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Standing atop his great black horse in the manner of a top-hatted Russian monolith, Vladimir's steely eyes regarded the people below him. The urging to commit to a path, one way or another, was a tougher decision than he had preferred to make. On the one hand, the visions of his own people, and by that he meant the Firewalker, Constantin, gave very telling images about the direction they needed to go. On the other hand, the innate knowledge of the German, Ludwig, allowed for a path to their ultimate destination, and in fact, their quarry's intended destination, even faster. Provided that they could book appropriate passage in time. Therein lay the problem.

The words of those around him gave him less in the way of hope than he really needed. Until Constantin had to toss in his two rubles. The fire in the elder Russian's eyes stoked to life. His knees gave the tiniest of bends, and then straightened with unbelievable velocity, launching The Great Bazhooli into the air to tumble, spinning, end over end one full revolution to land directly in front of the newly arrived Firewalker. His hat was in one hand, which he promptly fit back upon his head with a flourish. "Da. Da! DA, Firewalker Constantin! Is vhy ve pay you the... eh, vell, the moderate monies! Yes? Yes. Qvick like rabbit, run to Baron. Vill be needing English Pound Sterling for travel money. Permissions from him, moneys from Viktor. For please. You have amazing idea!"

Vladimir began to select a smallish group, but powerful in Rusyn training, to join he and Ludwig on the road to Bristol. The bulk of the Circus would continue on the northward path, following the signs of the Tretiy Glaz. Vladimir laughed long and hard, the regarded his advisers for the journey, Ludwig and Thalken. "Am thanking the boths of you. Good. Good! Ve take both. Now, must decide whos and vheres. Follow mission of Grand Duchess! Stop vedding of pain and miseries. Then ve meet up vith Circus again. Group on land, find and help qvesting womens. Meet up again. Who goes, vhat do ve take?"

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Mary tried very hard to ignore her friend's assertion of murder. Had she but put it any other way... Well regardless, she was not going to support outright murder. Challenge, perhaps. Or the exaction of punishment appropriate to a violation of God's or the Crown's edicts. Or simple defense. From what she had heard of this Rutherford, any of these events were possible. The fact that he was Mary's clan's seat Laird, as a matter of standing, tempted her to adopt a certain matter of moral fluidity concerning the man's death. Perhaps this is why, when accepting many of her vows, she relinquished claims that were not specifically permitted by the Church. It split loyalties otherwise. At any rate, she would have to ask permission from a ranking member of the Church before taking up any secular appointment, even if it involved her own family.

This was, however, immaterial to the emergency at hand. Veta was taken, be she still alive or no, and was in the clutches of what she assumed was a form of Soulless. To follow her, which was the young Apostolic's decision, would be to abandon the quest she had pledged herself to when they formed their accord in the Circus tent. However, Mary had already pledged herself to protect the Grand Duchess to the best of her ability. However, she also promised Elizaveta the use of her sword, metaphorically speaking, so long as it did not go against the Church's interests. These things weighed heavily upon Mary, but despite wisdom to the contrary, she had decided to follow the path of this creature, if only to recover Veta's body.

Then the decision was made for her. Thunder, wind, biting cold and unnatural lightning colored of blood. This was not weather that was sanctioned by the Almighty. And worse yet, any trace of their trail was obliterated. Utterly, completely gone. Looking to the east, Mary could see that whatever this was, it was merely the first course in a grand feast of difficulties poised to hammer upon them. Cassius whinnied and began to rear, nervous despite his superior training. Mary leaned down, attempting to calm the noble beast. Grudgingly, Mary turned back to Virginia, having to shout over the weather, "In the Name of God, I swear that I am sorry, Virginia! We cannot follow Veta! If we do not seek shelter for ourselves, we are also lost! We must continue after Millicent, or this will have been for nothing!"

Tears streaming down her face, Mary urged her tense horse back in the direction of the road north. They had to find decent shelter, and very soon.

Things seemed tense when Constantin had arrived which he suspected was down to conflicting opinions if the arguments he heard was to be believed. That said when he did give his own proposition to evade the difficult decision, Vlad's reaction while not unusual for the tall Russian man, gave Constantin a near scare when he jumped off the horse to display acrobatic tricks and land in front of him, Constantin nearly hopped back in case they were to collide, luckily that didn't happen, but let's just say his heart raced one idea faster already! Vlad really had the habbit of acting out in surprising ways sometimes well his outbursts when he was in similar moods or situations were predictable on the point that they will happen, not how they will happen. On the first part he was at least used to somewhat.

“On it, Great Bazhooli!” Constantin stated loudly before turning around and dashing away with great speed! The order was given the time to act was now. He ran like the wind or a hala, a Bulgarian myth. Ran all the way to the Baron where he quickly gave an explanation to all that was being considered right now and the decision they reached and the need for money! The permission was granted and Constantin ran again, but this time to Viktor. It didn't take much explaining there too and the money was collected.” Good! Time for me to return as quick as I can!” He exclaimed and he started heading right back as fast as his legs allowed him! Time was of the essence and it was rather lacking in amount!

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Virginia could not help but be fascinated by the calamity formed by the weather. She imagined it had to be some form of Soulless - or a gigantic gathering of them. The blood lightning spoke to her macabre spirit and she wished that she could remain in the wretched scenery a little while longer, to bask in the presence of the mighty elements and the omens she was certain they represented. She took a deep breath, taking it all in before she nodded at Mary, feeling her mind sharpened. "She's with her ancestors now," Virginia told Mary, as a word of comfort. "Death is nothing to fear - I know you know it well. What new elixir she is experiencing now...it boggles our minds comprehension."

To the Crypts, Death was not a tragedy - well, tragedies themselves were seen as joyous and exciting occasions. Virginia saw Death as an adventure. It was the next grand tale, the next force that caused the blood to pump and the heart to clench, for adrenaline to rush and flow. "To Millicent, then," she agreed. "And Lord Rutherford will be a far more handsome man without either of his heads attached to his body," Virginia added, smirking slightly at her own pun. She didn't imagine Mary would help her with his murder, but truthfully, she did not need help to murder a scoundrel like him.

It would be nothing short of an honor to do so.

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Maeve took a breath as the man left the room, silently vowing to in some manner ensure his demise. Perhaps exposing her nephew to be a traitor would be payment enough for Lady Kirkpatrick to ensure Roisin's education and safety. For a woman as concerned with restoring her family to honor, it seemed like it would be decent leverage. For now, she would bide her time. There was no point in making a rash decision now. She needed to consider all of her options carefully and the more she observed, the more information she would have.

Having sorted her things, Maeve took another moment to center herself and her mind. There was then the disturbing matter she had to consider - what had she felt for the parson? She had been harsh with him during their last encounters over his deception...Yet she knew that it was hypocritical and Maeve sighed. She hadn't come to Scotland in order to find another husband or even a temporary fling - especially not with a Protestant of all likelihood (though part of her hoped he was secretly truly Catholic). She ran her hands over the bed for a moment and sighed.

She needed to talk to Calum.

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Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, Thalken glanced back over at Ludwig as the man sulkily trudged away. He held back a sneer at the sight. About time he shut up, he thought to himself. Rolling his eyes, he returned his attention to the other annoying people he found himself unfortunately in the company of. He crossed his arms back over his chest with a look of distaste plainly written on his features. Why were they wasting precious time just standing here "discussing" things? Ironic, I know, considering he contributed to the problem by starting an argument in the first place. But still, they needed to get their crap together and get moving sooner rather than later. Or was this mission not as important as they made it out to be?

He looked terribly unamused as The Great Bazhooli did a front flip off of his horse. If anything, he looked a hair more peeved than before. He tapped his foot impatiently as they discussed the "money situation" and all those stupid technicalities that were ultimately slowing them down. He looked on with seeming disinterest as people were selected for the two separate journeys. He arched a brow in a more or less outward display of "what do you want?" as the attention eventually seemed to return to him and the still sulking Ludwig. "I'm going as originally planned to Nottingham by way of the road," he proclaimed harshly. He then spun on his heels and walked off as if it was all a done deal.

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No sooner had the words of optimism left Fyror's lips did all hell break loose. One minute his vision, which was partially obscured by the downpour, honed in on a dark light that seemed to be coming from the depths of the churning ocean. And the next, it seemed to rush forward and rip right through the hull of the small vessel. He could feel the wood beneath him quake before it began to sink fast as water seemed to pour in from nearly all sides. He threw the oil lantern aside. It was of no use to them anymore after all. He turned on his heels to face Colette as he held his arms out to try to steady himself. As he locked gaze's with the Frenchwoman, the look of raw fear in her eyes pulled at his heartstrings. That all too familiar protectiveness surged within him with a vengeance just as the gears in his head began to turn.

He could feel his heart in his throat as he looked about wildly for something, anything, to grab ahold of. Everything was happening so fast, he couldn't think straight. His hands were clumsy as he tried and failed to grab ahold of something, while also trying not to be pulled underneath the churning waves. As Colette's fear filled words penetrated his haze, he pivoted and managed to grab ahold of her arm just before they could no longer feel the deck of the boat under their feet. "Hold onto me. I can keep us afloat," he stated with a certain element of desperation to his voice as he began treading water fortunately without issue. He was determined, if anything, to keep her alive. Keeping himself alive would be a mere afterthought if it weren't for the fact that there was no one else here to keep her safe in his absence. No, he had to keep them both alive.

Kirkpatrick House: It seemed that things were calm in the Kirkpatrick House currently. From Maeves room she would be able to hear a general chatting down stairs but would be unable to make out the words at this point. Apparently whatever was being said was being spoken in what Lady Kirkpatrick would have called a respectable volume, which in her mind was far different than a respectable tone. One could intone much without having to raise ones voice, the Lady of the house was a master at such things. She knew how to cut silently with that silver tongue of hers.

After a bit though there was a distinct knock at the door, a hard rap that occurred in succession multiple times. It stopped and then happened again before the front door was opened by the houses butler. "Father Blair, do come in, shall I take your hat?" the older man asked. The fumbling father tripped over the end of the foyer carpet but caught himself. The butler said nothing and made no acknowledgement of the misstep, simply taking the mans hat from him as it was held out and shutting the door behind him. Turning around he shouted sharply. "Father Blair to see Lady Kirkpatrick!"



London: Things were going about as calmly as they could in the Circus and unfortunately no ones ability to see things unseen was kicking in. Sadly a trait that could be gained by any that trained just did not like being there when it could really make a difference. Right then, people were just getting nothing. Though it did seem that the firewalker had had an idea, one that Vlad had liked. It looked like the party was splitting up.

Split, one goes left and the other goes right, one goes up so one must go down. To the left, to the left, to the right, to the right, all your things in a box to the left, all my things in a box to the right, not my right, someones right, to my back, to my back, to my front, to my front. In my bag, in my bag, out of my bag, out of my bag. In my head, in my head, out of my head, out of my head. Ludiwgs face seemed to scrunch up hard as his hand flew over paper, putting ink to parchment as his tongue came out and pressed hard to his lips. "To the sea, to the city." Simple words but in overly shaking hands, waving them widely were maps one a route on road to Scotland, one to the sea and that way. Route that were not on maps but the time saved was large indeed.

The Sea: The sea is holding where it has been as the monster whips around and comes back through. Scattering more debris as it does. Splintering wood and nearly ripping Colette from Fyrors grasp. They will manage to hold together but the high waves are making it more and more difficult to keep ones head above water. Things are not looking good as the beast below the waves starts to turn once again. Flashes of lightning are the only thing allowing one to see it seems to be getting ready to take another run at them.

That is until the sound of cannon fire is heard and the water breaks before the beast, sending a shock wave through the air but it drives the beast down in the waters, deeper and under them as it swims by this time. Another fire and the beast is driven deeper and deeper. Is it gone? One cannot see yet but one can see starting to break the clouds in the water - a ship, a large multisailed ship.

The Road North: What has happened to Elizaveta no one knows. She could be dead, she could be alive. It is unknown at this time. Yet it is clear they cannot follow anymore and have chosen to drive north towards where the visions in the Circus had pointed them towards. If the Grand Duchess is dead she would be glad they are pursuing Millicent, for that was why she had left the circus in the first place though one cannot be sure if that was her only reason.

The storm is raging on. To the west it is much more foul than it is to the east. Yet traveling north will show that it is worse than if they had turned around and headed south once again. So towards the tail of the storm, or is it the head? Who can tell. The lightning is loud as it crackles, several trees off to the north are burning from a strike from the heavens. It burns white, so white and pure. So... familiar.

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Colette could not mask her fear. This was slowly becoming the end of her adventure and she had not finished what she hoped to. Millicent was still in danger and she was here, being attacked by some large creature and about to drown. She maneuvered her way to Fyror, fearing the man may not be able to support the both of them. The ship continued to break at the creature, perhaps taunting them, continued to rush through. She felt herself pulled almost from Fyror's hand, but she held firm. It was comforting feeling his hands on her, supporting her should the worst happen.

She could not see much, but the lightning provided enough light to make out the shadow charging them. Colette closed her eyes, knowing a few more attacks would be the end until she heard a loud explosion. She had assumed it was thunder, but she opened her eyes and scanned the horizon. The creature moved past them as shot after shot rang out. Was it gone? Colette could only hope.

The sound came from an oncoming ship. Was it there to help them? Or merely to attack the creature? She hoped the former as she struggled to maintain holdings on Fyror. The man had saved her and, she hoped, she could do him a service later if they lived through this ordeal.

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While the discussion raged on about the rare possibility of splitting up the Circus, some of the men and women began their own tiny side conversations. Many of them discussed which direction they wanted to go personally. It was not surprising that the majority wished to stay with the larger group that would be going north; after all, the general idea was that Circus sticks together. On the other hand, the Bazhooli Sem'ya was an even more tightly knit group than the rest of the Circus, and they wished to go wherever The Great Bazhooli led them. He was chosen among them for a reason; he was the most skilled of his generation, the most dedicated to his people, and possessed the most extroverted panache of anyone bearing the name Alexandrov.

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

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

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

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

He crumpled like a boned fish.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ah yes... Ve have bears, da? Russian Browns, Arctic Vhites? Ve feed yet today? Go."

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

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

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

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

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Fyror looked around a bit wildly, trying to keep tabs on the sea monster's whereabouts while keeping him and Colette above the tumultuous waves. He flinched as he caught movement, his widened gaze snapping in that direction. His heart was in his throat, and he felt like a deer caught in headlights as the beast suddenly whipped around, causing a ripple effect in the water and surrounding debris. He started to panick as he felt Colette's arm nearly slip from his grasp. It was a relief, albeit a small one given the dire circumstances, when he regained his hold on her. He glanced over at her as he protectively laced his fingers with hers before eyeing the beast again.

It struck him then how truly vulnerable they were right now, out in the open with no means of protecting themselves and staying afloat at the same time. The whole situation brought back vivid memories of that group of bandits that had attacked his hunting party and nearly led to his demise so many years ago. He could still imagine the pain that had exploded through him when he was slashed across the face. He could still feel the fear that had coursed through his veins. He could practically still smell and taste that coppery blood that had poured from his wound and had caused him to feel as if he would drown in it. Everything felt surreal right then as he once again stared death in the face.

The sound of cannon fire and the feeling of it reverberating through the water snapped him out of his momentary haze with a startled gasp. He shook his head. Now was definitely not the time to lose himself in the nightmares of his past. The repeated cannon fire from an encroaching ship he hadn't noticed before appeared to drive the beast deeper into the water, and by default farther away from them. While given the momentary upper hand, he honed in on one of his trained skills as he treaded water. The art of Shinorinri was meant as a focusing skill that emphasized some of the attributes of chivalry. Unfortunately, the skill failed him in that moment. A wave came and pushed him and Colette underneath the surface of the water. He could feel his grip nearly slip from hers and the weight of the water and his drenched clothes pressing down on him. He strained to get their heads above water again before they could drown, and at the last second, he was fortunately able to do so. He coughed up water and gasped for air once their heads broke through the surface. He instinctively pulled Colette tighter against him as he looked around again for something to grab a hold of but with no success.

Port Annan: There was a sickness climbing in the pit of her stomach as she stepped off the boat. She didn't know if it had been time on the water or the fact that she was now no longer in England. Yet, Millicent was feeling ill either way and she figured it was a bit of both as she walked down the gangplank arm in arm with her fiance and his friend stepping in time behind them. She didn't know what she had been expecting when they arrived but this town a bit lower class than she would have thought they would dock at, yet they had fled one town for another in the middle of the night.

"You two go ahead and go to the tavern, I'll secure us a carriage out of here," Lord Egerton said as his feet terra firma. Rutherford nodded as the man walked off at an advanced pace.

"Let's get something to eat my dear," Richard said with a broad cheeky grin towards Millicent. The woman felt like doing a lot of things right then, eating was not one of them, yet she bit her tongue and simply nodded. Taking a deep breath she gathered the folds of her damp gown and began to walk towards the Inn.



London: Ludwig leaned back slightly, swaying and seeming like he was about to fall over after watching someone get their head blown out but he snapped to and straightened eventually. Pushing his glasses up from the tip of his nose. "Cobblewinchester Muffin, had to be. You see how his brain just spontaneously erupted? Yes, had to be, check that gray matter my good man, should you see little slimy one in gray pieces, it will confirm," the German said as he pulled out his journal and started drawing in it. His secondary journal, not his first.

Seemed Vlad had a plane and it got Ludwigs attention even if he hadn't looked up from his journal. He was still drawing. A sketch here, a line there, smudge it here to show better the shadows and detail, open the trunk, get things out of the trunk, draw some more, shove weapon in bag, look out Dieter, the ferret not his brother, dead body wouldn't fit in a bag. Take the bag off, Dieter in the bag, the Ferret, not his brother. Close book, shove in bag. Hand bag over and grin. Happy, not mad. Never mad. "Um, right, carry this," he said as he shoved the bag in Vlads hand. There was a thin lipped nervous grin before *poof* and in a flash the man shrunk down, his finger fluttering. Flutter this way and that. Lift, off the ground, up up and away. There we go, into the bag. Next to Dieter. His ferret not his brother. "Yes, yes, this will work. Faster, won't weight down. Yes, good and too small for Cobblewinchester Muffins to bother me now. Come might steed, let us enjoy the world fly by!"

The Sea: Fyror is having no luck, well maybe he actually is because death is not claiming him this round. That being said, he is tired, the waves are cutting high, the sea seems to be trying to down him and Collette. Him more than Collette as the waved pull him under, something wrapping around his ankle and dragging him towards Davy Jones Locker. He can't hold onto to the fair maiden but that is probably a good thing, for both of them.

Collette will feel something come up behind her, wrapping around her waist and dragging her back but her head is above water. She is moving at a fast rate, cutting the water, her shoulders coming up out of the water as she is drug. Faster and faster until she reaches the large sailing ship. "Hold on, I got ya," a deep voice comes from behind her before spinning her around. A man grins at her before she is grabbed from behind and lifted out of the water, passed from hands to hands until her feet are planted firmly on the deck of the large ship.

"Get her a blanket!" another man yells as the first starts climbing up the rope netting on the side of the ship. Below the waves, Fyror is still being drug down. That is until something cuts away whatever it is that has his leg and a face flashes in the dark water from the lightning above. He grabs Fyror under the shoulders and starts swimming beyond quickly to the surface until they break it.

"Breath boy!" he yells.

The Road North: The storm kept ragging and as they rode closer to the white smoke it became clear, they would have to move off course to check it out. It was deeper in the woods than it had first appeared. It was going to come down to another choice. Keep heading north and stay on the path or head east some and check it out. Maybe it was nothing and it would only hold them up a few minutes. Maybe it was more and hold them up for hours. Or maybe it was something else that could completely derail everything and put them on an entirely new path that would have nothing to do with either.

Rushing back towards where Vlad and co were, a few things happened that caught the firewalker's attention like a falcon a rabbit. First there was the rather weird feeling at his own suggesting mind you that they were splitting the circus. Still the best idea he could think of to cover all paths, but then there was the second thing that grabbed his attention. There was a gunshot that echoed. Constantin rooted himself to the spot he was mid run and just stared blankly as he realized it came from where The bazhooli was. He didn't really care about the German and the Talink fellows. Thus he then dashed madly over only to find a rather weird situation

First there was a Thalken without a back of his head.” Vhat...!?” He mumbled in confusion studying the surroundings. Then he heard the booming voice of Vlad.” I got... permission and money...” He mumbled as Vlad gave the order for him to go grab a horse. From one task onto the next with nary a time to catch a breath, but that's how he was used to anyhow In the circus there was aways a job to do.

Constantin sighed in his mind as he had to rush back to grab a horse.” Right avay!” He answered and moved off to locate a horse. Of course he knew where to get the right horse for the job so he promptly did so. After all the Bazhooli had only given him five minutes. With great speed her picked the horse, moved by his family's wagon, picked his usual day to day essentials he usually carried and rushed back to where Bazhooli used to be.

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Virginia nodded, her eyes widening with delight as she took in the pure lightning strikes. "It is my dear Mosi," she explained to Mary. She could not fault her for not knowing such a detail - she had not been present at Mosi's funeral rites. It was an exhilarating sensation, to see such a force in the midst of all of this chaos. To a Crypt, the present conditions were paradise. It was the perfect day for a wedding, a funeral, a Mamushka! Oh, to dance amongst all of this calamity! It was a tantalizing thought and Virginia wished that she could remain here and bask in this place.

"Mary, I must ask that we follow it," Virginia requested, her eyes dancing with joy and intrigue. She knew that Millicent was in danger, but every fiber of her being told her that they just had to investigate this. Millicent had time. Elizaveta was likely dead. But this? This is a sign. "If you wish to continue on, I will ask that I be allowed to pursue by foot," she then added. She doubted that would be fast enough but she wasn't going to pass up on this chance. There was something there - she just had to find it!

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Think of the devil and he shall arrive... Maeve couldn't help but smile with slight amusement. Just after she had decided that she did need to discuss some matters with the bumbling parson, he arrived at the Kirkpatrick residence. She smoothed out her clothing as best as she could, grabbing what her brothers in law called her glorified stick - she did carry it with her at most times, finding it had a variety of uses - and she exited her room at the house. The conversation downstairs was too muddled for her to make out, yet if it turned out to be interesting Maeve had no doubt that it would be repeated on a later occasion.

She made her way down the stairs, creating a small mental map for herself of the house based on what she had witnessed thus far. Of course, she was curious as to what exactly the parson wished to speak with Lady Kirkpatrick about. Had he been versed in Irish signs, she would have communicated to him in that manner that she needed to speak with him privately herself, once he was done speaking with Lady Kirkpatrick. Instead, Maeve resolved to see if she could join the meeting like a shadow. There was also the possibility of Lady Kirkpatrick's favor system - perhaps that would be a better arrangement for dear Roisin. "Fancy seein' yer again round 'ere, Father Blair" Maeve quipped softly.

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Safe from the creature, it was now a battle against the water that, with each roll, attempted to pull her away from Fyror. She could feel the man clutch her and pull her closer to him. She could feel his breath in his chest and she would probably be forever grateful for him saving her, if they lived through this encounter. However, she was pulled back harder now. She wanted to scream but could not find her voice.

Until she realized she was not being pulled by the dark abyss of the water nor by the creature they had just encountered. Instead, she was hoisted aboard the ship. She looked at her savior and couldn't help but notice his rugged handsomeness. It may not be the best time, but Colette could hardly not notice. She sat, shivering on the ship's floor as another man called for a blanket, assuming for her. "M-m--mer-ci.." she managed to quiver out before she scanned the ship to see if Fyror made it out.

She caught his form despite the night and breathed a silent prayer of thanks. They seemed to be safe, for now. She was cold and wet, but alive. The question remained though: who were these men?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Port Annan: The port city was bustling. They were used to ships coming in from the west and deliveries coming in from the north. That was common but today ships were coming in from the South. That wasn't normal. This was a trading city, and a small one. This wasn't a dock side getaway location. There were more people than normal. It seemed that several ships had docked from the south today carrying passengers trying to get away from the Soulless attacks to the south. Word was they were spreading and heading north. This could mean trouble at the ports and borders.

The door of the tavern inn was pushed open and Lord Rutherford looked around at the crowded room, Millicent stepped in behind him. She looked like she had spent the evening out in the elements. Her hair was down and covering part of her facial features. She was glad of this considering everything that had transpired. A man at the bar looked over. "Top of the mornin' to ya, I be Nigel, owner of Teriny Inn, what can I do fer ya?" he asked as he snapped his clean up rag against the bar top and then tucked it in his belt.

"A meal for three would be grand," Rutherford said.

"Oh yes, right away, we are a bit busier than normal but please have a seat and I will have the missus fix you up something right quick," he said as he motioned towards the only left open table by the window looking out to the busy street beyond. Rutherford nodded and lead Millicent over to a seat. He sat with his back to the window, leaving the seat at the end of the table open and placing Millicent across from him. She wasn't going to complain, at least she could look beyond Richard and see the world outside.

Kirkpatrick House (Annan): Turning the fumbling father tripped over his own two feet and nearly rammed his head into the banister before catching himself. "Yes, afternoon Miss O'Connor, I hope you are settling in right nice and that the family is treating you well," he said as he fumbled with his hat nervously and dropped it. Picking it up he knocked the back of his head on the banister.

"Would you get your bumbling buffoon of a self into the tea room!" Lady Kirkpatrick bellowed from down the hall. Callum cringed a bit and looked over at Maeve, trying to smile before he darted off on his lanky legs. He didn't get far before he tripped, again! On the edge of the runner on the floor and slid straight face first into the tea room. "How in the name of god are you still breathing?"

"Grace of God M'Lady," he said as he crawled over to a chair and up into it. The table was set for tea with snacks available lined out on the white linen. "Oh my, would you like a scone?"



London: Oh this was nice, very nice. Such a grand view. The world like this when one was so small. No sleep, no sleep would be expand and expand would mean rip and tear of bags. Heavy too heavy. Would slow them down. Awake, must stay awake. No problem. Far too glad to fall asleep. This was exciting. Traveling on a horse without having to ride a horse. He hated riding horses. Mighty steeds were far better but over long distances, mighty steeds grew tired. Dieter, his ferret not his brother, would grow very tired. Could not have that.

Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, one hand rested along the sewn edge before he dipped down and started rummaging through the saddle bag. "Oh this is nice, yes, I could borrow. Not steal. Borrow. Yes, borrow I am and borrow I must be. Stealers make mad, borrows make glad. Always glad. Vlad must be glad, not mad," he said to himself before climbing back to the top of the bag. Standing on Dieters, his ferret not his brother, back and looking around. Holding up a sunflower seed. "Vlad the Glad, borrow this I can?" he asked. Borrowers asked, he'd give back, when done. Eventually. It was a might seed for the mighty steed.

The Sea: There was quite the crew on board, one small girl rushing towards them. Her fiery red hair stark against the sky behind her. "I 'ots ya," she said as she wrapped the rough dark blanket around Collette. "Where's da other one?" she asked in a thick Irish accent.

"Marco's 'ot him," the man that had rescued Collette said as he jumped over the railing and onto the deck of the ship. Shaking out his long dark hair he gave look towards the others before kneeling down. "Breathe lass, ain't nothin' 'onna harm ye here," he said as he cupped her cheeks and turned her head gently this way and that. "Just be checkin' ya, makin' sure ye ain't toos bad offs."

"Captains comin'," the man who had yelled for the blanket said before clearing his throat and taking a step back. The crowd that had formed parted as the winds kicked up. The heavy sound of boots could be heard over waves and the wind. The figure was slender with thigh high dark boots that covered the majority of tanned leather fitted trousers before giving away to back silk and a basket hilted sword on a curvy hip. Bright blue eyes on a stern feminine face could be seen as her oceans deep blue and black hair whisped around her, silver streaks framing around her features.

"We gots a breather Cap, and Marco be brin'in' anuder through the strai'hts soon enough," the one checking Collette said without looking back. The captain didn't say anything, just walking over to the rail and looking towards the sea. Looking back at Collette he took her hands. "Come on lass, lets be gettin' ya yer sealegs. Steady now, Silvio got ya."



The Road North: The winds kept kicking up around them as the storm raged on where it was, continuing to travel in the same direction. As they reached the tree line it would be hard to see through the vegetation and pace would have to slow to work ones way through it on horseback or foot. Further back the trees were on fire and burning white hot, the smoke trailing up to the sky. The heat was intense, even twenty feet from the flames that crawled up the trunks of the trees. There was a loud crackling sound that erupted from inside one of the trunks. It sounded like thunder from a direct lightning strike it was so loud. Mary's horse held his ground thankfully even though startled. He would not buck them off.

One of the trees began to fall but once again thankfully they were not hurt. It fell in the opposite direction but the shake of the ground was intense and the sound of it crashing even more so. The fire continued to burn but held only to those few trees burned, the flora beneath them didn't but it did smolder. Could have been that way for many reasons - for explainable and unexplained.

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William whistled as he rode. The tune was one he couldn't recall the name of, or indeed how he knew it at all, and he was only half paying attention to it. The other half of his attention was focussed on recalling the events of the night before. He’d ridden into Dumfries just before sunset, and it had only been a matter of hours before he was enjoying the company of a particularly friendly young woman with hair like fire called...

The whistling paused for an instant as William frowned, the girl’s name evading him for a moment before he smiled, whistling resuming. Rachel was her name, he remembered that now. Even the fact that he had had to slip out of her bed in the early hours of morning to avoid the wrath of an irate father keen to avenge the besmirching of his daughter’s ‘honour’ couldn’t dampen William’s high spirits. The road was peaceful, the sun making a rare appearance overhead, and the air was fresh. Just a few years past, the journey would have been far more fraught with danger, but wards and other protections and incantations were scattered all across the countryside, and the Soulless had become little more than an idle concern. Besides, if some half-starved Ryne decided to emerge from its lair, it wouldn’t find William easy prey, with the dirk at his hip, and the kopis strapped across his back.

The sudden increase in other traffic on the road pulled William out of his reminiscing, and he saw that he was approaching a town, or even a city, perched on the coastline. He shrugged slightly, nudging Azrael forwards. As he moved further into the city, the streets only got busier, but few cast a second glance at the newcomer or the handsome, black gelding that he rode. It was clear there was something else far more pressing for the local populace, and William resolved himself in finding out. That, of course, meant his destination could only be the local tavern. A light smile danced across William’s face as he continued through the dirty, crowded streets. The energy that buzzed in the air, and the potential for some excitement, were things that William hadn’t encountered for months, and he intended to enjoy it for as long as possible.

A quick query to a passing tradesman pointed him in the right direction, but failed to shed much light on the news that had set the city abuzz, only fractures of rumours, of ships sailing into harbour from the south. Nonetheless, William pushed on, and shortly arrived outside the unmistakable noise and shape of a local inn, its clientele already overflowing out onto the street. Dismounting Azrael with practice ease, William handed the horses reins over to the enthusiastic groom that hurried to greet him, along with a smile, and a handful of coins for his service. With a confident walk, William pushed open the tavern doors and walked inside. Glancing around, he saw that several others had also had the same idea of making their way to the tavern, in fact it seemed half the city were there, and a pair just ahead of him seized the last table. Not one to be so easily dissuaded, William strolled to the bar, smiling at the old man behind it.

“”Good day to you, sir. Are you always this busy, or is there some special occasion?”

It didn't take Constantin who now had a proper horse to quickly arrive back at Vlad's location without any real problems going on. He quickly also passed by his family's wagon and in a few sentences explained what was going on and that he was going away with Vlad on an important task to help with. He was really okey with it, but his mother did make a few prayers for his safe return and made him to promise he will be careful. His father only nodded and told him to do the job. With that done he in post haste returned to Vlad.

He returned to The Great Bazhooli and a speech was had right away. In the grand bombastic manner that only Vlad could do it, Constantin smiled with happy expression as he joined up next to his leader. Constantin's eyes were filled with dancing flames of conviction as he loudly ushered his horse with the trained skills ever forward to keep up with Vlad. That said he finally realized why the crazy German was missing. It didn't take him long to remember the funny fellow had grown out of nowhere. Then he must have done the reverse or something. And Vlad did have his bag so he was around that's for sure. And his conclusion was confirmed eventually when the person showed up from the bag.

“This is so veird... Could be useful though.” He mumbled, but did wonder if the funny fellow had any way of fighting a soulless in that size. Or maybe there were also tiny soulless he didn't know about!!!

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A certain weariness came to the rich amber of his one good eye. The waves seemed to be growing more treacherous by the minute and as such he was quickly growing tired as he attempted to support both his own weight and Colette's. That's not to say he had any intentions of simply giving up, far from it actually. He would use every last ounce of strength and every last breath to keep his charge safe. However, he was also realistic. He knew that he couldn't keep this up forever. He had to find something that they could grab ahold of and that would allow them to replenish some of their strength. As his gaze scanned their immediate surroundings, taking some of his concentration with it, a wave suddenly took him unawares, pulling him into its depths.

He fought to get back to the surface while maintaining his hold on Miss Fontaine, but at that same time, he felt something wrap around his ankle. His heart started beating wildly within his chest, and with it depleted some of his precious oxygen, as he felt whatever it was drag him further into the ocean's depths. At that point, his grip on Colette felt less like a protective instinct and more like a lifeline, not that the comparatively diminutive woman who couldn't even swim could possibly help him now. His grip finally slipped from her grasp, and he struggled and kicked out to try to dislodge the hold of whatever it was wrapped around his ankle. He grew weaker by the minute, eventually growing all but limp in this watery death trap. Davy Jone's Locker was surely calling to him now.

However, as he hopelessly looked up at the surface, which grew further and further from his view, he saw the flash of a face amidst the dark water. Miraculously, a stranger had come to his rescue. He felt the mystery thing that had been dragging him downward being cut from around his leg before he was quickly rushed to the surface. He would have swum to the surface himself if it weren't for the fact that he felt so exhausted and weak. His muscles burned from the overexertion. His eyes burned from the salty water, and his lungs burned for even a small breath of precious oxygen. Once his head broke the surface of the water, he coughed up water before gasping as he took in several ragged breaths of air. He blinked as he tried to right his currently blurry vision and glanced around. "C-Collette. W-where's Collette?" he questioned in a quiet and raspy voice once his immediate needs had been met. He couldn't see the Frenchwoman from down here in the water, and he prayed that they had rescued her before they had bothered with him. If they didn't, well, he would be royally pissed, and justly so.

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Colette took the man's advice and took a few, shaky breaths. She glanced around, looking for Fyror. She heard that someone named Marco had him, but she wanted to be sure of the man's safety. After all, she had risked his life to save hers and ensure she was all right. And these people also drove the creature away and saved them. She wanted to say thanks again, but she found it hard. She was still so cold.

As the others talked, Colette his eyes with a woman on board. She hadn't imagined these men (she assumed pirates of some capacity. Or seamen. Still though, did not imagine a woman would be among them) and found herself comforted in that fact alone. Then another figure came into view and Colette let out an audible gasp. She was dressed much what you would imagine a sea captain would look like, but she almost made it look easy. And fashionable. Colette wanted to know her. Know about her.

She grasped the man and tried to stand up, finding her bearings. She still looked at the Captain. "W-where is Fyror? Is he all right?" That was what she really wanted to know, but she was also desperate to know what would become of them? Would they drop them off at the nearest port or was this where they would remain?

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Virginia nodded. It seemed a bit dull when put like that - the mission. No, this was a quest, an adventure, a daring tale of heroics and bravery and the sweet brush of death! A mission didn't bring the excitation of the blood, the whispers of fresh graves, and the violent storm that had developed above them. It was another problem with the normals - their language, to be frank. They sucked all of the beauty out of everything and unlike the Soulless, it was hardly picturesque or beautiful. Everything the normals had built was responsible for her dear friend Millicent's suffering. Even Mary was held back - through her devotion to an order that saw her as less than an individual, just a cog in the machine.

There was no life if one could not be allowed to exist - a right that British society denied women, no matter the status, in Virginia's opinion. "I have no doubt that this will either give us more questions or a bit of clarity," Virginia mused, her eyes watching the beautiful storm raging around them. In particular, she noticed the way that the fire from the lightning refused to spread. Her thoughts filled with tales of excitation and her heart on her fallen might-have-been love, she still yearned to press onward. Mary's horse was steady and for that she was thankful. "See how it does not take to the flame?" Virginia pointed out. "It is an omen - a sign, I am certain of it..."

Her thoughts then slipped to the message through the flames from her father. Could another one await them?

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Maeve couldn't help but laugh, not even bothering to stifle her chuckles as she stared at the 'Father' - or whatever occupation he was claiming to hold at the moment. She couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed that he only nearly ran into the bannister. There was something charming about his clumsiness - like a drunken bird attempting to get back into its nest. Yet Maeve's mood darkened for a moment - it easily could have been an act as well - the bumbling fuddling nature of his...What was real about him, if anything? It would need more thought and consideration. It wasn't wise to trust those that hid before masks - after all, Maeve knew that she shouldn't be trusted in this household for that very same reason.

It was that one similarity between them that caused Maeve to find him attractive - but also to know that nothing could or should ever come of it. She finished descending the staircase fully, following the Father as he headed towards the tea room. "Might jist be ter alleviate 'is boredom, not sure grace is de right ward for it," Maeve pointed out to Calum, an eyebrow raised. She felt a bit disappointed once more as he found his way into a seat, without another display of clumsiness. She would have liked for the display to last a little longer.

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Briefly, Vladimir had a moment of introspection. Listening to the odd German fellow and his peculiar method of speech that sounded more than halfway like a series of riddles, he gave a sort of parallel to his own way of articulating the English language among the local, native speakers. In Russian, he was considered quite the eloquent wordsmith, as it came to events of speech. But in English? Vlad had to rely on his talent of dramatic presence and passionate, fiery temperament to get his point across or illustrate a scene. Being that his actual wordage occasionally required some polish, there were some many who looked at him rather oddly, much as he had the occasion to look oddly upon Ludwig. Was that what other people thought about him? That he was a difficult to understand, possibly mad individual?

As quickly as the thought came, it retreated. To hell with other people. He was The Great Bazhooli! Master of the Impalement Arts. Chiefest among the Bazhooli Sem'ya. And even without his people, Vladimir was a man of pride, talent, and honor. Such a man may graciously brush off the scoffs of the ignorant. Very possibly, Ludwig felt a similar way about himself. And why shouldn't he?

The approach of Constantin was noticed, and favorably. With him present and on a proper Brivaldi horse, their time on the road should be abbreviated in comparison to that of normal riders. Ludwig's presence was not to affect them much, either. Being travel size while traveling brought with it obvious advantage. To respond to the unbalanced German concerning the seed (at least that's what he thought it was about), Vlad responded wit a hearty, "Da, da! Is seed. You eat, ferret eat, use shell for the shoes. Vhatever. So long as you guide down paths, get us vhere need to be! Come now! Ve avay!" The gallop of mighty hooves sounded in the spaces north of London.

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The image of what lay before them was wondrous in its own right. Was this the effect of the red lightning upon green wood, or a retaliation of sorts; a natural reaction against the unnatural? Or perhaps this was the finger of Divinity, in one form or another. Hopefully, this was a happy event and not another piece of heart-wrenching horror set to claim herself or her friend. Mary had so few of those.

Flame from the trees assaulted their senses as if the storm had settled upon the ground before them. A play of brilliant white and thunderous booming, the result of fire against foliage. Mary was pleased that the superior training of her great charger horse held. Young Cassius was unhappy being this close to open fire, true, but he was standing firm against the blaze. Mary addressed the observation of the Lady Crypt with a touch of wonder in her voice. "I see the flame, Virginia. And I see where it is not, yet should be." She turned her head around to better see Virginia's expression, "You speak as if with familiarity. Have you seen, or read of this before?"