted when more pressing matters were at hand.

Thalken’s attention went back to the Ryne. He knew that to truly kill a Ryne one must remove its fangs and insert them into the carotid arteries on either side of its neck. However, he did not currently have on his person the tools to do such a task properly or safely. The body of the Ryne would have to stay as is for now. As long as it was done before sunrise, it would not pose a threat.

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Fyror scanned the thick crowds in search of his father Colonel Theodore. Fortunately, the traditional red coat worn by those in the British infantry made it easier to pick them out in a large group. Though that fact alone proved to be more of a disadvantage on the battlefield. He finally spotted his father and mother near the east wall of the ballroom, barely north of where Millicent had disappeared off to. Oh, Millicent. His mind still lingered on the feeling of having her delicate frame wrapped in his strong arms and seeing the smile he brought to her face. His heart had opened up to her in a way that he had never experienced before, and now that spot felt void without her. He questioned whether he had made the right decision to let her go off alone. His intentions were good and honorable. He wanted to protect the rest of the people here and not let emotions for a now engaged woman cloud his good judgment. Unfortunately, he knew full well that good intentions could still come at the cost of people’s lives. The truth is that sometimes the good you do won’t do you any good, but that does not mean that the effort was never worth it.

As Fyror neared his parents, the first scream rang out. It was a blood curdling, bansheelike scream that stopped him in his tracks. Oh God, it has already begun, he thought with trepidation. Naturally, people began to panic, screaming and running for their lives as the threat became imminent. They do not truly know what they are up against. He picked up his pace the best he could, desperately wanting to reach his parents, his family. Trying to make his way through the panicked crowds was like trying to navigate through a riptide. The crowds threatened to pull him under and sweep him away in the opposite direction that he wanted to go. After putting up a struggle, he was finally able to reach them. “Father! Father, the Soulless are on the premise!” he called out to him, having to speak loudly to be heard over the chaos. Fyror quickly unsheathed his sword, and his perceptive gaze scanned the area for threats.

Just then, another scream sounded out. This one was much closer. With his well attuned hearing, he could pinpoint its location as coming from the nearby balcony. The same way Millicent went— Without a second thought, he took off in that direction with his sword in hand. Truthfully, he was not at all prepared for what he would find. As he entered the balcony and the crowds parted for a moment, his gaze took in the horrific scene. The area was drenched in fresh blood and the air reeked of it. Mrs. Wyndham was impaled by an iron rod, and one of her daughters Emma was by her side weeping in horror and despair. Emma’s sister Jane laid nearby in a lifeless heap as blood poured from her throat. And Millicent—Oh, God. She was on her knees covered in so much blood. A look of utter horror was on her face as she looked down at a severed nearby her. At the moment, he did not even notice Thalken as his attention was solely on Millicent. “Millicent!” he cried, skipping formality for the first time by simply using her first name. He rushed over to her and looked her up and down. There was so much blood on her, but he didn’t what of it was actually hers. “Are you hurt? God, I should never have let you go off alone,” he stated worriedly. A part of him truly did feel that this was his fault and that he could have prevented or at least lessened the damage.

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"I guess it's like how we used to train back in the Americas." Mosi stated as they divided into groups. Since she was with Virginia things were rather straight without any confusing complications. Mosi was versed in physical fighting so she planned to stall and stop and Soulless of the physical variety to not get to her friend." Should we head upstairs then?"

Virginia's head turned in the direction of the scream, and she frowned. Millicent had gone in that direction--yet she had to trust that her friend was capable of providing her own defense. The fat, thick, and naive members of the ton required assistance. As much as she did not care especially for the members of British society, it was in her best interest, as well as her friends, to join Mosi in combat. "We shall," Virginia agreed. "It is a lovely night to face the reaper, after all."

"Indeed... it has started." Mosi agreed, also noting the scream. This was going to be a night to remember for one reason or another.

This... was not how Mosi imagined things to go. She barely made any progress forward before she was stopped in her tracks by the crazy herd of animals that were currently behaving like they were being wrangled by a hound. This was going to be a lot harder than she imagined it indeed. She even missed being trampled on by complete luck, managing to get a hold of her footing and not get knocked down.

Virginia saw her friend nearly get trampled with the crowd, as everyone ran towards and away from the doors in a mad frenzy. Even if they managed to get through the crowd without serious injury, she doubted that they'd be able to separate the living from the dead. Sighing slightly, given her distaste for social interaction with the ton, Virginia cleared her throat, mustering up all of the leadership strength her dear father had imparted on her. "Step aside so that Ms. Crane and myself may check the second floor for the soulless threat!" Virginia called out, her voice calm and confident. "Please make your way into the ballroom--it shall be secured shortly. Clear the way."

Yet her success was only partial. More chose to roll their eyes at her and ignore her--whether it was due to her gender or family name, she hadn't had time to speculate--and others simply did not listen. As for those souls who decided--rightly so, in Virginia's mind--to heed her words, their pleas with the rest were in vain. The mob turned upon itself, and a saber appeared through the back of the poor soul standing directly in front of her.

"What a waste," Virginia sighed wistfully. Those who did not know her may have assumed that she lamented the loss of life--but it was more the opposite. There was a proper bloodbath about to break out, and she could not enjoy the misery of it all. However, Virginia spied a pathway through the slaughter, one that would allow them into the galley and into the hallway. "My leadership skills are perhaps not as ineffective as they had seemed," Virginia mused with a slight smile. "Come, dear Mosi. The way is clear."

And the inevitable happened to no surprise on Mosi's side. She knew how stupid people get and this was nothing surprising indeed. She was very angry when her friend nearly got hurt, but frankly nothing good would have came from fighting the mob. Fighting a mob was like fighting an angry heard of buffalo... Once the stampede starts you cannot stop it.

"Yes, let's go faster before the animals turn on us." She agreed, also spotting the path through the crowd." Virginia, take my hand... better not get separated while we... push our way through the herd." Mosi stated. If one of them got separated now, there was a good chance they won't manage to find each other again. She would even drop one of her axes in motion. Her friend was way more important than a single axe!

Virginia blushed ever so slightly at the prospect of taking Mosi's hand, the saber from earlier having ripped the fabric of her dress on her left shoulder ever so slightly, but there had been no great damage. No, that was not the reason for her blush, but in the heat of battle, it was not the place nor the time to discuss it. "Perhaps it would be best to retain our weapons, dear Mosi, in case misfortune falls upon us." Virginia replied simply, as she ran through the parting of the bloody sea.

She dodged the various instruments and stands found in the musician's galley, and spotted a path to the hallway beyond. Virginia hardly hesitated to make her way there. They moved with haste through the herd of animals in human skins as they reached the musician's gallery. From here the closest stairway was right on the hallway nearby. Mosi hoped they survived this...

Luckily the way into the corridor proved easy enough. Nothing hindered the path as she walked over to the hallway. There were people, but at least it wasn't a mindless stampede that it was in the ballroom. Something had gotten really wrong here. Yet for Virginia, the trip to the corridor was not nearly as uneventful. Despite being just a few steps behind Mosi, the crowd had begun to swell in intensity, with the musicians attempting to flee as well.

The first chair flautist was one of those poor musicians, and as he tripped, he crashed into Virginia. Virginia nearly fell but managed to catch her balance, just in time to see the poor musician impaled on a music stand. The slight brush with death brought more color to her face, as the chaos allowed Virginia to thrive. "Misfortune for him--a stroke of good luck for the second chair," Virginia mused. But it was becoming more and more clear that the ton was far more dangerous than the Soulless threat, with the crowds seemingly never ending, and even deadlier than a cargast.

From the corridor the way to the stairway was 'clear'. Moving through the crowd was not the most comfortable of experiences she's ever had, considering the amount of times she got kicked, but she managed to do so non the less and reach the stairs without losing her weapons. There were people who fell only to be stepped on probably to death, but she avoided that. Within her field of vision she spotted a certain annoying element and was Extremely tempted to throw and axe at him, but held it for the moment.

Virginia, on the other hand, had a slightly more pleasant time moving through the crowd. A few less people bump into her, and she keeps her axes in her hands, not spending the time to wonder whether it was simply luck that got her through, or if the ton saw her pale skin and decided to give her a wide berth. By the time she made it to the bottom step of the staircase, she saw Lord Rutherford smirking slightly, before returning to the card room. It struck her as rather curious, and for a moment, she wanted nothing more than to throw one of her axes at his head.

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An unnatural scream blasted across the Assembly Rooms, signaling the sudden explosion of malevolent activity. This seemed too much like the stories of bean sīdhe from Mary's upbringing, "banshee" by more Anglican pronunciation. When she witnessed the numbers of Soulless emerging onto the upper balcony, one detail from the Banshee myth seemed particularly accurate: Hearing its wail meant that someone was destined to die that night. From the looks of things, some several. "Angels and ministers of Grace, defend us."

"The Lord need not protect us my friend, he has given us all ve need to protect ourselves," Elizaveta commented as her wrist turned, spinning the blade in her grasp as her eyes darted across the room. Mary tightened her grip on her halberd, watching the light reflect from its spearpoint and crescent blade. "Indeed He has."

Their position was far less than ideal. Mary and any others nearby were caught out in the open, in a crowd full of people that were likely to start shoving and panicking. The Soulless had the high ground, and without any barrier but open air between them, the people below were sitting ducks. Mary needed to find someplace defensible to fortify or a means of safe egress, but that wasn't happening right at that moment. Besides, she wasn't very keen on being herded with the rest of the British aristocracy. Luckily, Mary was not defenseless. She drew upon her Audist training, adopting a ready stance with her Swiss halberd set before her. Her chain rosary swung from her left wrist, halfway up the reinforced hardwood of her polearm. Fierce eyes gleamed from underneath a tussle of fiery red hair as she set her back to the Grand Duchess Romanova, holding a defensive posture. "This is dying ground, Your Grace!" she called behind her. "We cannot stay here!" But neither could they leave, until the moment was right.

"Dat it is my friend," the grand duchess commented calmly as things took a turn for the worse. Not far from them Virginia tried to calm the crowd and for a split second it seemed like some were listening. That was until ton turned against ton. A man being run through from back to front with another's blade and nearly cutting into the Lady Crypt. Yet God seemed to be smiling on her as the sharpened steel did not meet with pale flesh. A blood bath ensued but in the midst of the fray the red seas of blood parted. Virginia and Mosi making a break for it.

"This vay, make haste before our vindov closes," Elizaveta said to her new friend as she gathered the folds of her gown in her free hand. Moving quickly and praying they path remained clear towards the Musicians Galley just a few moments longer. Mary took off after Elizaveta at dead run, taking wide steps at first to catch up to the withdrawing Royal. She then slipped in front of Elizaveta, turning her halberd to bear in front of her with the same determined discipline as her teachers, the Audist masters of the Pontifical Swiss Guard. Elizaveta was the more important person of the two of them, and in Mary's heart she was a Knight, even if this city refused to recognize it. She would make sure that Veta reached her destination. It was her duty.

Mary continued onward, rotating her weapon into a reversed grip and letting the steel endcap of her polearm lead the way, threading through the human flotsam and jetsam, keeping the path open for her new friend. Once they reached their destination, the aperture leading to the Musicians Gallery, Mary stepped to one side to allow Elizaveta unblocked entrance to the area, away from the stampede of coattailed jackets and fashionable dresses. She entered the room alongside the Grand Duchess to witness yet another Rube Goldberg of tragic events.

Elizaveta kept her eyes forward as they sped through the now murderous crowd, only finally stopping in her tracks as Mary stepped aside for her. The sight of the flautist being impaled on the music stand caused the slightest of grimaces to come to her features. The place was turning itself inside out and upside down. People panicking never turned out well, the addition of the Soulless were not helping. Yet the Soulless had not managed to make it to the main floor as of yet. Still either on different floors or outside. Yet it was only a matter of time. People tripping over each other made for a crowded door that it seemed Mosi and Virginia had only just managed to get through. Turning her head she spotted the other door and made a break for it.

"Path of least resistance," she said as she moved passed Mary and through the Musician's Galley. The route was difficult, having to side step over even step over people. Her gown getting caught up for a moment under someone's foot but Elizaveta was not halting her progress and kept moving. The sound of the seam ripping couldn't be heard but it wasn't enough damage to cause a fuss over nor enough to be noticed by the naked eye. Stepping into the hallway Elizaveta looked around. The corridor was not full yet, people running towards the front door trying to get out. Others coming into the corridor from across the way.

Veta's path of least resistance held some concern for Mary. She had given earlier consideration to the possibility of being herded along with the rest of the crowd at Almack's into a situation far worse than the one they were in at the moment. This felt more like a trap than an assault.

Her quarter second of thought was intruded upon by one of the less ethical gentry, a rabidly excited man in white-on-white with a tailed, black coat. Apparently, he believed that he could make more sporting work with Mary's halberd than herself. Fear does strange things to people. This one's fear had him attempting to mug a lady of the Church. He planted his hands upon the haft of the blessed weapon, fueled by adrenaline if not common sense, in an attempt to wrest it from her hands. Mary tried to jerk it from his grasp, but the gentleman's fervor to obtain the tool of battle was such that a simple pull would not suffice. Instead, Mary had to resort to her training.

Initiating a counterclockwise rotation of the halberd, Mary waited the heartbeat of time necessary for the man to instinctively try to move it the opposite direction. She immediately reversed her spin, using the poor bastard's force against him. It gave her purchase enough to plant a heel solidly on the floor behind his leg, and leverage him backwards. The last thing he heard before flying into the throng of people massing behind them (excepting the impaled flautist, of course) was a dangerous feminine Scottish accent hissing the words of Exodus: "Thou Shalt Not Steal." The way now a little clearer for the struggle, the armed Apostolic dashed out into the corridor, rejoining Elizaveta.

Why where they there? The Soulless, why had they chosen this venue on this evening for this attack? Why were they acting together? It went against so much that we thought we knew. Each Soulless kind kept to themselves, they wanted to fly under the radar. Even those that were the same kind avoided the other like a plague. There was not safety in numbers, it drew attention. Unwanted attention of those that wanted to eradicate them. It was safer to be alone. Yet there they were, at lest two that were different coming to the same location, together, in a group. One had already fallen from a direct result of the attacks, others were dying because of panic.

Their reason for being there was not clear... Yet. Another soul was falling at that moment, but we will get to that in a minute. There are some other matters going on that I am sure you want to know about first right? I mean a death is interesting but what about beauty? Freedom? Truth? Love? Oh, sorry slipped into the Moulin Rouge for a moment. Where were we? Oh yes, something other than death. Death can wait. No, no trust me. Death doesn't have a problem waiting, he took a number and is having an espresso with some biscotti right now. He's good. Let's get back to the scene at Almack's. Behind curtain number one, we have our dear traumatized Millicent. Let's see how she is holding up.

The world was white noise for the daughter of Benedict Wyndham, everything seemed blurred and muted around her as her eyes stung with tears she was trying to fight back as she watched her beloved mothers eyes close. So many questioning running through her mind but not one registering. The face of the woman that had brought her into the world lay there unceremoniously removed from its shoulders. The monstrous visage that had tried to rip her throat out was not seen in the eyes of her daughter. Just those soft features that used to smile at her, sing to her, look at her with pride. The memories of a child were strong, so much so she could almost hear dear Catherine's voice in her mind telling her how much she loved her. Those kind words that kept her going when Elizabeth would ridicule her and put her down.

Millicent's body trembled and her hands shook as she stared horrified at the vision before her. Was her heart racing in fear or stilled from heartbreak? She didn't know. The blood that clung to her was a mixture of her own and her dearly departed mothers. It was hard to tell which crimson belonged to who. They only tell tale features was the blood that continued to trickle from the gashes in her arms. The slit of her dress falling to the side, half to the cold concrete in which she knelt on, the other between her thighs. The once pale soft flesh of her thigh now marred with the slice of the dagger that lay on the ground a few feet from her. The cut was not long, only half a dozen centimeters. Was it deep? One could not tell at first glance but the blood flowed freely from it, creating sticky sanguine rivulets of liquid which ran down her thigh and stained her silk.

It took the scream from Fyror to cause Millicent to blink. At first, all she could say as he came before her was, "Pardon?" What had he said? Did he say something or was she just hearing things? Please, let it be a dream. Let this be a nightmare. Yet it was not and as the the sobs of her sister Emma came to her ears she knew this was nothing she could simply wake up from. "Fyror..." her voice said as her lips barely moved. The first time she had ever uttered just his name. No Sir Kildragon. Just Fyror. Perhaps it would have sounded sweet if it were not for the glossy appearance of her eyes from pain and shock and loss. Looking gradually over towards Fyror, it slowly dawned on her that he was concerned about her. That was what he said, he asked. Was she alright? She blinked a few times before she said anything.

"N...No, I am not hurt," she said. Was it a lie? She was bleeding, the sweat from the fight causing the make up to run and for the first time the bruise on her face was obvious in it's full horror. Her skin had been split, the imprint of Elizabeth's ring on the apple of her cheek. The bruise was dark, bloodied; purple and blue and black. It run out from that spot and covered her cheek, fading to sickening greens and yellows. A strike such as that must have left her cheek bone cracked. Yet she said she was not hurt. Millicent spoke truth, always. She must have not have thought she was hurt or perhaps her mind refused to acknowledge the pain? A safe guard to keep her from going mad? What poor child wouldn't have under the circumstances?

Swallowing the dry lump in her throat she slowly rose to her feet. A cold facade coming over her features. Had death touched her heart or madness touched her mind? One would not tell, yet legs that were gelatin locked and held her strong. The sound of folded steel dragging across the concrete as her fingers wrapped around the hilt of her sword. She gave Thalken a blank look, was she grateful for his aide or did she wish to decapitate him the way he had her mother? Nothing gave away her thoughts right then.

Elizabeth screamed in pain as Emma tried to push down on the area around the wound, not knowing what to do. "Help me," she said, her voice monotoned as she turned. Three long steps and she was by her step mother's side, setting the sword down next to her. Reaching under her dress, between the blood stained slit and grasping the delicate ivory fabric beneath. The sound of ripping cotton echoing out as she pulled the slip and tore it away. Tossing it towards Emma and hitting her in the face. "Hold that." Her voice was flat before she knelt down at Elizabeth's feet and grabbed them. Looking over to Fyror she gave a single request, or was it a demand? Perhaps an order? One couldn't tell from the flatness and lack of eye contact as the words came from her lips. "Lift her off the leg."

But what of the Soulless? They were there on the balcony yet they avoided the area where Millicent was, opting instead of crossing claws and swords with those that had just lead to the death of on and instead heading towards the many doors which lead to the ballroom. Other upstairs were pushing their way to the stairs to come down. The wide stairs only holding a few people who were running down and passed Virginia and Mosi in terror. There was the battle field. Two Soulless were now at the top of the stairs and eying the women with their axes. One with a face partially rotted away, another with fangs bared. They lunged.

In the Tea Room, more were working their way in from the other side of the gardens, the front door one couldn't tell. What about the rest of Almack's? Our valiant fighters did not know yet. What of the corridor? I can tell you more about that and now we can speak of death for where our Holy persons stand, one is about to fall. From the far right hallway between the corridor and the card room someone bolted. Running for his life and into the corridor. Fleeing for his life from the chaos that was unfolding in Almack's. The Arch Graveolase Buckingham.

His wild eyes falling on Elizaveta and Mary. "Protect me!" he bellowed. The man had once been the pinnacle of the trained, of those that fought the Soulless but being in a position of power had made him lazy and fat. It was clear by the look in Elizaveta's eyes he was the one that she was trying to get to. He was the head of the Graveolase, their appointed leader. The holy seventh in the council where all laws were ordained from. Laws the churches, the training centers, even the very crowns followed without question. Laws put into place by the Arch Graveolase held truer than the word of kings or God. He was the protector of the Soulled.

Yet, as Elizaveta gripped her sword the room got cold. From beneath his feet a chill ran up his spine and a scream of pure fear ripped from his vocals. A fog rolled about it and his eyes went white. "God protect us," Elizaveta whispered as the static charge caused the hair on the back of her neck to stand on end. Buckingham locked eyes with Mary.

"Defendat animabus illorum, Curatrix" his lips said before the life left his eyes and his bulbous body fell to the cold marbled floor. His words, the last line of the councils words to each Arch Graveolase when they were chosen. Protect their souls, Guardian. Why would he utter such words? Because, it was simple. When an Arch Graveolase died a new one would have to be appointed by the council. Until that time, an interim Arch Graveolase must take the seventh seat on the council. One not already a member of the council. One with training in one of the six seats of the council that was not retired. One of proper birth, with title. The highest ordained in the city of the Graveolase seat at the time. That could not pass to Millicent or Mosi or Thalken, they were gentry folk. It could not go to Virginia, for while she was the daughter of an Earl, it was a title she would never hold. Fyror was the son of a Baron, a Sir of the realm. Yet it would not pass to him. Elizaveta was of noble birth, a Grand Duchess of her Empire. Yet the Russians were not on the council, they were petitioning for acceptance. That was why Elizaveta was there, to try where others before her had failed. So it could not pass to her. So why Mary? Her family was of the realm, knights: a rare holding for a female. The church had granted her the title of Dame - which within it's laws placed her in a realm all of her own, sitting equal to the Earls of Kingdoms. At that moment, in the city of London where the Graveolase were seated, Dame Mary Hale had just inherited the title of Arch Graveolase, for now.

Elizaveta turned and looked at the young woman, sadness in her eyes and yet a fierce determination. "And I shall protect you."



"It must be lass, the lord protects him, from himself mostly," Nigel laughed as the woman he had motioned to earlier brought over two large bowls filled to the brim with a robust lamb stew. It smelled heavenly. Thick root vegetables, soft pieces of seared meat, thick broth. On the plate where the bowls rested was a large chunk of Soda bread and slices of aged cheese. Nigel set a pot of tea next to the parson's plate and a pint of dark beer with a thick head on it next to Maeve's.

Calum looked over quizzically towards her, raising a brow. "Mary was a virgin, so even if we were you would be safe my dear lady," he said quickly before turning his attention to his tea. Nigel rolled his eyes and told his wife to go fetch a blanket and a pillow for Calum.

"You two eat up, there is plenty more of that were it came from. Or perhaps you would like to try one of my wife's braides? We were lucky enough to get some fresh raspberries in not long ago. The pastry is like sugared air, filled with almond's and topped with raspberries. A true treat. I normally save them just for me but my belt will need to let out if I eat anymore," he said patting his portly belly and chuckling.

"Oh sweets? Yes, yes, please! Her pastry's are divine, you must have one." Calum looked rather excited but he did have a sweet tooth and it was his one vice. He knew he shouldn't indulge but he could not refuse the offer. The last sweet treat he had had from Nigel's wife had been six months earlier, an apple tart that he swore would have tempted Jesus.



Everett gave up arguing and went to his room, Cook nodding and going to fix tea and water for the constable and Gerard. Smith looked down at the flowers and then nodded. "You should put those in water before they loose more petals," he said before stepping back towards the house and into the back door that lead to the kitchen.

Looking around as Cook fixed tea and plated some scones. "You say nothing was taken?" he asked again but it was more that he was going through his head to check off questions he had already asked. "The intruder came in through the upstairs window? The study was ransacked? The room upstairs was the entry point?" he said to himself as Cook continued but did not look over to him. Figuring that Gerard had things covered.

Looking down at his notes. "Everett did not get a look at his attacker, the attacker left through the front door." More statements that could be taken as questions. Tucking his notes away he looked back over at Gerard. "Yes, the room please. Can you show it to me now?" he finally said after a few moments reflection. Looking over towards Gerard and motioning for him to lead the way. He would follow him as needed up to Millicent's room. He needed to look at the study as well but first he wanted to see the main point of entry for this break in. Why would someone come to a home and not take anything? Or perhaps they were looking for something they could not find.

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Maeve didn't have much else to say about the parson's silly insistence on sleeping in a barn. If anything happened to the man, it wouldn't be on her conscience. Instead, she couldn't help but inhale the heavenly aroma of the stew. The sustenance on the ship had been appalling, to say the least. Her stomach growled appreciatively, and the soda bread and aged cheese only increased her appetite. She couldn't help but fondly eye the pint as well--she did bartending work and was awfully well acquainted with alcohol. In short, the meal was something akin to a dream to her.

"Thank ye, this looks gran'," Maeve complimented. Back home, her sister in law, Mary-Clare, did most of the cooking, but even she didn't make things that looked and smelled this amazing.

She hadn't begun to dig into the stew yet when Nigel offered up some pastries. The last time she had had sweets was a few weeks back. The bakers in the Brennan's territory in London had come short on their protection fees, and in order to make up the difference, they brought over various treats. Roisin had been ecstatically happy, her mouth full of sweets, and Maeve couldn't help but think of her daughter fondly in that moment.

Of course, the parson seemed to enjoy sweets just as much as her daughter did and Maeve couldn't help but be amused. The more time she spent in the parson's company, the more childish he became, and the more she enjoyed his company--for a protestant, that was. "I guess you've got a bit av a sweet tooth, parson. But pastries soun' swell t' me."

Gerard nodded a thanks to Cook for the water, looking over and agreeing on the constable advice. Gerard looked at the flowers clutched on his other hand as he took a huge gulp of the water, while they were headed to the kitchen. As they went inside the constable reviewed his notes, Gerard searched for some sort of container for the flowers in the bottom cupboards, having to ask Cook if there was a spare container somewhere and finally found a n old mason jar. He filled it with the half glass he had with him, and put the flowers in it. He thought of putting it back where it fell off in the first place.

Gerard answers the constable's questions and answered them the same as before, not aware of the constable's musing and assuming that the questions were directed at him. "Aye. We do not know for sure what they wanted to take. And nobody saw who could've been. I believe we checked everything but nothing was taken. Except for Ms. Millicent's room." he notes him, then the constable finally requests them to go to Milli's bedroom. Gerard nods and took the lead. He would suggest to check the first floor office at it's stripped state, to see if they had missed something but Gerard let the constable take what he thinks is needed to have his attention first. They went to the hallways and to the stairs towards the bedroom, he passed by Abigail, who have the key's to the bedroom, and asked for her help. "Can you come with us? The constable asks for Ms. Milli's room to be checked." he cautiously requests. If nothing in the ransacked office room was taken, oddly enough, then perhaps there was something in Millicent's room, Gerard thought.

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Everything happened so bloody fast! One moment Mosi felt herself swining her axe and in the moment she felt the strike was weak. Still without even having enough time to react to everything the Ryne just failed so much it was incredible sight ot behold! It was lunging, but in it's attempt to avoid her swing, it instead landed straight on a wall sconce, effectively impaling itself into a position where it could hardly do any damage for at least a while. Then it caught on fire! It was all incredible!

Virginia narrowly missed being decapitated with Mosi's swing as well, and her eyes widened slightly, noticing the appearance of her second brush with death that evening. As the ryne caught on fire, the smell was absolutely horrid. It reminded her of some of the experiments she ran in the basement of the manor, and had she not been holding two axes and dealing with the Soulless, she perhaps would have held her nose.

Instead, Virginia attempted to use the trained skill of pavati and throw her axe at the hraew's head. But with the fiery ryne on the sconce, the smoke, and the horrid smell, she could hardly aim. She threw the axe forward, missing the desired angle, and instead managed to stumble on the steps. Her knee cap popped to one side and Virginia sucked in air quickly, stifling a scream. The axe fell lamely in front of her, but she was more concerned with her knee. It took all she could do not to scream loudly, as she bit down on the inside of her mouth, her knee dislocated. Her leg was at a much odder angle than she had thrown the axe at, lying on one of the steps of the staircase.

"Mosi, see to the Soulless first!" Virginia exclaimed, trying her very best not to scream, but the pain was excruciating. She wouldn't be able to walk until her knee was fixed and she had no medical training. She doubted that anyone in Almack's would be able to set it right--if there were any doctors, she doubted they could reach Mosi and herself in time.

The body of the Ryne continued to smoke and the hallway was filling up with the putrid thick fog rather quickly. The skin bubbling and suddenly one of it's eyes came to a breaking point with the internal temperature of fluids. It bulged, distorting like an opium induced nightmare before it burst. Fluids splattering out from the remains of human balloon which hung from its socket. Blood and puss flying out and speckling Virginia and Mosi in a thick hot goo that made the smell of death and decay be a welcome scent like roses right then.

Over Virginia's head the Hwaew flew. It trying to catch her around the shoulders but her sudden trip and fall meant her went right over the top of her. Hitting the ground behind the two. Rolling across the marbled floor yet that wasn't going to stop it. Even as its facial skin pulled away from muscle and bone from the impact. Coming up in a crouch as the skin hung and wobbled at the underside of his chin. His brown eyes narrowing as he pulled a knife from his belt. This one wasn't going to go down easily.

Mosi did indeed tackle the soullesses first as her friend stated, but it didn't look like things were going to be as lucky as the first one. Her swing was about as effective as Virginia's throw for all it did as the Hwaew dodged, the annoying bugger. THen again it's attack was also as great as hers so thins were lining out to be rather even for the moment. Bad thing was that Virginia couldn't move. Unless Mosi dealt with this one first, they were free game for any of these things that shows from now on.

Virginia took a deep breath, attempting to forget the pain as she tried to turn around. In her position sprawled out on the stairs, her back was to the hraew, and she felt incredibly vulnerable, to say the least. While she managed to turn around and no longer be as in a defenseless position, it wasn't without great pain. Sweat poured down her face, her heart raced faster than she could believe imaginable, and screams ripped out of her throat. She couldn't even stop them by biting down on her tongue. While the knee was covered by the fabric of her dress, she could feel it swelling quickly, like lava had collected inside of her kneecap. As much as she wanted to help Mosi to attack the hraew, Virginia realized how lucky she was not to have passed out.

Second swing came following almost right away, aimed at hte thing's head. Things went better this time, but this thing was just resilient and refused to get hit properly it seemed! It dodged! It bloody dodged and she barely cuts a piece of his right ear! If things were going to go like this it was fine... she then just had to chop him piece to piece until he was nothing left, but minced meat! Then she had to pull Virginia away to safety! First thing's first though, soulless need to be incapacitated first.

The pain was phenomenal in many ways, to the extent that Virginia could try and grit her teeth to stop a scream, but it largely wasn't successful. The sweat and tears were making it hard to see, and knowing that she wouldn't be able to even throw an axe, she fell back upon a different aspect of her training. It was difficult, but she took shuddery deep breaths, invoking the skill of Nakai. She managed to focus her mind and body, allowing herself to become more resistant to the physical damage. While the pain was still massive, she felt the swelling slowly go down and the sweat was no longer so bad as to prevent her from seeing. Having her mental faculties about her, Virginia recognized that she'd need to deal with this injury more permanently--the continued use of Nakai could be incredibly draining. She could only hope Mosi would incapacitate the Soulless shortly.

'This's not working.' Was what her mind was racing with as yet another strike didn't connect. It was getting harder to keep fighting with this smoke and the smell. This could continue for a long time, a long time they didn't have. She needed to think up of a plan fast because Virginia was in danger while staying on the stairs like that. That thought, she had no idea of how to take down the enemy she could hardly look at because of hte smoke. Suddenly she felt something fly past her! It threw it's knife! And missed! That was a good chance.

Virginia, meanwhile, continued to dig deep and strengthen her resolve through Nakai. The pain dulled even more as she took deep breaths, focusing as best as she could. The rate of the swelling and the bruising, from what she could feel, had slowed down a bit more as well. Without the aid of a doctor, this was about the best that she could do. However, she felt worried as well--the smoke in the air must have been posing a challenge to Mosi when dealing with the Soulless.