Teriny Inn: "Sure thing Lass," Nigel said as he stepped behind the bar counter. It was Saturday mid morning, so breakfast ran a tad later and brunch being served was a Sunday ordeal in the inn. He wasn't sure if she had filled up last night or had a hunger this morning. It was best to ask. "He said he shouldn't be long. I's can get you some breakfast from the kitchen if you are hungry. We have some hard boiled eggs, and salted pork - a bit cold right now. Or the missus' could whip you up a bowl of steel cut if ya's like with some fruit on it," he offered her as he flung the rag he had been holding over his shoulder and left it there for now.

"Though the parson would probably recommend one of the pastries, it really doesn't stick with you for a long time," he said before patting the girth of his mid section. "Other than where you don't want it to," he laughed. "Surprised there are any left after the way he tore into them this mornin', more surprised he isn't the width of a barn. Guess what god didn't bless him with coordination he blessed him with the ability to stay rail thin."



The Glimmeric: Outside, what should have been a quiet and calm morning in this area had been altered to something gone very wrong with the scream that echoed out. The street was slowly starting to come to life as people poked their heads out their windows where they lived above the stores and establishments or just plain wandering out cautiously to see what was going on. Two doors down and across the street from the Glimmeric a woman came running towards the brothel. The girl was younger, perhaps in her early twenties. She worked at the Glimmeric and had for the last few months. Sarah Ann was sweet girl who was rather naive about things but that seemed to play in her favor among the patrons. That, along with her slight curves, curls of blonde, hazel eyes, and freckles. Some enjoyed that young innocent look and attitude.

"Madam Warwick!" she yelled out, gathering the folds of her dress and trying to keep her shawl on her shoulders. She looked as if she had seen a ghost. Her face flush and her eyes filled with worry. The basket she had been carrying felling from her hand as she pointed back down the street. There laying face up on the side walk was an older gentleman in rich clothing. His complexion looked as if he had been drained of not only life but blood as well. There was something familiar about the man, very familiar. "It's Lord Galloway!"

Russian Imperial Circus Tent City (Regent Park): The wonderful thing about Tretiy Glaz was that it could give someone a glance into the future and perhaps help someone determine something important. The bad thing about Tretiy Glaz, it rarely ever went off when it could be immediately useful. Like it would have been wonderful for Constanin or Vlad to have a sudden vision of the whereabouts of the Grand Duchess but apparently whatever force drove the Tretiy Glaz, it was asleep right then. (Oh well at leas the rolls weren't a 1 lol, could have been worse.)

The rest of the circus was now more than awake with the bellowing of the Great Bazhooli. People stumbling quickly out of their tents as the Sister kept rushing around. Though the scream did let people know one thing... If Veta had been within earshot she would have most definitely heard that and come running. (One did not just ignore Vlad when he yelled, at least not Veta.) - As Vlad started to search the outskirts of the tent city, it seemed there was no sign of Veta yet but the fog was thick, making it hard to see even ones own feet in the ground. Within the tent city it was not as thick but still made things difficult if one was not careful. The further one got from the center and towards the north, it became like pea soup.

Wyndham Manor: Abigail turned around and looked over to Gerard. She looked worried as she pulled at her fingers. "Mr. Gerard, have you seen Miss Milli? I ain't been spotting a hair on her head since last night. She ain't in the house. Did she sneaks out here that's you knows of?" she asked. There was no sign that Milli had been out and if she wasn't on her favorite bench in the garden or sitting there reading to Artemis, chances were she wasn't there.

Had she really stayed at the hospital the entire evening with Mrs. Wyndham? It wouldn't have been unlike Millicent to stay with an injured family member. Maybe with the condition she had been in when she left the hospital the night before the staff had insisted she become a patient instead of a visitor. Yet if they thought Millicent had been driven mad from her lack of speaking... That would mean she could have been shipped off to London's Bedlam... The horror's of England's oldest and most cruel insane asylum were known far and wide.

St. Etheldreda's: The boy did not take notice of Mary when she first walked up to him and explained just where he was, why, and so forth. He just stared blankly forward before letting out a gasping breath and falling to his knees. Shaking his head for a moment before pressing his palm to his temple. Turning he finally looked over to the young Sister. "Oh, Sister Mary, where did you come from?" he asked her, confused as he did not seem to notice that she had even been speaking to him.

"Sister, you are up. Good morning to you, such a blessed day is it not. There are messages waiting for you," one of the elderly nuns said in a bright voice as she came over towards the two. "I would have delivered them sooner, I was..." she said pausing for a moment. "For the life of me I cannot remember why I was held up from informing you. Do forgive me. Perhaps senility has finally set in."

Crypt Manor: The gardener looked very ill as he stood there outside looking at the manor itself and the garden. It was horrible, all his hard work was dead. Sure the Crypts liked dead things but they paid him to keep the garden going, not to let it die. Centuries of historic ivy was now dry brittle kindling that would need to be stripped from the sides of the home before it rotted away and caused damage to the actual structure of the manor. It was going to be a lot of work, that was even if he got to keep his job.

Shaking his head he took off his hat and pulled at it a minute while he stared at the single globe thistle. This was a bad omen in his mind, more than a bad one. The dead plants and ivy would take days to remove but he could at least rid the family of the newest eye sore - The Globe Thistle had to go. Slapping his hat back on his head he stormed over to it and ripped it out by its roots. Going over to one of the oil burning lamps on the property he set it on fire and tossed it onto the stone cut pathway that circled the front garden area of the house as he watched it burn to ash. It was the only dead plant on the property he was glad about currently.

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Constantin was quite directly told to go look for Veta without being to say a single 'I know!' about it. He just quickly was forced to dash off in search. A lot of people seemed to be searching for her in the confines of the tent city, but he had a really nasty hunch she had done the stupid thing and left... otherwise she would have probably showed up already.

“По дяволите...“ He cursed and in rushing moved past a huge empty metal cooking pot. His movement halted to a stop by the thing.” This vill vork...” He mumbled, grabbing the thing and doing another rush to the edge of the tent city. Pulling his sabre from it's sheath, he pulled the pot in his other hand and moving by the edge of the tent city, started to beat the metal pot with the blade back of the blade of the sabre to cause as much strong hitting of metal noise.” ELIZAVETA!!!” He shouted in between each few beating of the metals, hoping that would attract her attention and she'd follow the noise.” ELIZAVETA, RETURN!!!” He was really angry about this too. To think she'd do something so stupid!

Then he also had a revelation! Of course another name had to be added to the shouting. The tiger would follow Veta to the end of the world!" MYSHKA! ELIZAVATA!! RETURN!!!"

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There are times in every man's life when they must look upon the world around them and fight the urge to slam their head into the the nearest solid surface, repeatedly, and with wild abandon. Thusly was this day for Vladimir Alexandrov: the Great Bazhooli, head of the world-renowned Bazhooli Sem'ya. The most horrifying clanging sound erupted not too far behind him, prompting him to swiftly pivot, alarmingly searching for the source of the sudden, pseudo-rhythmic cacophany.

To his surprise, it was no deadly attack by heretofore unencountered Soulless, nor was it a peasant uprising, come to storm the Circus for its rampant employment of gypsy folk and various immoral activities. No, it was one of his own, doing something that widened Vlad's eyes like nothing had in a very long time, excepting possibly a highly disreputable Fur Bearing Trout Taxidermy Show he caught in Odessa the last time he was in town. "Costantin..." he growled, his face twisted into an incredulous stare as he could not believe what he was seeing, and from a fellow bladesman.

The actions of his circus cousin, Constantin, took him into something akin to shock. He tried to speak more, to politely ask the man to regale him the story of his most recent decision, but found he could not make the words come out of his throat. When Vladimir was finally able to say something, it was a scream. "Constantin! Что, черт возьми?" He was truly aghast. Hands found hair, tugging harshly in angered disbelief. He took a knee, mouth agape, staring at Constantin happily banging the flat side of his sword onto a metal cookpot. "Vhy for you vould ruin good blade like..." No, his brain simply would not accept what it was seeing.

Vladimir leapt to his feet, jogging the few feet back into the Tent City from the point where he started trying to locate tiger pawprints. "Killing me, Constantin! Killing! Ripping warm, still-beating heart from ribs, and stomping on vith thick, muddy boots! Kind vith pointy toes! And ice spikes! I am for the dead now, Constantin. DEAD." Admittedly, the thought occurred to him that making noise probably wasn't the worst idea ever, and perhaps the lad's heart was in the right place. "Constantin, please. Alvays, everything vith panache. Ve do not bang good steel on pots ve need later, unless is no other choice." He strode over to grab a perimeter torch, motioning for one of the nearby workers to replace it quickly.

"This is Circus! Ve are Performers! Gypsies! Entertainers! Musicians!" his voice took on a nigh-fevered pitch, the occasional member of the Sem'ya nodding in agreement with the words of their elder. Almost all of them had some form of musical talent or flare for dramatic oration, himself included. Vladimir's eyes darted back to Constantin, "Panache, boy. Style. Ve must make it a thing little Veta vill vant to come home to."

He twirled his newly acquired torch in the foggy air above his head, vying for the attention of everyone active in the Tent City. Everyvon, listen please! Veta is missing, and is not in camp!" he motioned with the torch to his left, "This half of you - get fire, get torch! Ve vill spread out, search Regent Park! Rest ov you..." he bared a mischievous grin despite the seriousness of the situation, "...Korobeiniki..." The English translation being The Peddler's Legacy, a traditional song of their people going back generations, one that they all would know. He nodded vigorously and began to sing the first words, turning and striding purposefully back out of the Tent City. He motioned to Constantin, breaking his part of the vocalization for a moment, "Come, Little Brother. Let us go find our Grand Duchess."

Vladimir palmed a great, sharp knife and hoisted the torch about him, resuming his search. As for him, he chose his path in the most dramatic and adventurous direction possible, befitting his nature: Into the thickest depth of the fog.

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Mary tried to hide the startle from her face as the boy suddenly snapped from whatever trance he was in. Curiously, she wondered if whatever affected him also had something to do with her uncharacteristic reluctance to greet the day any earlier than Decima, ante merīdiem. In any case, the startle was a minor one, marked by only a touch of eye blinking; likely brought about by raw nerves from the previous night (not to mention the peculiar happenings of the morning so far).

As the boy fell to his knees, so to did the young Apostolic. Her hands rushed out to steady him, hopefully to prevent a complete drop to the still dewy ground below. It likely would not have caused him any shock. She did not want to frighten the boy any more than he might already have been; this must have been a jangling experience, suddenly coming to consciousness in a place away from where it was lost in the first place, surrounded by strawberries and a militant Scottish nun, of sorts. Ok, maybe it wasn't such a bad place to suddenly find one's self, but it was likely still a little disconcerting. "Steady. Steady now, child. I want you to look at me, right in the eyes. Now, do you remember your name? Come on, tell me your name and stand up for me, and we'll go get some breakfast and a nice tea for you, alright?" Perhaps they could talk in greater detail over eggs, fruit, and scones.

He had not quite answered when one of the resident Cloistered approached, informing her that she had messages waiting. "Do not worry yourself, Sister. There is an ill air this morning; I fear it has muddled us all." She suddenly remembered her own messages that she had sent last night, to the Papal Court and her Grand Cross. "Who holds the messages now, Sister?" She did desperately wish to get word back from them, but as far as she was aware, the well being of the child in front of her was more immediate. News and briefing could wait another minute. Mary needed to see if the boy was upright and cognizant. Then she could collect her messages and treat the boy to a late breakfast after.

" Millicent came home?" Gerard was surprised, he had thought that she had stayed the whole evening at the hospital since the evening Emma took her away.This woke him right out of his torpid state. Nevertheless, Gerard would have noticed Millie if she were to sneak out to the gardens, it was her usual morning routine after all. "No. I haven't seen her." he responded.

"Could it be that she's still in the hospital?" He asked. It would be very likely that Millicent would have stayed there, with her stepmother, after she was tended to. At least that was what Gerard thought, he would have awaken earlier if he had known Millicent would be back. But then remembering her condition that night, they could have taken her in. Her wounds werent that grevious though he couldn't say the same for her mental state. And done by that horrible man. He remembered the ring she was wearing, the one which he never saw her wear before. What he suspects had only outraged him more. Gerard could only imagine where Millie is now, and staying here just living with it will simply not be enough for him. But the idea of Millie being taken in as a patient in the hospital, worries him all the same. That would only mean they had taken her somewhere that would "help" her mental state.

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Lord Galloway. How can anyone not know the man who owns half of Scotland's Gretna Green? His prerogative character, pallid complexion was no stranger to plenty, and certainly not to Frances. With his overall gait, appearance and manner he could be mistaken for a soulless, which had become an inside gag within the brothel. If it turned out to be true however then somebody owes the madam ten shillings. Frances then turned to the girl, Sarah Ann, flushed from the effort she did to reach the madam. Sweet, innocent girl she is, all the more Frances had to keep an eye on at their patrons' wriggly hands.

"How interesting." she thought. A few of the girls who followed out were looking over the approaching man from afar, murmuring to themselves in giddy squeaks and hushed tones. Frances wouldn't say she'd expect him to make business at the brothel like every moneyed man that every crossed their doors. As the night took over and the day is all but spent with hard work, they all look for the same thing which they could not find in their sad withered wives. Though it was no news that the Lord had married a very much younger woman, could be that his visit to the Glimmeric accounts for something else, though still it won't be a surprise if it were otherwise.

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Virginia paused for a moment, staring off into space. Alfred tapped his foot quietly to count the seconds that passed, entirely oblivious to the gardener's small act of pyrotechnics. He hadn't ventured outside of the manor himself yet that morning, spending a good portion of his time trying to convince James that using a tapestry like a cape would not protect him from jumping off the second floor bannister. And of course less than an hour later, James was attempting to teach himself to juggle with the cook's knives.

The household staff at the Crypt home either stayed for quite some time or quit within a fortnight. Alfred and Virginia had once discussed the possibility of hiring a Lady's Companion, due to the Lord and Lady Dywell's long absence, only for Virginia to remind the butler that hardly any applicants would last very long within the Crypt household. And of course, it also impart came from Virginia's stubborn belief that her parents were quite well and would be back at any moment. It was only recently that Virginia began to think of contingency plans--namely, what to do with her little brother and how to raise him properly.

"I would be delighted to join my brother, though I do appreciate you bringing a tray, dear Alfred," Virginia finally answered, after a few minutes had passed.

Alfred nodded. "You are welcome, my lady," he replied, waiting a moment for Virginia to head down the stairs before following her. He figured that it would be a difficult day ahead of them, what with Virginia's mood already seeming to contrast starkly with the night before. He couldn't help but wonder what the darkness was that she spoke of and if there was any truth to her tale. It was not that he doubted her word--but Crypts tended to be excitable people and had to be understood as such.

"Ginny!" James called out, rushing up to his sister with a large knife in one hand and a suspicious red substance covering himself. Virginia smiled brightly while Alfred frowned--the young Viscount must have gotten into the strawberry jam and decided to play. At least, that was what the butler hoped and assumed had happened in his short absence.

"Oh, my little demon!" Virginia replied, giggling a bit at James' appearance. "Have you been terrorizing dear Alfred this morning?"

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Maeve was a bit conflicted with the food options. On the one hand, eggs and pork sounded absolutely delightful. Yet the thought of steel cut with fruit sounded absolutely divine, especially after the frightful night she had had. Her only possible explanation was that she had had too much sugar before bed, something that she often chided little Roisin about. Perhaps she needed to take her own advice. But still, the sweetness of the fruit combined with Irish oatmeal was too good an offer to pass up. "Steel cut an' fruit sounds divine, t'anks," Maeve replied, smiling kindly at the man.

That was the skill she had spent her youth cultivating, after all--being likable. It was incredibly manipulative of her, winning people over in order to get what she needed, but it had started off as a survival mechanism.

But she snickered at Nigel's teasing of the parson. "Yer man is a strange one," Maeve agreed. She was surprised she didn't hear the parson stumbling his way down the road, burning down a few buildings while he was at it. But with all the energy he expended falling all over himself, he probably could use to eat a little more than the average person. "Say, Nigel, is dare anythin' yer know aboyt de parson's family?" Maeve then asked, figuring that she might as well see how a parson came to be the way he was. Nigel had to know something, didn't he?

Teriny Inn: Nigel was happy to oblige and hurried off to the kitchen after excusing himself. The place was quiet, save for one man who came in with his coat off and shaking it violently to shed the water from it. It wasn't raining outside but all became clear when he started speaking to himself about if the man who had bumped into him and caused a barrel of water to soak him hadn't been a member of the clergy he would have met his maker. Seemed the parson was up to his usual shenanigans. Who else could have cause it?

Nigel came back and set down a wide bowl of steel cut in front of Maeve, with a plate of fruit next to it. "Was not sure which you would like but.." he said pointing to the cube like chunks of a yellow fleshed fruit he smiled. "I did a favor and was reward with these. It's pineapple." Such a rare treat in Europe from the Americas. The cost to import them was astounding and those grown in the Isles had to be grown in hot houses few could ever hope to afford. Few had even heard of the fruit, much less seen or tasted one. "I thought you might like to try," he said before sitting down opposite of the bar to answer her previous question.

"Oh the Cumming family. Interesting lot, bit of an underworld type," he said quietly. "Don't know much about them other than the Parson there who seems to not have followed in the family business as it were," he chuckled a bit. "Probably fer the best, the man is more of a danger to himself than anyone else."



The Glimmeric: Sarah Ann quivered as she stood there with her back to the body and looked over to Frances. "Was horrible! Just awful! I be walking down the street and suddenly his body rolled down the road there like a run away wagon. Stopped right at me feet it did!" the girl exclaimed. It was clear she was not used to dead bodies popping up out of no where, though few were. At least not like this. It wasn't uncommon to find a dead soul around these parts from time to time but that was either in a bed in the house of ill-repute, too much heart strain, or in a dark alleyway when a so called business transaction went wrong. This, was new.

"Call for the constable!" the local butcher, Michael Grimes, shouted as he looked at the body, his cleaver still in hand for he had been working on cutting and sectioning the meat fresh to be hopefully sold today in his shop. A boy of no more than twelve nodded, his page cap nearly flying off his head as he ran up the street to locate one. "Don't kill yerself running Thomas!" he bellowed out as he shook his head. Thomas was a good lad but got over excited easily, this only added fuel to the fire. Attaching the cleaver to his belt he sighed and looked over to Frances. "She alright?" he asked in a concerned voice. Micheal was one of the few in the area that didn't treat the girls like garbage.

Russian Imperial Circus Tent City (Regent Park): The banging of the pot with the blade got attention alright but it was probably not the type of attention that Constantin was hoping for. Various members of the circus looked at him as if he was nuts, others just pure curiosity, several chuckled as Vlad went into his speech. Though out of everyone that heard the noise, it seemed that Elizaveta had not, or if she had, still had not returned to the tent city by the time the flamboyant knife artist made his way into the fog.

Within the fog, it as thick and kept getting thicker. It was like moving through a lake at one point. Unnaturally thick. The fog seemed to ripple as one walked through it, like pebbles dropped in a pond and whatever noise happened outside of the fog seemed not to permeate into the fog itself. Vlad, being at least a few steps ahead of everyone else in the circus at this point was alone. Anyone else venturing in, would not be able to see or hear him at this point. They would not be able to see their own out stretched hand once they were within the fog. The fog left the skin, hair, and clothing soaked and heavy within minutes and it left an odd chill on the skin even though the fog itself felt warm.

Wyndham Manor: "Oh I dos hope so Mr. Gerard. Haven't heard from her since she left last night and Miss Emma is still asleep in her room. Think she could have gotten up by now and went to check on her sister and mother. Been fretful hours worrying about Miss Milli. What if the hospital thought she had fallen into a spell after the attack?" Abigail wondered out loud as she looked around the garden worried. Her hands grasping at the apron over her dress.

"You! Get the carriage together! And you, find my maid!" Emma's voice called out from Millicent's window. She looked frightfully upset but it was the same look her mother got anytime someone was not instantaneously at her beck and call. Abigails head nearly spun off as it spun around and looked up sharply.

"Yes Miss.." she said before Emma stormed off in a huff. "I betters find that girl before Miss Emma wants me head," she said before gathering the folds of her skirt and huffing it back up to the house. "Why's couldn't that one be the one who lost her ability to speak..." she muttered to herself. Not that she wished the young woman harm but her voice was just as grating as Mrs. Wyndham's, some silence from either of them would have been welcome.

St. Etheldreda's: The boy looked over to Mary, slowly standing back up and nodding as he glanced around. "A...Adam, me names Adam..." he said as he bit his bottom lip. "That...that woman, pretty with the gown? Looked like a princess she did, she here?" he asked quietly as his hand came up and rested on Mary's forearm, clasping it weakly as he looked around in a nervous fashion. He seemed dazed and confused right then.

Sister Alma watched before looking over to Mary. "Oh, yes. I have them," she said absentmindedly as she started to search through the folds of her habit. After a few minutes she stopped herself, tapping her finger on her chin. "No, wait. Sister Mary Lazarus has them. She asked me to deliver the message that she had them for you," she said in an apologetic voice. "I am very sorry, seems my mind is not where it should be this day."

Crypt Manor: The gardener sighed deeply as the flower finally burned out. Shaking his head he took his hat off and twisted it a bit before turning and walking towards the manor. He had work to do, a lot of work, but he needed to inform Lady Crypt of what was going on before he started anything else. This was not a conversation he was looking forward to. Granted, conversations with the Crypts were always a bit nerve racking for him but he managed. He enjoyed his work and even though the Crypts were the definition of eccentric, they were kind enough to him.

Stepping into the manor he glanced around before checking the breakfast nook and the dining room. Not seeing Virginia anywhere he sighed and continued to search through the large manor. Calling out every so often. "Mister Alfred? Lady Crypt? Master Crypt?" he would say from time to time. That was until he came to the stairs and spotted the three of them. "Oh there you are. Lady Crypt, cans I have a word with you about the garden?"

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Thalken crossed his arms over his muscular chest as he watched his father Beowulf finish up what appeared to be some kind of business transaction. So basically, while everyone, including the man's own children, were inside Almack's fighting for their lives, he was out here arranging for another body to drop. It was this utter disregard for the sanctity and fragility of life that Thalken had grown to so despise. To think he had once, not that long ago, been exactly like his father. Now he tried to be better, to reverse this curse placed upon him, but it was hard to become a saint when you have always been a sinner.

Once his client left, Beowulf turned to face Thalken and Thalcona, his eyes taking in their disheveled appearance. "You two look like crap," he stated bluntly. Thalken's jaw clenched as he fought to keep the anger simmering at the surface at bay. As much as he would like to give his father a piece of his mind, it would be a wasted effort. No, he had to play his cards more carefully than that.

"Let's just get out of this hell hole," he bit out. He then spun on his heels and stalked off to find the carriage they had arrived in. There was a silence that seemed to follow him, and he greeted it with thankfulness. In the last few hours, he had conversed and dealt with people much more than he would have liked. Fighting invigorated him, but "socializing" drained him. Honestly, he wasn't used to having this problem, as most people avoided him like the plague itself. And for good reason.

Once Thalken located the carriage, he seated himself inside, and his family soon followed suit. They were then quickly off to the Talink Estate, which was located in close proximity to the London Docks. It suited the Talink's dark endeavors well, making for a good location for business transactions. Unfortunately, it made Thalken feel like he had to work double time to stay two steps ahead of his father. Why did his life have to be so damn complicated? He let out a sigh as his ever intense gaze took in the passing scenery. He was not really interested in any of it. None of it intrigued him or inspired him. He saw the nightlife as the filth of humanity. No, this was his attempt to disassociate himself from the others in the carriage, in the hopes that they would not talk to him. And it seemed to work for the duration of the ride.

When the carriage pulled to a stop in front of the Talink Estate, he couldn't have gotten out any faster. He quickly put distance between his father and sister, but mostly his father. He went straight to his chambers, taking off his long, black overcoat and silvery shirt as he entered. His muscular chest was littered with scars, and he bared a tattoo of the Three Harmonies Society seal on his left pectoral. He changed trousers before collapsing into bed. He gladly let sleep claim him.


And sleep certainly did claim him, but not in the good sense of the word. No, it shrouded him in a darkness like death. That in itself should not be a peculiar sensation for a man, such as himself, who lives in the shadows casted by his father and is surrounded by so much death. And yet, it was strange nonetheless, in a way that was not entirely decipherable. The bloodcurdling scream of a child suddenly ripped him from that dark void. He let out a gasp, and his eyes shot open just as the disconcerting screams waned. His breaths came in and out in sharp pants, trying to regain the oxygen that had been sucked out of his lungs by that rude awakening.

There was this unknown feeling that pressed on him to stay in the confines of his chambers. Seeing as it was still early and that he really did not have any desire to get up just yet, he gave into the feeling. He simply laid there in bed, staring at the ceiling for God knows how long. The cool air biting at his bare chest and the ominous feeling looming over him were the only factors that kept him from falling back asleep. The hours ticked by, before the clock finally struck ten and Thalken was released from the feeling that had been holding him captive.

He rose and got dressed for the day. What madness laid ahead for him this day? He would find out soon enough. He donned his typical dark attire, perfect for blending into the shadows. He then armed himself with the various weapons of his trade and grabbed the last few items he always kept on his person before swiftly leaving his chambers. He decided to leave the Talink Estate and take a stroll out on the London Docks, a not uncommon habit of his.

By the time Thalken walked out onto the docks, life seemed to have resumed to its normal level of busyness. But not everything was as it should be, as Thalken would soon find out. It would seem that the darkness that had shrouded him last night and had done more than just disturb people's sleep. It had claimed lives. "What the hell?!" he exclaimed as he came upon an unsettling sight. A dozen bodies were laid out on the docks. It was not uncommon to find bodies on the docks, but typically it was only or two, found in the shadowy areas. No, this was out in the open, like the killer or killers wanted his/their handiwork to be seen by all.

Thalken walked up to and slowly circled around the pile of corpses. The sight did not faze him as it would most others. After all, as a mercenary, he was not unfamiliar with such carnages. His shrewd gaze looked the bodies over for any clues as to what had happened. He noted how the majority of the bodies had been systematically laid out like some kind of macabre art. And yet the last four had simply been piled on top of each other, contrary to the meticulousness exhibited by the placement of the others. Perhaps the killer(s) had almost been caught and had to drop everything to get away. He kneeled down next to one of the bodies to examine it closer.

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The atmosphere inside the carriage was dull, but considering all that had happened that night, it should not be much of a surprise. The darkness and violence that the Kildragon family had witnessed firsthand weighed heavily on them all, but none more than Fyror. In fact, there was a weariness to his demeanor as he stared blankly out at the dark streets and passing scenery. The world seemed duller, or maybe it was just him and the darkness of his thoughts that made the world seem so gray. His thoughts went back to dear Jeanette. Ms. Crane was one of the first friends he had made in quite some time. And now she was gone. The image of her lifeless face was forever etched into his mind. Death did not suit a woman as vibrant and full of life as she.

And then there was Millicent. Oh, sweet Millicent. Perhaps death would have been a kinder option for her. To watch her family be torn apart in what seemed like the blink of an eye. To watch them be ravaged by a bloodthirsty beast disguised as a dearly departed mother. And on top of all that she was seemingly coerced into marrying that dishonorable man Lord Rutherford. Perhaps it was wishful thinking that made Fyror believe that things could not possibly get any worse for her. Oh how wrong he was and he didn't even know it.

"I don't know what all took place this night, or what went wrong to have allowed so many Soulless to breach the city's defenses. But one thing has been made clear. London is no longer safe. I think it is best we return to the safety of Colchester Garrison, and then we can figure out what to do from there," his father Colonel Theodore finally broke through the uncomfortable silence. The man's words effectively pulled Fyror from his ruminations. His head snapped over to look at his father.

"No!" Fyror exclaimed a bit more sharply than he had attended. He let out a sigh and closed his eyes for a moment before reiterating in a decidedly softer tone. "No. Take mother, Genevieve, and Leon back to the garrison if you feel it is best and safest for them, but I am determined to stay here in London. These people are in grave danger and are in need of as much help as they can get. As a soldier it is my duty to protect them, is it not?"

"Son, I know your intentions are honorable; however, you are but one man. You cannot do this alone, and you don't have to. The military will come to these people's aid once we figure out the best course of action," Colonel Theodore replied, trying to dissuade Fyror.

"And until then, how many more people will suffer and die? Besides, most of those in the garrison are untrained in fighting Soulless. They wouldn't even know where to begin," Fyror argued. "I am sorry, father, but my mind is firmly set on this and nothing you say or do can stop me." The thing about Fyror was that he remained open minded in most situations, but when it came to the safety of others, he could be increasingly stubborn. He would willingly jump headfirst into the fire, no matter how much it burned him. His selflessness in this regard was one of his most admirable qualities. And yet the irony of it was that he did not think about how his brash actions caused undue stress to his family. He was selfless and selfish all at the same time. The atmosphere was once more plunged into dull silence by Fyror's definitive statements. His family members shared disheartened looks amongst one another but did not try to argue with him further. They knew it was futile. In essence, his protective nature could be his greatest asset as well as his deepest flaw.

The atmosphere remained relatively silent for the duration of the short carriage ride back to their inn. And once they were there, Fyror stiffly helped his family out of the carriage and then went to his chambers without a word. He got dressed for bed and then gladly let sleep consume him. He hoped that sleep would wash away the weariness, the sadness, and the pain, all so he could start the next day anew.


Sleep wasn't as kind to him as he had hoped it would be. It did not rejuvenate him, instead it pulled him into this pit of darkness and death. It weighed down on him. It consumed him. It seemed to drag him deeper and deeper into the endless void, before suddenly spitting him out in a violent manner. The heart wrenching, bloodcurdling scream of a child was his parting gift. He awoke with a start, letting out a strangled cry and basically shooting out of bed. His eyes danced around wildly, even after the child's scream had waned to a dull nothingness. Was it real, or was it a figment of his imagination? Either way, it was disturbing nonetheless.

His cry managed to rudely awaken his brother Leon, who was sharing the room with him at the inn. Leon shot out of bed in a similar manner, but unlike Fyror, he did so to grab a weapon. "I'm up, I'm up! Where's the danger? Are you hurt? I heard you cry out," he rambled on with his raised sword now in hand. His eyes did a sweep of the room before landing on Fyror.

"S-sorry, I think I just had a bad dream. I didn't mean to wake you," Fyror apologized wearily as he eyed Leon. Did he hear it too? No, his brother's words made it clear that he had awoken to Fyror's cry, not to the scream of a child. So, it was just him that had heard it. But why imagine a child's scream? It would have made more sense if it had been Jeanette's or Millicent's. Not that of an unknown child.

Leon let out a puff of air. "Okay then," he stated simply, putting down his sword. He rubbed his eyes before deciding to just go back to bed. Fyror let out a shuttering breath and sat down on edge of his own bed. He could use more sleep, the rude awakening having left him weary, but he did not think he could fall back to sleep. Nor did he want to. He did not want to be dragged back into that dark void. He looked over at the door. He wanted to go out, but at the same time, there was this overwhelming feeling that grounded him and held him captive in this very room. Why? He had no idea why.

So, he stayed there, barely moving from that position as time slowly slowly ticked by. When the clock struck ten, he was then released. He quickly got dressed for the day, donning his infantry uniform and the various items and weapons he always kept on his person. Strangely, he now felt the overwhelming desire to leave this room. Before he left, he shook his brother Leon awake. "Leon, it's ten o'clock already. You need to get up," he stated. Once his brother was up, he then exited their chambers. Upon entering the main room of the inn, Fyror was approached by the innkeeper with a message from Dr. Graham. It read, Sir Kildragon, I shall not be able to meet at my office this day. I am currently tied up at Westminster Hospital. If you would like to still meet, please send word and I will find time in my schedule if you can come to me. Sincerely, Dr. Graham.

Fyror thanked the innkeeper for delivering the message, before finding a pen and paper to write a response. He had only just met Dr. Graham the night before when the man came to aid Mrs. Wyndham. He had found it puzzling when the man had asked to speak with Fyror the next day. And yet it also had intrigued him. Surely the man had something of importance to say, so Fyror was willing to work around the doctor's busy schedule. He wrote up the letter as follows, Dr. Graham, I am not otherwise engaged, so I will be happy to meet you at a later time that suits your busy schedule. Sincerely, Fyror Kildragon. He let out a sigh as he finished writing it up then had it sent out asap.

The London Docks: As Thalken looked at the bodies, he would notice several things. One, all of them were young adults and teen agers. None of them were high born from the look of their clothing or hygiene. In fact he might have seen one of two of them running around the docks. None of them had been killed in a Soulless Manner it seemed. There was strangulation, stabbing, even one or two that were shot.

The interesting thing was the way the bodies were laid out. Each one seemed to have a purpose. Each pointing to the next until it got to the pile of bodies. It was odd but the more Thalken stared the more something was going to jump out to him. From his underworld dealings, each one was a known place where his father had conducted business before. Hyde Park, the Market at Cheapside, all the way to Almacks. The pile of bodies seemed to represent Almacks. The number of bodies in the pile matched the number of living that had died at Alamcks the night before. One body from Almacks pointed towards where if this was placed out on a map would be The Strand. Yet there wasn't a body at that location, just a puddle of blood.

Hyde Park Inn: The messenger took the letter and was quickly on his way. Thankfully it was just a hop, skip, and a jump through Green Park & St. James Park to get to the Westminster Hospital. While that many blocks normally would have taken a good hour to traverse with the crowds of London, with parks it was far easier to move. Less people and less congestion. Not to mention that this morning, the Gentry and the Peers between the Hyde Park Residents and Buckingham Palace were not out and about in droves for morning visits as they normally were. With the attack on Almack's the night before, most people that were out were messengers canceling visits for the day or announcements of funerals for those that had died. It was servants day it seemed when one looked around.

Within half an hour, the messenger was back - a bit winded - but back. Note in hand. Sir Kildragon. That is brilliant to hear. Please make your way over here post haste then. I have much to discuss with you and it is vital that I do before you make a visit to see the Wyndham Family. Please do hurry if you are able. I hope your family is well and I look forward to your visit. I will leave an escort for you at the front reception area. Dr. Graham. The messenger looked up at Fyror as he caught his breath. "Shall I take word back to the doctor, Sir?" he asked, wondering if he was about to make another trek through the parks. He had enjoyed the ride to the hospital on his horse but the doctor had made it clear this message needed to be delivered to Sir Kildragon as quickly as possible and he had triple timed it back, including running from the stables. "Or shall I prepare your horse Sir?"

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“I'm using the back of the blade!” Constantin replied to Vlad, still beating the metal and causing noise, but stopped himself to notice if there was any reaction from beyond the mist. This was rather bad. The mist appeared pretty dense though it was still managable at the tent city. Maybe a light could be seen a little further away, but anything beside that was pretty much a blindfold. Maybe more noise would be good... but also bad if panic happened!

At Vlad's current plan, he threw the pot to the side and also grabbed a torch. Yes this was something better.” Да!“ He replied to the Bazhooli and quickly followed into the mist, making sure to be as close as possible to see the light from the other man's torch.” Ve should move in torch seeing distance!” Constantine called loudly. If they could at least see locations where they were, it could be easier to not miss someone in the net also safer since if a single torch wavers then those around it would know something has happened! Then he even lost sight of the Bazhooli! That was bad. Sabre in the right and torch in the left he continued.

“Vlad! Vher be you?” He called, hoping to at least get a good direction if the other man heard him, otherwise this might be even worse than he anticipated. Then he realized the absurdity of the denseness of this mist and the fact how wet it was. Hell his clothing already was sogging up! The torch wasn't going to fare any better." Дяволите..." He cursed.

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The boy seemed lucid. This was good. Lucid enough to remember his name and spontaneously express interest in something completely off topic. Mary looked at him with a searching gaze, trying to ponder out some detail about the child that would account for his behavior. Whatever compelled her (and others) to remain sequestered indoors for more than half of the morning, perhaps it affected him in some way, too, differently than it did everyone else. Like some pervasive force wanted to get little Adam out by himself, unprotected and with clouded mind.

He had mentioned Elizaveta, though not by name. A "pretty woman in a gown" that "looked like a princess" was an excellent physical descriptor for her, however. And as Mary thought of it, maybe his mention of Veta wasn't off topic, even if he wasn't aware of it consciously. The boy had been in some sort of trace. The last time she saw someone likewise entranced, it was in fact the Grand Duchess herself. As it turned out, she had an appointment with the Russian noblewman in just a couple of hours for the midday meal. She might have some insight into the boy that Mary did not.

"It's all right, Adam." said Mary, as sweetly as she could. Children were not her forte, though she was not completely without experience. She closed her hand over the boy's and looked into his eyes. "That was the Grand Duchess Elizaveta Romanova. She is not here right now. I am meeting her for lunch, Adam, and if you would like you may come with me. Are you hungry?" It was a polite question more than anything else, but if the boy was joining her at the Circus (a thing which Mary was intently curious about, high royalty traveling with performers), then a full breakfast was not in order.

First, she had to collect her messages. Mary looked to Sister Alma, smiling knowingly. "Of course, Sister. This day seems to be a trifle befuddling for everyone. Thank you very much for informing me; I shall go see Sister Mary Lazarus immediately." A thought occurred to Mary, "Sister? If you would, could you please see if we have anything suitable in unclaimed laundry or donations for our little Adam to wear? We are having an outing today." Hopefully not the same kind of outing that she had yesterday; either of them. The first one resulted in a mob forming at the marketplace, the second an evening of infamy at Almack's. Mary could only hope that the day would be less interesting. "Oh, and please let me know if I can pick anything up for you while we are out. Thank you, Sister Alma." If a touch forgetful, she was always kind. A little kindness in return never hurt anybody.

Sister Lazarus was St. Etheldreda's archivist, among other things. She could generally be located in Records, one of the rooms behind the Great Hall. It wasn't too far out of their way to the kitchens, and especially for a young boy, a little something to entreat one's appetite before luncheon would be beneficial. Mary stood and addressed her charge. "Come along, Adam. I'll take care of you." she said softly, holding out her hand.

The next couple of minutes found her at Records, speaking with Sister Mary Lazarus. "Good morning, Sister Lazarus. I spoke with Sister Alma. She informed me that you have messages for me." Mary kept her demeanor reserved despite her anxiousness to get word back from her Order and the Vatican.

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The Great Bazhooli was not a huge fan of fog. As a general rule, fog made it more difficult for others to see him, a thing which he considered a great injustice to the public. After all, he was an internationally known performer, attached to the greatest forum of the performing arts to ever set up tents in Europe or the reach of the Russian Empire. No, he was not a fan of fog.

Now, what many did not know about Vladimir, or the Bazhooli Sem'ya, for that matter, it was that they did more for their people than entertain. As the fog thickened around him, dampening his skin, hair and clothes, unnaturally cutting low the illumination of his torch, his performer's persona quickly fell away. When the torch became saturated enough to become a low, smouldering representation of its former blaze, Vladimir knelt to the ground and thrust it into the soft earth of Regent Park. It freed his hands to do what they did best; handle sharp things with proficiency.

There was a lot of moisture in the air. Vlad had heard of London's famous fog, had seen it several times, but this was ludicrous. It was also dangerous. The fog seemed to limit not only sight, but hearing, as if designed to isolate. And his little Veta was out there in it. The music from camp could not reach him at this point. he was out there alone, just him and this perversion of ordinary atmospheric condensation, the only reason he did not turn back now being that his concern for Elizaveta far outweighed his sense of personal safety. So long as he kept a straight path, he reasoned, he could find his way back out and risk another attempt along another angle immediately.

Vladimir filled his hands with sharpened, tooled metal and continued at a slower pace, a little lower to the ground, employing the much less flashy (and significantly less expected from him) skill of Stealth. If this fog had malevolent intent backing it or taking advantage of it he most assuredly did not want to present too obvious a target. And he had to find Veta. Senses tuned, he continued forward, a more cautious man.

Gerard relates to Abigail's worry, arms folded and tightly gripping around him. If that were the case then that's not entirely a comforting idea, Millie being put to an asylum will only make things worst. "Aye, that is very likely. I do hope she'll be alright." He assured Abby, but more so himself. Their short walk was disturbed by Emma's calling, peering from inside Millie's bedroom window. Gerard shot up at her and was greeted by a familiar image, one from yesterday morning. Emma is very much like her mother truly, although he cant exactly say he'd prefer Emma from her mother. Still, he would very much welcome Mrs. Wyndham looking out through that window whilst she eye's him in nagging displeasure at the sight of him and her step daughter. If there could be any possible way to turn back time, to that exact same day, he'd be up for the bargain.

As Emma ordered him to prepare the carriage, and Abby excusing herself to find Lily, Gerard eventually did her request. He thought where they would be going today, perhaps to check on Mrs. Wyndham at the hospital. Millicent could also be there, though mostly it was mere hoping in his part. Nonetheless, Gerard straight away arranged the horses fueled and readied, after which he finished the rest of his small chores, and of course preparing himself before the start of the journey.

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Frances listened to the woman's tale in a calmly fashion, as if trying to make out her words under her shaking. The sight of the body truly horrified her. Although in this area, it was not entirely uncommon for one to pass by a dead body at a ditch somewhere, or even in the brothel's own beds. It gets tricky having to explain to a constable on the sudden and growing cause of deaths in the establishment. Though Frances guiltily admits she could have some contribution to the former, with her own fair share of business dealings with a couple of shadowy people so to speak, a dead soul is not that hard to spot at some shady areas of the place. Although the news of one was not so surprising, the story told by Sarah Ann and the fact that it was Lord Galloway had certainly turned the most curious heads.

After the young woman told what she had witnessed, the madam put a gentle hand on the anxious woman to calm her down "Breathe girl. That's it. ". Sarah Ann was fairly new to all this, both living in this line of work and living under the danger of the soulless. Despite her pragmatic approach with things, Frances isn't one to enforce her to adjust instantly, after all things have never been easy for these young women. From afar she could hear the local butcher, Micheal who called out to Thomas and saw him running for the nearest constable. Micheal was a surprisingly decent man, and a few who still has some respect for the women at the brothel. A few of the men she considers trustworthy, and by Frances' standards, that is saying a lot.

While the madam comforted the young woman, Micheal voiced out his concern for Sarah. Frances returned him an earnest smile. "I believe she will be." she acknowledged his concern and turned back to Sarah. "Go inside and rest now, we'll be taking it from here." Though with the madam's sometimes cold and cynical nature she is most compassionate to her girls. She called out one of them who were peering out at the commotion, and asked Sarah to be escorted. She took one good look from a reasonable distance at the body. From what she can familiarly discern, this was definitely Lord Galloway.

"This visit is most unexpected." Frances airily remarks, her eyes down from the late Lord. "He a bit pastier in person don't ya think?" Ruby responds with a quip, causing the madam to slowly shake her head. However a slight curiosity got the better of her, she then turned to Michael to get a grasp at the sudden and unusual incident. "Have you by any chance got a glimpse of the whole happening? Anything that could possibly tell as to why the Lord was rolling lifeless on the gravel?"

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James dropped the knife with a clatter, his eyes wide and excited. It was no great secret that he adored his older sister, something that amused Alfred greatly. Had others not known better, they may have mistaken Virginia for James' mother. There was a twenty year gap in age, after all. Wiping his face a bit with the back of his sleeve, James nodded eagerly. Tormenting Alfred was something that he enjoyed doing, and after years of working with the Crypts, Alfred wasn't nearly as exasperated with it as he should have been. Usually, if the boy was getting to be a bit much, he'd just tell James it was time for an impromptu fencing lesson and grab their foils.

"Oh! Hello Peter, it's such a terrible morning," Virginia said with a soft smile. She had witnessed some of the devastation of the garden from her bedroom window and assumed that was what Peter had come to talk to her about. It didn't bother her too much, especially since she could compliment the man on his good work. If Virginia recalled correctly, her father had a cousin who used to remove the petals from roses and then display the stems with pride.

"I shall see you both in the breakfast nook in a moment," Virginia instructed, followed by a nod from Alfred. The butler then shot a private glance towards the gardener, something vaguely along the lines of good luck, mate before ushering James through the hallways until they reached the breakfast nook. Peter then had Virginia's full attention, as well as her 'famous' unwavering eye contact.

"So Peter, what is it you wished to tell me?" Virginia inquired.

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Maeve kept her eyes and face forward after she had caught a brief glimpse of the sodding wet man. She didn't want him to be able to see the slightest hint of amusement in her eyes, wondering just how the parson had managed to get a barrel of water to soak the man. The real wonder, Maeve supposed, was that while the parson was extraordinarily clumsy, he rarely seemed to injure himself. His actions always seemed to impact others the most.

"I cannot say ah've ever 'eard av it. we couldn't 'av afforded dis whaen I wus little--or even now," Maeve admitted, tilting her head at the fruit like a child, considering whether or not to try it. She then took a single chunk and bit into it, her eyes widening as the flavor hit her taste buds. It was unlike any fruit she had ever had before. "This...this is brilliant. T'anks, Nigel," Maeve said once she had finished the small piece.

But he didn't seem to know more about the parson's family than Maeve already knew, a fact that was a bit disappointing. She couldn't help but imagine, though, the parson making 'attempts' to join the family business while growing up, only to cause it all to end in disaster by one act of clumsiness or another. But then again, how did the man get through life if he was this clumsy all of the time? "Is he always this clumsy?" Maeve then asked.

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Whilst awaiting the messenger's return, Fyror sat down to eat breakfast. He was joined by his family shortly thereafter. Conversations were light and seemed to cover nothing more than generalities. There was a reserved, almost impersonal, quality to their demeanors. The atmosphere actually seemed rather tense, which sharply contrasted the ease with which they usually conversed and spent time in each others' companies. He had a sneaking suspicion that this had something to do with what he had said last night. The way in which he had so stubbornly put his foot down, without considering how his brazen actions would affect them.

He let out a sigh and set down his utensils before addressing them. "I am afraid that my blunt words last night have caused a fracture between us. Please, forgive me, as that was not at all my intention," he began earnestly. "I get so bent on protecting and shielding others from danger that I end up hurting those I hold most dear. I--"

His mother Lilith reached out across the table to squeeze his hand reassuringly. "We know, darling. And if it is truly your desire to stay behind and help the people of London, then we will not stand in your way. You just have to remember that, as your family, we will never stop worrying about your safety," she stated. She gave him a small smile and that was that.

Just as the Kildragon family were finishing up their breakfast, the messenger returned from his trek to Westminster Hospital with a note in hand. Fyror took the note, thanking him before reading it. His brows furrowed slightly at the urgency that Dr. Graham wrote with. The fact that the Wyndham family was somehow intertwined with this only worked to cement the concern growing within him. "Thank you for your help. It is greatly appreciated, but I can take it from here," Fyror stated as he folded up the note and put it into his coat pocket.

He gave a quick farewell to his family before heading swiftly to the stables. He did not feel the need for the servant any longer when he could tack his horse up just as easily by himself. He quickly grabbed his saddle and bridle and then with relative ease located the stall housing his horse Valor. The tall bay Irish bred stallion nickered to him as he rounded the corner and entered its stall. He wasted little time and started tacking him up. Normally he would take the time to brush the stallion down, but seeing as he was in a hurry, he went ahead to skip that step. He tightened up the girth then bridled the horse.

"Come on, Valor," he urged, taking the reins in one hand and leading the stallion out of the stables. He threw the reins over Valor's neck and then put his foot into the stirrup before hoisting himself up into the saddle. Once mounted, he kicked his horse forward. He rode through Green Park & St. James Park to Westminster Hospital post haste.

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Thalken noted the overall appearances of the victims. For one, the victims were all dressed in tattered clothing made of cheaper fabrics and that were in need of mending. That would suggest that they were of lower societal status. He noted that they all appeared to be young. Perhaps some were no older than their thirties, while others were no younger than their early teens. A couple of the individuals were familiar faces on the docks, not that he knew any of them by name. That would suggest he actually talked to people. Pfft, as if.

Thalken noted the finer details upon closer inspection, the type of details that would suggest the cause of death. And given his background, one could say that his area of expertise included the various ways in which a person could die. With that in mind, he could glean more information from examining the bodies than the average person could. Oddly, none of them screamed death by Soulless as he had been expecting. Instead these individuals seem to have been killed by more conventional means. Bruising or ligature markings around the neck would suggest death by strangulation. Others had obvious stab wounds, and some had entry and exit wounds that would suggest they were shot. It was a strange hodgepodge of various methods of killing. Perhaps there were multiple killers or killings, or maybe it was just some kind of forensic counter measure.

And yet Thalken had this niggling sensation that this was carefully and systematically planned out. That there was surely more going on here than meets the eye. He stood back up, and his gaze once more took in the way the bodies were laid out. He felt that there was some kind of message to decode in their layout. So he stood there intensely staring at the bodies, his eyes tracing the way each pointed to the next. It was like a puzzle or a map of sorts. A map?! Maybe the bodies represented different points in London!

But what about the pile of bodies? It was clearly different from the way the rest of the bodies were systemically laid out. Multiple bodies? Perhaps signifying multiple deaths? Multiple deaths--Almack's?! The pile of bodies signified the deaths that occurred at Almack's last night. He recalled hearing people talking about there being a Soulless attack in Hyde Park and one in a market in Cheapside. Perhaps some of the bodies signify those events. But what about all of these extra bodies? Thalken's eyes suddenly widened as a realization dawned on. "The extra bodies represent the deaths that have yet to come."

Teriny Inn: Nigel smiled like a proud papa over towards Maeve. "Glad you enjoy it, nows eat up. Gonna needs yers strength to deal with the Parson," he said with a jolly laugh. The man could have been a Scottish Santa Claus the way he beamed from time to time. A little red to his old nose, and the pot belly didn't hurt the illusion what so ever.

Resting his hands on the bar top he sighed a bit. "Yes and no. Calum always been ones with two left feets but oddly enough the man can dance without causing too much havoc. Thing is though, whens he gets distracted, well it just gets worse bys ten fold. I thinks he might be a little taken with ya lass," he admitted. It wasn't that he was trying to rat out Calums newly established crush on the woman but Nigel liked this girl and was rather fond of Calum.

Looking over at the man who was drenched his eyes followed him as he stormed up to his room. Sighing, he hoped Calum got this whole cursed leftfootedness under control at least some quickly. It was going to get him killed. Glancing down at his watch he tapped it a few times before looking back over towards Maeve. "Anywhos, eats up. Calum should be back soon. He is usually very punctual but today, only god knows."




The Glimmeric: Sarah Ann nodded nervously and took one of the girls hands as she walked into the Glimmeric. She was shaking like a leaf and one of the girls suggested she had a bit of sherry to calm her nerves. Sarah yipped out a yes as they entered the building. Hopefully they could calm down the young woman soon enough now that she was inside and away from the body itself.

Michael smirked a bit at Ruby's comment. "Dat he does," he agreed before looking over towards Frances and shaking his head a bit. "No Ma'am. Wish I had. I was in the back of the shop when I heard Sarah yell out," he said as he cleaned his hands a bit more on his apron. "I did sees him this mornin' though, very early. Before the sun rose. There was a fog out," he started to explain. That wasn't uncommon in the early morning hours along the Strand. Fog was the fifth season of London that never seemed to fully pass. "Saws him coming out of the Glimmeric and head up the road. Was strange, since he didn't have his carriage waiting but figures he didn't wants it parked out front and was going to meets it up on the corner."

That was the usual practice for a lot of high borns that visited the Glimmerc. Get dropped off and picked up a block or two from it so even if they were caught in the area they couldn't be accused of specifically visiting the establishment. Why they did this, Michael had no idea. The Glimmeric was well known for what it was and what went on inside wasn't exactly frowned upon. Sure the girls weren't treated the best but as far as a man having a night there, was accepted. Even women married to lords came there from time to time. As long as they had already produced an heir and a spare they could keep discreet lovers all they wished.

Russian Imperial Circus Tent City (Regent Park): As both Vlad and Constantin entered the fog, it became more than apparent that finding anything in this weather was going to be like locating a needle in a hay stack. You weren't likely to see it before it poked you in your rear end. Clothing was soaked by down, hair like you had just walked out of the river after a wash. Droplets rolled down their foreheads and over their lashes at this point like a light rain.

Then it happened. There was a scream from within deeper in the fog. At least one could think it was from deeper within the fog. Or perhaps it was from behind them? No, to the east. Or was it from the west. No, that wasn't it. The scream was in the fog itself, or was it the fog? It was all around and inside the dewy water gripping to their ears and the back of their necks. The only good from the scream was that it didn't sounds like a scream from the Grand Duchess, yet it was so familiar. Like a scream that had ripped them and others from their nothingness of a dream that night before.

The scream was followed by something familiar though. Something very familiar. It ripped straight through the fog. The sound of a large animal growling in defense. Only one thing could have made that noise. Myska. Thing was though. When the sound came rushing through the fog, it cut a path. Two different paths. Before Vlads feet it lead to the left. In front of Constantin it lead to the right. Neither men could see each other in the fog. Had they gotten so turned around in the fog they had ended up in different directions? No. The fog had done something for as they followed the line of sight provided by the rushed path created by the roar they both would see Veta in the middle of the water in the park. Lifted above it by an unknown force and frozen. And beyond that they would spot each other close to the shore line. Myska was in the water beneath the princess as the water was freezing around him.

Wyndham Manor: Abby found Lily in the kitchen with a pale tint to her skin. The girl still was not used to Emma's bellowing. Sighing Abigail helped Lily up to Emma's room to get the woman together. "Don'tcha be frettin' none. We's get her ready posts hastes and out of here, then the house be quiet," Abigail assured Lily. And they did, by the time that Gerard had the carriage prepped and ready to go, Emma was in the main dining room eating breakfast. By the time he was done with his chores Lily was helping Emma get her shawl on and gloves for the ride out to the hospital.

"Now, remember what I said. I want this house ready to close up by tonight. All except the bed rooms, those will be finished in the morning," Emma said in a voice as scathing and cold as Mrs. Wyndhams. Abigail didn't like the idea of closing up the house so quickly but if it got them out of the city and Miss Milli back into the country side it was worth the rush job.

"Let's go," Emma said as she climbed into the carriage with the help of Lily and slammed the door, nearly catching the poor girls fingers in the frame as she did. Yelling out the window. "Make sure the ride isn't bumpy! I refuse to show up with messed curls in front of any Lords visiting the hospital!"

Abigail ground her teeth as she wrapped an arm around Lily and gave Gerard a look of ~sorry you have to put up with her~ as Emma knocked on the roof of the carriage to let him know she was ready for him to start the drive to Westminster Hospital.

St. Etheldreda's: Adams eyes lit up like a boy on Christmas morning. "Oh yes Sister Mary! Can I?" he said excitedly before pressing his stomach and his brow quirked. "Actually, I ain't be being hungry right now. Weirds, I always hungry but nots right now," he said before looking back over to Mary.

"Of course Sister, I will find something for him," Sister Alma said kindly and gave a quaint nod to the Dame. Wrapping her arm around Adam she assured him they would find him something clean to wear before he left to see the Grand Duchess. Adam seemed very excited. "But you will have to eat something small before you go. Could be a long ride and you'll meed your strength," Alma said before she turned and headed out of the gardens.

Adam took Sister Mary's hand and walked with her, looking around the place as if it was the first time. Had he not noticed some of this when he originally came through to go into the gardens? Perhaps not. Many seemed to not know how they had gotten from their rooms that morning to where they finally snapped back to reality.

Over in records, Sister Lazarus pulled down the white cloth that was tied around her face and lowered her feather duster as Mary came into the room with Adam. "Now, where on this holy earth does it say and on the eight day he dusteth?" she said in a salty raspy voice befitting of her years and temperament. "Oh morning to you Sister Mary. Yes, I have them, somewhere," she said looking over at her desk. Tossing her feather duster onto the chair she went to the stack of papers and found the two she was looking for, sealed with wax ~pm will be sent for their contents~

Crypt Manor: Peter steeled himself for the conversation. He quickly explained that he was terribly sorry for the condition of the gardens and that he knew not how it happened. That he had awoken this morning to find the gardens in such a morose state. then he got to the Globe thistle.

"I pulled it and burned it m'lady. Twas a horrid omen!" he exclaimed. It was not like Peter to get this worked up. Sure he always seemed a bit nervous and on edge around the Crypts but this was something else. This was pure unadulterated fear that coursed through his voice and his veins.

"These thistles are not common to the British Isles! Come from Banat they do," he said nervously. "Invasion, a deathly invasion is coming m'lady. From the east. I bet me life on it!" he added as he mad the symbol of the cross on his chest and went back to writhing his hat so much that the seams threatened to pop.

The London Docks(1): There were other deaths that hadn't made the papers as of yet or hit the grape vine it seemed. Though it was clear from points on the body laid out street map that there had been others outside of Hyde Park and Almack's. The pool of blood though was the one thing that differed from the rest of the bodies. Why no body? Yes, it could have meant there were more deaths to occur, or it could have meant something else. There would be only one way to tell for sure. Go there and find out.

From looking at the bodies, how they were laid out, and Thalkens knowledge of the streets of London he would know that the pool of blood meant he would need to head down to the Strand, near Glimmerics. Might be best he get on his way because the sound of the constables whistles and bells was echoing down the street some and well, his family was not well liked by people of the law. Surely they would try to pin this on him and his family if he was found anywhere around the bodies when they arrived. They might try to place the blame on them anyways but best not to risk it just yet. Being held up by the constables would mean being slowed down and stalled until later and that could easily mean whatever he might discover at the Strand would be long gone by then. Time to move.

It would take sometime to travel the streets of London to get to the Strand from the Docks, a good hour on horseback heading west but perhaps with some quickness of foot and the bit of luck with the streets being less crowded this morning it would make for a quicker travel. The bells were growing stronger and louder. Thalken had maybe five minutes to disappear into the shadows.

Westminster Hospital(1): Fyror was able to take advantage of years of horseback riding, quick thinking and lightened traffic through the parks to make excellent time to Westminster Hospital. Out front of the hospital stood an Indian man in a suit with a turban on his head and a small lad in clothing a bit short for his height. As Sir Kildragon came up to the hospital the man nodded to him as the boy took the reins of the horse.

"Ah, yes Sir Kildragon sahib I presume?" he said in a thick West Indian accent as he gave a curt bow. "Dr. Graham is awaiting your arrival and asked that I escort you to him. I am Ram Dass Naidu," he said in a polite voice. "Ben will tend to your horse. This way please, Dr. Graham said it was most urgent," he added as he motioned for Fyror to follow him through the large front doors of the multiple storied building that towered over them near Westminster Abby.

Inside the hospital was bustling as people moved about but Ram Dass made quick work through them and took the stairs to the third floor. "I would normally take our newly installed lift but it is quite crowded today so I hope you don't mind a bit of physical exercise instead," he said in an apologetic manner as he hoofed it up the stairs. Once to the third floor he made a quick turn and then another, winding his way through the maze of hallways. "Ahh, here we are," he said before giving a quick rap on the thick door.

"Come in," Dr. Grahams voice rang out through the door before Ram Dass opened it and motioned for Fyror to enter.

"Sir Kildragon, sir."

"Oh yes, good. Thank you Ram Dass, that will be all for now," he said dismissing the man as he took his glasses from his face and rose from his chair to reach out his hand in greeting to Fyror. "Thank you for coming as quickly as you did, please have a seat."

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Constantin couldn't help but curse in his mind as he was slowly wandering in the fog. He took to not voice his constant swearing as a last resort to hear any possible change in the sound in case something may jump him. It wasn't sure plan since there were things that didn't made sounds, but it was better than nothing. Then the scream happened. A scream... THE scream. It was everywhere, surrounding them like if they were a straw in the middle of a basin with water which was hit and the waves hit the straw from every direction. The direction was impossible to determine and he knew it. No choice but to continue forward until he reaches something.

What followed though gave Constantin a shimmer of home. It was the growling of a great beast. It cut through the fog like butter! The only beast who could logically do this right now was Myshka, for Myshka was also in the fog. There was now a path to follow... No other choice! He quickly hasted his steps to reach the source...

Thus he did until he saw the sight. His mind changed gear in a moment's notice for the situation was as bad as it could be. Veta seemed frozen... suspended and Myshka was being frozen right now. Only one creature he knew could do this, it was a Golgravtiz. Even the though caused him to feel the chill."VETA!" He shouted in concern.

There was no time to think, only one thing could be done and there was no time to waste! He had to use Gologramma. There was no time to waste! Immediately he focused on performing the art. To damage the Golgravtiz, he needed it.

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Wet and irritated, Vladimir continued his near-blind search through the mist as thick as cotton, hoping, searching for any sign of his little Elizaveta. Given the utter lack of visibility, it was something of a long shot. Nevertheless, Vladimir Dmitrievich Alexandrov was not going to give up. No, he would stride forward with calm, confidence, and utter faith in the eventuality that he would find the Grand Duchess and bring her back to the Tent City safely. The scream that cut through the otherwise quiet fog seemed to have plans to the contrary, though.

When the hole opened up in the fog, seemingly ripped open by the roar of a very familiar feline, Vladimir took off like a bullet. Of course it could be a trap, even so far as to reveal the best bait one could set up for the Russian knife enthusiast: His ward Veta. But suspended by an unknown force while the waters below her threaten to freeze her fearsome tiger in place? No! Not without a fight. Maybe it was not the most pragmatic thing in the world to do, but he was the one and only Great Bazhooli, Master of the Bazhooli Sem'ya and protector of its people. Especially Elizaveta. Even Myshka. For no one else in London, to his knowledge, could do what they could do.

He knew this enemy. It was the Golgravtiz. He could not give it the gift of a final demise with his current supplies, but he could hurt the horrible creature, at least temporarily, or restrain it. Catching sight of Constantin nearby summoning a Gologramma to fight the looming threat, Vladimir reached into the depths of his own creative energies and began manifesting his own semi-illusory copy.

"Golograviz! Foul ice-bitch! Release girl and tiger, ve maybe give head start." Vlad roared with a commanding, gravelly voice. He stood straight and tall, braced for the inevitable push to come. Smiling darkly, in the manner of a menacing butcher or executioner, he gave the thing a promise: "Or prepare to be Bazhooli'ed."

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Mary smiled down at Adam. "Certainly, child. We shall leave for the Russian Circus this morning, the two of us. But Sister Alma is correct. I want to see you eat a little something before we depart. Toast and jam, perhaps, or a bit of oats and honey. I will join you, of course." She was already anxious to head to Records and speak to Sister Lazarus. Taking the boy's hand, she began walking back out of the Garden. "First, we are headed to speak with our Record Keeper. I must admit to some excitement, Adam. I have been waiting for a message to be returned of serious importance."

Sister Lazarus certainly had a sense of humor, if a little gruff in nature. "Why, Sister! That borders on the blasphemous." It was not meant to be totally serious, though humor and sarcasm was not her strongest point. "You keep a meticulous archive, Sister Mary Lazarus. The Bishop must appreciate your diligence." Of course, a compliment grounded in honesty was within her social skill set.

Upon receiving the letters, Mary immediately broke the seals ans read them. Her face, genuinely serene and angelic, fluttered with tiny amounts of emotion, if but for a fraction of a second each. Disbelief. Gratitude. Dismay. Acceptance. Resolve. "The attacks... they're everywhere. We are at war." Mary took a moment to process what she had learned. This was not a coordinated attack in a single location. This was an orchestrated assault that occurred worldwide. It struck a chord with the young Apostolic. This was a thing for which she had trained, and simultaneously dreaded. Her Order was vastly outnumbered for something like this. She had to inform the Graveolase, if they didn't already know.

Mary showed the letter from the Knight Grand Cross to Sister Lazarus, pointing to the bottom paragraph. "If you would, Sister, please record this event in the Archives." The other information will be come widely known very soon, but a copy of her appointment to greater responsibility within her Order demanded a backup, lest the papers be lost in the meantime.

It was around the time Gerard had finished preparing that Emma had left the house, instructing Abby and Lily about what needs done around for the evening. It would do everyone good to finally leave the house, Gerard hoped they would as soon as they can. With what had happened the day before this house is now riddled bad energy that he himself wouldn’t want to linger on any longer than coaching a ride for Emma.

If Gerard could endure Mrs Wyndham’s scathing and brash insults, then he can put up with Emma’s without a problem. At times when his patience is stretched to it’s limit, he was never one to express anger specially not a woman. It would deem ill mannered. He would instead hum a soothing tune, the one that his mother would sing when he would be upset. Doing so somehow comforted him, and proved to be a great deal of help to his emotional restraint.

Gerard remained silent at Emma’s rather hopeless request. There wont be any promises for sure, though he would make sure as to avoid any unnecessary blathering. Looking at Abigail and Lily, he gave them an restful smile and a tip of a his hat, assuring them that he was gonna be fine. The moment Emma gave the signal, they finally got off to Westminister Hospital and hoping to see Millie there.

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Frances tried to recollect that evening, if she might have seen the victim came in the brothel. She did have a glimpse of him though it would have been likely she had missed him, as he could have been around with the other more experienced girls or have them watch the younger ones. Nothing else was unusual at what Micheal had told her, it has always been a custom for nobles to have them drop off a few blocks away from their establishments. Could be a number of things; pride, shame among other such reasons and considering these men and women’s social statures it could be a probable explanation. What well mannered gentleman want to be caught dallying with a woman of illnrepute after all.

Where the Lord had gone the morning he left The Glimmeric, lies the answer as to why he is left in this state. One thing the madam finds it strange is the time period from when Micheal had seen Galloway left, and to the moment Sarah encountered the body. "How long could he have been dead?” Or had he possibly met somebody between those interval, a meeting gone horribly wrong perhaps. There could be other possibilities. She would inspect the body herself if it were a mere mugging or something more grievous than say, a soulless running lose in the Strand. After what had happened in Almacks, that could be a very serious possibility.

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Virginia tilted her head slightly. She couldn't help but ponder how a plant from the Banat could have turned up in the garden. Had any of the extended family been visiting from the east, she supposed that could have been a suitable explanation. Yet Virginia was not aware of any such persons. "I do thank you for sharing this information with me," Virginia said, seemingly unbothered by the extreme fear that Peter displayed. "I am not too surprised at the news of a bad omen. The East Wind brings many plights and leaves destruction in its wake." She had been taught from a young age that the East Wind brought destruction and from what Virginia understood, there were similar references in the Bible to such a nature.

"Yet I have several questions for you. Once we have eliminated the impossible, we then might glimpse at the truth," Virginia began. "First, I understand that this Globe Thistle was discovered this morning. Yet plants grow. Could it have been planted previously and only now began to bloom? Or would some person have had to plant an already grown Globe Thistle as recently as the previous evening?"

"Second, dear Peter, what else did you notice in the garden? I know that all of the other plants have perished. Did you find any other objects that did not belong? Perhaps, have you noticed someone in the garden that is not normally there? And third, do you have any inclination as to what caused the rest of the plants to wither in such a manner? Do not fret if you do not. I may procure some samples and attempt to determine that cause in the basement later this day." Of course, she had little experience with determining what killed plants. Her experiments in the basement were simple chemistry experiments or examinations of the deceased. She was a curious person by nature. And while Virginia loved tales of the macabre, she often found that logic could be applied to them. The knowledge of a horrible truth was just as riveting to her as the omens of a terrible demise.

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The news that the parson was capable of dancing took Maeve by surprise. She had doubted that he would be capable of any such activities without committing a great deal of arson by accident. Why, she would have willingly believed that Scotland had passed a law banning the parson from dancing in any sort of matter in order to protect its citizens. She wasn't sure whether to laugh or gasp when Nigel confirmed a lingering suspicion of hers. She had caught the fancy of the parson--the fancy of a Protestant, none the less.

"Yer man does seem ter 'av an odd sort av luk," Maeve said finally. The parson wasn't traditionally lucky, yet he hadn't gotten killed despite all of his clumsiness. Any other individual, Maeve figured, likely would have tripped over the wrong person and ended up dead in the river by the next morning. It seemed to be only by the grace of God that the parson still lived.

Yet she had nothing to say as to Nigel's suspicions that the parson fancied her. Nothing seemed to be apt to say in that conversation so instead, she simply enjoyed the morning meal that Nigel had brought her. It was a treat that she doubted she would ever had the chance to eat again, though she also could not help but think of how much her daughter would enjoy the pineapple. Taste was one of Roisin's stronger sensations.

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Thalken's shrew gaze confined to take in the way the bodies were laid out. He mentally pictured the streets of London and compared that image to this makeshift map before him. Hyde Park. Almack's. The market in Cheapside. His eyes finally landed on the strange pile of blood. The Strand. The pile of blood represented the Strand on the map. Perhaps there was a clue to be had at that physical location. Well, he didn't have anything better to do, so he might as well go there. Besides, he liked a challenge from time to time.

Just then, the sounds of the constables' whistles and bells rang out from down the street. Crap. He needed to get out of here and quickly too. The Talink family was understandably not well liked by the people of the law. The last thing Thalken needed right now was to be associated with the deaths of these people. He quickly spun on his heels, his overcoat billowing out behind him as he fled to the shadowy recesses of the dock. He would keep to the shadows as much as he could as he travelled on foot to the Strand.

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Seeing as most people opted to stay in the so-called safety of their homes this morning, it made riding through Green Park & St. James Park relatively effortless. Fyror kept the reins loose, allowing his horse to gallop unimpeded. He gave slight leg cues as needed, but it was mostly a straight shot ride through the parks to Westminster Hospital. It was a well needed taste of peace and freedom after last night's debacle and the chaos that was sure to follow. As the hospital came into sight, he gathered up his reins and shifted his weight back in the saddle to cue his horse to slow down. He noted the Indian man and a young lad out front, and he correctly assumed the man was his escort.

Fyror pulled his horse to stop alongside them before quickly dismounting. He then handed the reins over to the boy and nodded his head in gratitude before turning to the other man. "Indeed, I am he. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," he replied with a polite nod of his head before following the man inside. It seemed that little time was to be wasted. The urgency with which Dr. Graham wished to speak to him left a gnawing sense of worry in him. The fact that it had something to do with the Wyndham family only served to make matters worse.

Fyror easily kept up with the man as they weaved through the crowded hallways. "That is quite alright. A little exercise never hurt anyone," he replied as they quickly ascended the stairs. For the unhealthier members of the ton, the quick pace would have certainly left them winded. However, he was fighting fit, so it did not significantly faze him. They quickly arrived at their destination, and Fyror thanked the man before turning his attention to Dr. Graham. "Certainly. I am quite honestly anxious to hear what this is all about, particularly how it relates to the Wyndham family," he stated as he shook the doctor's hand before taking a seat across from him.

Teriny Inn: "That he does," Nigel said with a slight smile. The parson did in fact have the oddest set of luck he had ever seen. The man should have fallen into a river, been killed by someone he tripped, or just down right cracked his own skull open by now and yet he kept tripping around and seemed none the worse for the ware because of it. Nigel's only explanation for this was that God had to be watching over Calum like a hawk, that or he had an army of angels hovering over the parson at all times.

Speaking of the tripping preacher, he waltzed into the Inn and nearly took a head dive over one of the chairs that was halfway pushed under a table. "Oh Fuddle," he murmured as he caught himself. Seeing Maeve sitting there eating her breakfast he gave her a half goofy grin as he took his hat off. "Morning to you on this blessed day," he said happily as he moved with light feet over to her. "I have a carriage ready for us to go to Annan proper today. The Kirkpatrick's wanted me to get your wardrobe taken care of before we made the days journey to their estate. Something about Lady Kirkpatrick wanting to make sure you had the proper attire," he said before shrugging and trying to have a seat on the stool next to Maeve. He had a seat alright, on the floor as his rump hit it hard.



The Glimmeric: Michael wasn't sure and pulled out his pocket watch, checking the time. He seemed to be going through his morning in his mind as he watched the second tick by. After a few moments he looked back over to Frances. "If he was killed shortly after he left he could have been dead nigh on four hours," Michael finally said before looking back over to the body. "But from the way he's laying flopped there like that, I wouldn't think he be dead more than an hour."

Michael was no detective by any stretch of the imagination but he was a butcher and dealt with carcasses constantly. (Both fresh and not so fresh.) Then again, in this era, people dropping dead wasn't exactly uncommon though it was usually from natural causes or a duel. You saw your fair share of death in England, it was pretty basic for someone to be able to spot a fresh body. "Hopes Thomas gets back here toot-sweet, be nice for the constable to get this body off the road," he finally added as he looked off down the street. Still no sign of Thomas but that wasn't uncommon. The local authorities usually didn't bother with this part of the Strand this time of the day.

Russian Imperial Circus Tent City (Regent Park): The yelling by both men caused a change in the area. The fog seemed to thicken around them but kept clear of the water. One could easily hear the distinct crack of ice as is froze but it seemed to stop in mid action as Veta's body jerked higher into the air. Then, something appeared far over her. It was nothing the likes either had seen before. A large glistening black tentacled creature with the torso and body of a man with two heads came into view. The one of his six large tentacles finally shifting into view was wrapped around the Grand Duchess's body. This was no Golgravtiz.

The creature eyed both Constantin and Vlad, each being looked at by one of the creatures heads before it grinned at them in unison. Veta's body could be seen straining, turning a darker shade of purple as if she was being strangled and crushed to death. Then suddenly it released her and she went plummeting into the water through the last opening of un-iced water, the rest pinning Myska with his head above the ice and his limbs frantically kicking to get loose. Veta's body was quickly beneath the icy surface as it began to close around her. The creature seemed to spin in the air and as if fly off into the fog, the fog followed it and cleared from the water. Leaving nothing behind but the frozen pit in which Veta's body was slowly floating further down to the floor.

Green Park: "Watch the bumps!" Emma yelled out of the carriage to Gerard as they crossed into Green Park and kept heading towards Westminster Hospital. Sitting back she shook her head and looked out the window as she adjusted the ribbons a bit in her hair. She wanted to make sure that she looked her best for any prospective or available Lords that were visiting the hospital. Of course she would check on her mother but then again, even if her mother was still in a horrid condition she knew that Mrs. Wyndham would want her to take every chance she could at landing a titled husband.

Her thoughts went to what Abigail had said to her but she dismissed them. There was no chance that Lord Rutherford would ever harm a hair on Millicent's head. He was a Lord, high standing in courts. He was handsome and knew how to carry himself. Sure she had heard rumors within the ton but who didn't have rumors attached to their names. It was common place. The higher the title, the worse the rumors became. But it meant nothing. Right? Shaking her head, she dismissed the thoughts again, if anything did happen it was surely Millicents fault. The girl had a big mouth and never knew when to hold her tongue. "What the bumps!" she yelled out again as she steadied herself in the back of the bumpy carriage.

St. Etheldreda's: "Well what else is new? We have been at war for our souls ever since Eve took a bite of the forbidden fruit," Sister Lazarus quipped before taking the piece of paper and nodding. "And the other?" she asked as she eyed Sister Mary. It wasn't so much that Sister Lazarus cared what either note had within them but she was hardly one to put off half a job when it came to records. If the other was going to be recorded, it might as well be taken care of right then as well.

"Come on, haven't got all day," she said quickly as Adam moved around the office looking around quietly. He would reach out from time to time, looking as if he wanted to touch one of the books or tombs but he would draw back quickly and shove his hands into his dirty pockets for a bit. It seemed that he was getting bored but doing his best to be well behaved. If he messed up he wouldn't get to see the Grand Duchess, the thought alone made the boy freeze in his tracks and get a visible chill that cut through him and made his teeth chatter.

Crypt Manor: Peter thought for a moment as Virginia asked her questions before answering. "That is what truly worries me. I found it in the center of the bricked pond there. It has a stone bottom. It doesn't look like it was chipped away to plant and it couldn't have grown overnight through the stone bottom and up through the water," he said nervously as he wrung his hat in his hands.

"The rest I do not know. As soon as I spotted the thistle I burned it and came straight to you Lady Crypt. I will go back and look around, bring you samples if you wish. I do not know what could have caused such destruction so quickly this time of the year. The only things I ever seen leave the ivy in such a state was a freeze and that took days, even weeks to get it to this condition. We have not had a cold spell in months."

The Adelphi(1): Thalken managed to get to the area just south of the Strand through the shadows and away from the constables that were coming to the docks to inspect all the dead bodies. The area was one of the nicer areas close to the strand and had only completed construction less than fifty years ago. A large block of 24 unified neoclassical buildings made up the area between the Strand itself and the Thames. Nearby what in what was considered the Adelphi area was also the Royal Society of the Arts and the Adelphi Theatre. The latter was a perfect cover for many a shady dealings during the shows that were put on there. This time of the day though, the theatre was quiet outside. Many of the actors and actresses still sleeping off the show and after parties from the night before.

Westminster Hospital(1): "Yes, please forgive me for not writing you about it but once you hear what I have to say you will understand why I dare not send this via a messenger," Dr. Graham said as he leaned back in his chair and pulled is pocket watch from the small pocket in the front of his vest. Flipping the cover open he glanced down at the time before the sound of it clicking closed echoed through the office and he placed it back in its resting place. The chain curving down as he sat up and laced his fingers together, resting his hands on his desk.

"I wanted to speak to you about Lord Rutherford," he said as he tried to keep his facial features neutral but there was obvious distaste in his eyes. "Rutherford has been married before and I have heard that he is now engaged to the eldest and only true born Wyndham, Millicent. This disturbs me."

Shaking his head he rubbed his chin briefly. "Not because of the rumors but because I know these rumors to be true," he said, confirming the talk of the ton. "I was the physician to the family of the woman he married three years ago. A lively woman, not unlike Miss Wyndham. She had an intriguing mind and a quick quit about her. That was until the day she became engaged to Rutherford. Then everything changed so quickly and before I knew it..." he said before his words trailed off and she swallowed a lump in his throat. Rising from his seat he stood up and walked over to a cabinet which held his files. "She was dead."