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The music flowed through him. It was his lifeblood, and William never felt more alive than when music was pouring freely. He had last played as recently as the night before, but already he had been yearning for it. In truth, even if he had only just finished his tune, he would be itching to play again. It was so ingrained into his very character, that it had become more than just playing an instrument, it had become a pouring out of his soul, the beat of his heart the tempo. He was a performer, born for it, and bred for it. Even as he played, his body moved, a smile across his face as he moved through the crowded space of the tavern. The Stradivarius in his hand, the same instrument that his father cherished, bought by William's mother as a gift for her husband years past, sung like a nightingale.

He barely looked at the group that had invited him to play, the only thing on his mind was the music. He did not know the tune he was playing until it was already bursting forth from his bow, his fingers moving like dancers along the strings. Be built the crescendo to an almost relentless level, the tempo flaring, the song becoming a roar, and then as quickly as it had burst into life, the violin fell silent. His bow fell to his side, William gasping for air, wiping the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. Playing was always an exertion, but he truly felt alive with his instrument in his hand. Suddenly remembering the purpose of his playing, William turned in time to see Lord Rutherford nodding towards him. A slight smile curled his lips, and William bowed slightly towards the man.

Egerton was gone, presumably leaving at some point during the performance. William wasn't surprised that a worm like that wouldn't have a good taste in music. Taking a moment to carefully place his violin and bow back into it's case, wiping the rosin dust from the strings with a cloth he pulled from the case, before closing the case, and carefully shutting both latches. Turning back to where Rutherford and Millicent still sat, William strode back to the table, laying the case down before retrieving his glass and taking along drink. When he had finished, he resolutely placed the empty glass back down, smiling as he glanced between Rutherford and Millicent.

"I'm glad to hear that you approve. I look forward to travelling with you both, and celebrating your marriage as best I can."

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Entering the cabin on board the ship felt familiar. He had done so several times, and while not the door to his vardo, back with the Circus, Vladimir found that methods of long-term transportation had certain things in common. One was a predisposition for smallish areas to lay down for sleep. This cabin was no exception. Vlad was accustomed to having the use of his own, private quarters while traveling, but life was not always thus. Long before he was The Great Bazhooli (for no one is truly born into Bazhoolidom, more than it was a lain upon them like a mantle), he was merely part of the Sem'ya, with brothers and sisters, cousins, and the like, all of whom began their careers living as a group. Even the eldest son of the Baron was not considered special in this regard. Family, Circus, Bazhooli; they were but words unless experienced by body and spirit both. Though now, his shared residence was with a fellow Circus performer and a guy from Germany who was a few beets short of a borscht. New experiences!

Vladimir went to his personal belongings. He was traveling light, or at least light-ish, considering the circumstances. One thing he made sure to bring with him (as always) was a healthy amount of sharp, pointy implements. But one thing among his belongings drew his attention more than most on this occasion: It was a large black shawl with bright floral pattern, wrapped around a set of weapons that were outside of his familiarity. So much as he could likely use the sword as a standard slashing implement of its type, he could not bring out the true art of the blade as much as a seasoned practitioner. Weapons of China; soldiers' tools. He gave himself a moment to study over the single-edged dao, admire the handwork, and then tuck it back away. The pistol he wanted little to do with, and the knives, well... he had better on his person. But he was already a surgeon with a thrown blade. Carefully, Vlad rewrapped the items intended for another's use and set the bundle back with the rest of his things.

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It was building into a lovely and amusing game between Virginia and Mary, calling kills by number. The notion even brought a measure of joy to Mary's work, breaking up what was ordinarily an event of regretful violence in the name of her Lord into something of a bonding experience between people of different Training and different faiths as they worked toward the same goal of preserving humanity by eliminating the threat of Soulless. Virginia had called for the third one down. It was time for Mary to get number four. The barest of smiles matched the brightness of her eyes as she closed to intercept the next nearest one.

The problem was that apparently, the lesson that needed to be taught in that moment was humility in the face of doing the Lord's work. At least, that could have been one interpretation of the events that followed. Mary nodded to her friend and made a dash to intercept the next Ryne, her halberd of sharpened, blessed metal leading the way. It was a solid thrust, intended to dispatch the creature quickly; unfortunately it went wide of its mark. The benefit of a polearm being, of course, the pole was circumvented by the damned and torturous thing, slipping past Mary's defenses and raking its iron nails across her forearm. Being that she was not wearing the more protective garb she ordinarily wore as a Venator, her exposed skin bore the brunt of the attack and opened in four furrows which quickly filled with crimson which spilled into the cobblestones below.

Mary bit back a scream. It was all she could do as she prepared to answer this injury.

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Now that he had his head on straight and matters of the heart were satiated for the time being, Fyror felt there was something else he had to do. Lacing his hands behind his back, he remained silent, politely allowing Marco and the unknown girl to finish their conversation. What exactly the two were saying was lost on him, as they were speaking in a language that was entirely foreign to him. He looked down at the ground for a moment, before lifting his gaze up to stare out at the open ocean. There was a certain weight, or perhaps weariness, to his expression, but apart from that, it was hard to decipher exactly what he was thinking or feeling.

He turned his gaze back to Marco when the man wrapped up his conversation and addressed him. Fyror glanced over at the girl as she walked off chuckling about something, before his attention quickly returned to the man before him. "I wish to apologize for my behavior. It was inappropriate and inconsiderate of me, particularly considering you saved my life," he stated with genuine remorse. It was evident to him that he had thrown wind to propriety and let emotions cloud his good judgment, and in the end, he had acted shamefully. No excuse in the book would justify his screw up. He was willing to man up, admit his mistake, and more importantly learn from it.

House Kirkpatrick: "Bright answer," Lady Kirkpatrick said before glancing over at the Father, the new one not the young one.

"If you are comfortable I will escort her to Rome and oversee her training soon as papers are signed," he said as he reached into his coat and pulled out a contract. It was not long, just giving him temporary guardianship of the child while she was training and to note that the Lady Kirkpatrick would be handling all expenses the child would endure until her eighteenth birthday. The contract made sure to stipulate that Maeve could break the contract at anytime for any reason and that she would have to be updated monthly on her daughters progress and situation. The Lady Kirkpatrick's signature was already in place as was Father O'Reily's.

Calum cleared his throat a bit and looked over towards Rory. "Everything alright?" Rory asked.

"For now, we shuldn't dawdle," Calum said as his fingers tightened on his rosary.

"The Fuddling Father is correct, we should make haste," Lady Kirkpatrick said as Father O'Reily handed over the contract to Maeve and an inked quill.

"If you would miss, I would like to get your daughter out of Scotland before there is an attack."

Port Annan: Lord Rutherford stood and held his hand out to the man to shake it. "Very well then, collect your things we will be leaving shortly. We can discuss payment on the ride to the next city," he said before glancing towards Millicent and holding out a hand to her. Millicent took a breath and nodded. She was trembling slightly as she took her fiances hand and rose from her place. Gathering the folds of her dress and stepping out from behind the table.

"If you would excuse us I would like to get Millicent to the carriage. We will be departing from the Post Station in ten minutes," Rutherford added before laving payment to the inn keeper on the table and escorting Millicent out of the tavern. His arm around her waist. Millicent glanced back over her shoulder towards the man and forced a thin lipped smile before she exited.

Nigel came over to the table once they had left and picked up the money. He held out a few copper pieces to William. "For the song, the people were quite entertained," he said kindly. Something in his voice noted he wasn't going to take no for an answer about paying the man for the song.

Down the street to the right was the Post Station. Egerton was by a large four horse draw carriage that was waiting for them and Rutherford helped Millicent into the carriage before exchanging a few hushed words with Egerton as the two stepped away from the carriage a fair bit. The driver sat hunched over in his seat on top of the carriage, his hat pulled down over his features.



The Bristol Ship: And the world it spins and turns and turns and burns and up and down and left and right, as it sways this way and that. Spinning ever spinning. A brow went up to the hair line and then another as he pressed his hand to his stomach. Something foul. Perhaps hunger, perhaps more. No, this was no hunger. Hunger cramped and burned, this wanted immediate evacuation.

Clamoring, clamoring, to the rail and let the alabaster chum fly like sea foam breaking through two tight cliffs. In rooms and below deck all aboard would feel this sensation, gnawing at their gut and wishing for tender vitals they had eaten as a child to live again and make themselves known. (Sorry boys, call for a roll for constitution because on the sea is far worse than on land.)

The Sea: Marco chuckled a bit as he kept tying knots down the rope, each one vastly different. "Ya matty, ain't forgivin' ya," he said as he stood up and hung the rope up on a hook on one of the masts. "Ye not be no different than ye be a league ago so notin' be changed," he added before walking down the the ship and then heading up the stairs after the girl. "Hazel," he called out. She was next to Silvio who had taken the wheel since the captain was busy tending to other matters. "Hola taak in K'ajóolt le chico. Yaanten jump'éel k'aas presentimiento yóok'ol."

Silvio quirked a brow and looked down the ship towards Fyror before looking over at Hazel to see what she would say. The girl huffed a bit and then thrust her daggers tip towards Marco's chin. He didn't move and she stopped right before the tip of the blade touched his skin. "Ma'alob ma'alob Ba'ale' wa consigue in le nervios ku le tripa ti'." Marco chuckled and ruffled her ginger hair before she started down the stairs. "Come on Cutlass, ye with me," she said towards Fyror and made her way to the rope netting that lead up each of the masts, grabbing the rope that Marco had been working on. Looking down at it she rolled her eyes, unknotting it quickly and reknotting it in a different pattern before hanging it back up.

Regalia quirked a brow. "Better answer than I was expecting," she admitted. Rising from her place the Captain took long easy strides towards a large wardrobe that was attached to the wall and opened it. There were various weapons in it, mostly different types of swords but there were some others that didn't look like they had been used in some time, mostly of Chinese origin. "Well a woman should never be without a means of defending herself. Now, do not get me wrong, a quick wit and brains are far more deadly than anything blade but in the end some caveman will always try to asset his will and thought on you whether you want it or not."

Stepping to the side she motioned towards the cabinet. "Feel free to chose one or two," she offered as she rested her hand on the basket style hilt of her of her own sword she kept at her side at all times. "I would recommend ones of your own training because I haven't been able to stretch my legs in a time and I want to see if you can defend yourself," she added as her fingers started to wrap around the hilt of her sword and her other hand began to draw the dagger at the other side of her waist.

Carlisle: One little, two little, three little Ryne's. Four little, five little, six little Ryne's. Seven little, eight little, nine little Ryne's all gotta die.

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Virginia observed that Mary was having some difficulty with her Ryne, and if it had been any other moment, she would have taken a moment to appreciate how beautiful Mary looked with some of her blood spilled on the pavement. It was a sight that would have caused something to stir within her. Yet practicing the technique Nakai, her mind and body were both focused on the task at hand and not the potential for romance. While she could have gone after the Ryne attacking Mary, there was another one nearby that seemed to be distracted and Virginia found it prudent to take care of that one first before assisting her friend.

"Hello, number four," she greeted the Ryne, as it was distracted by its friend on the attack. With a clean swing of her axe, she decapitated it and the head fell to the ground. They'd need to reinsert the fangs into the artery to have a true death, but that was a job that could be done later. She took a breath, waiting to see if Mary had the other Ryne handled or if she would need to intervene. Yet she trusted that Mary would have no trouble with it...

...Though, she had thought the same of Mosi and she had perished not so long ago.

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Maeve nodded curtly at Lady Kirkpatrick's praise. She enjoyed that standing her ground came off as a bright decision to her - there were some where in order to win them over, it was necessary to bend. It was refreshing to not have to suppress her natural stubbornness, yet she truthfully never would when it came to her daughter. Roisin's wellbeing was more important to her than anything else in the world - including the fate of the world itself. Nothing would ever change that.

She read over the contract, finding nothing out of order and she took the inked quill, signing her legal name Maeve Brennan. It had been a while since her surname changed, and while she didn't love her late husband, she kept his name all the same. "There ye are," Maeve said, handing the contract back to them. She couldn't help but wonder how long ago Lady Kirkpatrick had had this prepared - perhaps before she even had made her way to Scotland. Her talk earlier of those she sponsored - who owed her - came into clearer context. And without a doubt, Maeve did indeed now owe her. This was training that she could not afford for Roisin herself.

....But it was worth it all the same.

Following Vlad into the tiny room they were to rest while on this ship, Constantin was left with an almost cramped expression for a moment, before his face resumed a more natural calm. Well as calm as it would allow for a person with fear of deep water being on a ship in deep waters. He was not a happy camper right about now and he quickly made his way to one of the bed like contraptions they were to use. Constantin hasn't gotten on boats much before this. There was just never the absolute need to go to open waters before, thus he was unfamiliar with the terms used for naval travel.

Making his rest down on the bed thing, he rested his head and closed his eyes for a brief moment, sorting things through his head. A lot of things passed through his mind in this moment of rest. There was the German fellow whom he still owed some vengeance of mild degree. There was the Thalken fellow whom he did owe vengeance, but well... that was already taken care of. He felt conflicted about that one, on one side it was already dealt with so he should be over with it, but on the other he didn't get a chance to execute his punishment. He sighed as he opened his eyes.” Дяволите да го вземат това море...“ He cursed in his native language as the swaying of the ship was getting to him. The urge to throw up was strong as he quickly rose to sitting position.

“Agh...” He groaned in discomfort as he felt the throwing up sensation of something rebelling in his stomach and then trying to make it's way up. He tried to resist it, to hold it in and somehow he managed to resist throwing up.” Nov I hate ships...” He mumbled, taking deep breaths in attempt to calm his throwing up sensations.

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Regalia consented to her words and that brought a small smile to Colette's lips. She wanted to impress this woman she just met for no other reason than it seemed as if the woman had everything Colette wanted. Freedom. The ability to move around without someone's permission. She didn't know much of the woman's life, but it was a fantasy Colette had and anything she could do to impress upon her, she would do.

So it was natural for her to be a bit wary when Regalia opened up her cabinet of assorted weaponry. Even though Colette loved training, she wasn't sure about doing battle with Regalia. But, perhaps there was little harm in it? This wouldn't be a battle to the death, she just wanted to see how trained she was. Plus, it had occurred to Colette that she was currently unarmed.

Colette walked over to the cabinet, eyeing the weapons. Her eyes hit one from her training, a Lamga. The weapon itself was useful in disarming opponents and it suited her just fine. She picked up the weapon and stepped back, facing Regalia. "I choose this. Are there rules for this duel?" she asked, weapon in hand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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William watched the two of them as they rose. Rutherford was hardly the most complimentary of the performance, in fact barely mentioning it at all, but at least the invitation was there. Millicent trembling slightly as she took her fiances hand only further strengthened his resolve. He was always a fan of a story, of following the music, so he knew when something was out of tune. His hand around Millicent's waist, Rutherford left the tavern. A glimpse of a thin-lipped smile from Millicent, and William tried to read her eyes, but he was too late, and they were gone.

He went to rise and follow them, but he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned to see that Nigel had moved to the table, collecting the payment that Rutherford had left. William accepted the payment that the barkeep held out to him, nodding his head graciously.

"My pleasure, friend. And thank you for your help."

With that, William turned, his violin case carefully clutched in one hand as he stepped out through the tavern door. It only took him a few moments to gather his things, as he traveled fairly light, and he found the carriage that Egerton had procured easily enough. Sparing a polite smile to the hunched driver, William pulled himself into the carriage.

House Kirkpatrick: Taking the papers, the elder Father slipped them into his pocket and smiled at her. "Have faith my child, I will watch over your daughter as if she the second coming, our Holy Pope, and my own child wrapped into one special bundle," he said before looking over at the girl and smiling.

Calum looked over towards Maeve and nodded. "He will, the man has never lost a charge," he added before turning swiftly. His stance broadened and the cross on the end of his rosary dropped from his palm as he rolled his neck. "Get her out of here," he said in a deeper voice. Rory jerked his head to the side.

"Ryne?" Rory asked.

"Yes," Calum remarked as he started motioning in various directions.

"Some people have no manners, being Soulless do not grant one permission to forget propriety," Lady Kirkpatrick stated flatly before turning to Maeve. "Say your good byes, we have other matters to tend to," she added as the Father signed that it was time to go to the small child.



(As you can see we have a new system of battle map, hoping this system works with more clarity than the others. If it does, slowly we will switch over to this system. Each round you will call for your actions, any movement will require a roll. A movement roll will be determined by 1d20 in Soulless Chat, you may roll this on your own. Your number is how many total blocks you can move in a single round without attacking. Forward, back, up, down, diagonal, retrace steps, whatever. Roll your movement, determine where you will go and then call for action rolls if you need them. If a Soulless is within 5 blocks of your icon, they can attack you most likely, so even call rolls if you are taking a defensive stance.)

Port Annan: "Of course sire, come back anytime," Nigel said with a smile and bid the man farewell as he left the inn before going back to tend to the other patrons. Outside things were calm as people were milling about, takes of moving further north or even leaving the county to head west over land. There was even a hint or two of people wanting to go west to the Americas.

Rutherford looked over towards William as he came over to the carriage but kept talking in a hushed voice to Lord Egerton. Inside the carriage sat Millicent, her hands folded in her lap as she looked out of the window. Her head turned slowly as she felt the carriage move and spotted William as he entered. She gave him a slow polite nod before looking back out of the window. She stiffened slightly as she heard a voice.

"Shall we be off?" Rutherford said as he climbed into the carriage and took a seat next to his fiance. Lord Egerton climbed in and sat next to William, the door closing behind him. Rutherford looked around at the others before pounding his fist on the roof of the carriage. It jolted slightly as it began to move and fell into pace as it headed out of Port Annan.



The Bristol Ship: Monkey see monkey do, or perhaps not, perhaps two. Up and down and up and down and up and down and rocking this way and rocking that way. Shaking, tremoring, clamoring, anything but mesmerizing. Sails hard, sails soft, sails soft, sails hard. windy weather, holding still, a jerk this way and that. Waters looked so calm but felt so rough. ""Bettnassen Sieche Eimer!" Ludwig garbled as he wiped his mouth. Slipping and sliding until rear meets deck, hello deck, yes, rest, just sit there, no use moving, moving bad, mad, sitting good, happy.

Round two my lovelies, make those con checks. Roll 1d20 in Soulless Chat, if you hit an 11 or higher, you manage to hold it down but yeah you will want to. Hit a 6 through 10, you are losing bile but can still get over a bucket. 2 through 4 and you don't and it just goes everywhere. A 1? Pm me lol




The Sea: Regalia stood there watching Colette as she went through the weapons case. As the girl chose one a slight smirk came to her lips. "Oh this will be interesting," she said more to herself than to Colette. She began to wrap her fingers more tightly around the hilt of her blade, her knuckles protected by the basket guard that was ornately designed making it as beautiful as it was functional.

There was a glint of steel that flashed as she drew the sword and the dagger, rolling her neck a bit and a popping sound could be heard echoing through the room. As she turned and asked her question Regalia shrugged slightly. "Don't die?" she said rather matter-of-factly as a dark wave fell back and framed her features. Was this to the death? Or just for fun? Or was death fun to her? One couldn't be sure but since don't die was the only rule, it meant that there were no others. "Ready when you are," she said with a slight bow but her eyes never left Colette's



Carlisle: New round! Ding!

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Fyror's lips thinned, and his face fell slightly at Marco's response. It was disappointing, but he supposed it wasn't at all surprising. He let out a small sigh, glancing downwards to stare at the ground for a moment, before meeting the man's gaze head-on once more. "Fair enough," he replied simply. He didn't really know what else to say on the matter. Besides, it was clear that words wouldn't fix this. No, he would have to make up for his error some other way. He would have to prove his sincerity by making a visible change in his attitude, and only through his actions and deeds could this possibly be resolved.

He watched a bit dejectedly as Marco walked off after the girl. Hazel was her name apparently. His gaze gravitated back out at the open sea. He didn't know what laid ahead for him, for Colette, for Millicent, or for England for that matter. The big unknown didn't settle well with him, but of course, there was nothing he could do about that other than just be prepared, for anything. His gaze turned sharply as the girl, Hazel, told him to follow her. He nodded his head and obediently fell in beside her. He glanced up at the tall mast and rope netting attached to it before looking back over at her. His gaze flitted down to the rope she quickly unknotted and reknotted, considering inquiring about it but ultimately deciding against it.

The discomfort in his stomach was ever growing despite his best attempts at calming it. The initial success in resisting the urge to throw up was nice and he observed how Vlad the ever loud and proud and really Russian individual sprinted for a bucket. He took a deep breath trying to keep the relative calm in his stomach while the Russian man was away and was relatively successful at this undertaking, which made him almost relaxed at one point. Well that continued just about until Vlad returned to the cabin.

It was that precise moment that everything shifted. From the relative calm in his stomach area, something twisted like mad. In what amounted to a mere brief moment, he was rendered from someone who held in his urge to puke, to someone who was about to throw up! Constantin jumped from the bed thing he was laying on and dashed away towards Vlad with visible intent on the bucket in his eyes." Bucket! Need! aghhu..."

The firewalker descended on the bucket like an eagle to grab it out of Vlad's hands and grab it he did, bringing it to his own embrace before his head leaned forward and he threw up bile. His mind was filled with endless curses that would probably make even a soulless blush if they were heard. These days were not his best... it's either bile or snot or him throwing up bile. He missed Russia. It may have been cold a lot of the time, but there was no ships or deep water... He couldn't even curse aloud because his throat was busy transferring the bile out of his stomach and into the bucket, making no spare capacity for taking.' Bloody damned hate ships...' He thought again.

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She noted slightly Mary's continued difficulties with her ryne, as the Soulless continued to come closer and closer. They seemed to be huddling around Mary and Virginia assumed it was due to her open wound. Rynes craved blood - something that Virginia could understand. Having cut herself once by accident in the laboratory - a minor wound - she had tasted the coppery blood that came from the minor cut. Some enjoyed wine - why was it then so strange to think that a ryne would crave blood? To each their own.

She kept her mind focused and moved towards a ryne, attempting to prevent a hoarde from forming around Mary as the rynes detected the fresh blood. With her axe, she swung and tried to relieve it of its head, only for the ryne to dodge. Trying again, it was once more a failure and she could not announce the elimination of another threat. It was worrisome, how close the rynes were and with Mary's wound, especially given the fact that Mary's own ryne was proving a formidable threat Virginia assumed, as it had not yet fallen to Mary's blade.

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Maeve hated to part from her child, yet she knew that it was for the best. This was no place for Roisin and she trusted the Father to take good care of her daughter. His reassurances did help and Maeve did not feel the need to inform him that if any danger came to Roisin, she would have to confess later on to brutally killing the man responsible for Roisin's safety. Looking at her daughter, Maeve gave Roisin a smile before she began to sign to her: I love you so much, my little rose. I am so excited for you - you are going to love Rome and one day, you can tell Mommy all about it. Be brave and strong, okay love? This isn't goodbye forever - just for now.

She then gave Roisin a quick hug, before readying herself with her shillelagh. The rynes didn't seem to be blocking off all methods of escape, but if there was a question as to whether the Father and Roisin could safely leave, Maeve would use her trained skills and call for the mist to provide them cover. For now, she was ready to stand and fight with the others - as well as attempt to keep her mind from how much more attractive Calum was with this almost dark and intoxicating confidence.

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Colette nodded her understanding and took her position, holding the Lamga in her hand. She knew the weapon itself was more defensive, but she also knew Regalia was wielding a sword. It was best if Colette made the first move and be more defensive from then on. She was certain she would probably be bested, but she would prove herself none the less. It even thrilled her to be training again.

Colette stepped forward, lashing out with the Lamga at Regalia's legs. The woman parried her attack with her sword and pushed her back. Colette caught herself but was pushed a few feet away. She looked back at the woman, waiting for the next move. Her mind was free now. Free of worry about where they were going. Worry about Millicent or Fyror. Or her future. In battle, her mind was focused on the task at hand. Even if it was merely training.

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So this little boat ride was turning out to be quite the exercise in humility for the prideful Vladimir. This "sea sickness" that he had heard about so many times was now appreciated on a more personal, and certainly more visceral level. The last bit was more accurate than ordinarily might be assumed, as his viscera was very adamant about divesting itself of all of its recently obtained contents, and as violently as possible. His instability on long boat rides was a very recent development, apparently. Though mostly land-bound troupe, the Circus did, and have protocol for, travel by boat. Why it afflicted him now was an item of wonder. But not too much - wondering tended to make him nauseous in these circumstances, he was just finding out.

Such learned humility was a powerful motivating feature. It was a thing which would stick with him for almost five minutes after he left the ship, quite possibly a record. But for the meantime, he held onto the rest of his lunch even as he mourned the passing of at least half of it. Setting his head in his hands, Vladimir let out a soft groan. "Curse you, Fishes & Chips! Vhy do you betray stomach of The Great Bazhooli?" The powerful and accurate Russian son of a Baron and proclaimed heir of a lineage of Circus royalty was holding himself together, but he knew that his fight against the combined powers of the open ocean and questionable dockside-stall fish was far from over.

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Blood. It almost always came down to blood. Hers, that of her enemies; the blood they consumed to survive or the constant references to the Blood of Christ. What was Mary in all of this? A soldier? A tool? Rhetoric would describe her as something more flowery and noble than she really was, whereas the people of this land looked upon her as a second-class citizen or an interloper of some kind. Papists were not always welcome in England. Strip all of that away, and you had Sister Mary as one might see her now: Defiantly serene, bleeding freely, and surrounded by Ryne with one of the few people in God's Creation the could trust.

Righteous fury burned within the eyes of the Apostolic Knight, though her face betrayed no sign of anything but cold surety. It was a habit acquired by others like herself, only adding to the reputation of the Venatores. Mary knew that the enemy was closing upon them, and tactically, if she did not take this one down immediately they would have no place left to go. This one was strong. Fast. Experienced. And her benefit of range seemed to be of no help against it. Instead of strength, Mary chose instead to work through confusion.

She held her cruciform Swiss Halberd with her uninjured hand, taking a low grip on the weapon. Her left was still trailing drops of blood, now running down from the crucifix at the end of her rosary; this she allowed to hang beside her as balance. She began her maneuver by placing her feet as one might for a very ladylike curtsy, resting the haft of her polearm back over her shoulders. It looked casual. Suicidal, like she was surrendering. Then she moved. Red hair spiraled about as she stepped backwards into a spin, utilizing the centrifugal force to reinforce the one-armed swing of her halberd. Even though the stepped backward, the choice of grip and swing very deceptively lengthened her killing range. The whipping motion, unheard of among conventional practitioners of polearm combat, definitely took the Ryne by surprise. Metal blessed in the names of the Holy streaked invisibly fast through the air, parting the creature's face with a single, diagonal line of red. It took a single, trembling step before the top half of its head slid along the angle and was deposited upon the street below. Then it collapsed. "Five." And it was about time.

Mary turned to the rest of the approaching Ryne. The glare in her eyes was palpable. Her left hand, red with her own vitality, rose into direct sight as she made the sign of the Cross upon her face with her own blood. "In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti." The chain rosary still hung from her wrist, glinting with crimson and steel, swaying back and forth. Mary pointed to the Ryne advancing across from her position, invoking the Trinity at the Soulless thing and enticing it with authoritarian offer: "Let us pray."

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William could feel Millicent's eyes turn to him as he took his seat inside the carriage, but he didn't turn to her, instead busying himself with stowing away his belongings in preparation for the journey ahead. Once everything was in place, he did look up, in time to see Millicent's polite nod towards him, and see her stiffen as Rutherford's voice came through the still open doorway. William did his best to smile reassuringly towards her, but before he could catch her eye, Rutherford had entered the carriage itself, and sat beside Millicent.

It took a lot of self-control for William not to physically groan as Egerton sat in the seat beside him. Something about the man just deeply annoyed him. With Rutherford, there was an undeniable darkness, a cruelness, but that William could at least respect, and confront. But Egerton just seemed to exude a sliminess that made his skin crawl, the man such a spineless worm that it made William's stomach turn. Desperate to drive the unwelcome figure from his mind, William turned to Millicent and Rutherford, smiling again as the carriage started forwards.

"I hope it's not too forward to ask how the happy couple met?"

House Kirkpatrick: Father O'Reily moved quickly to get the child in the carriage and out of the impending battle. Leaving a pray behind for those that were there. Rory and Calum looked back to Lady Kirkpatrick. "Engage or retreat?" Calum asked as his grip tightened on his rosary. There were many that he could see and he wondered how many he couldn't.

"I say we get the hell out of here," Rory said quickly but Lady Kirkpatrick shook her head.

"And leave these rude ruffians to reek havoc all along my kinsman countryside? I think not," the Lady stated rather frankly as she took a few steps forward. "Let us see what we can do about evening out the playing field," she added before she started to chant in Gaelic and a fog started rolling in around them as she utilized her trained skill of Maolain.

"Of course she wants to fight," Rory clipped under his breath before moving a few paces and speaking a few words in Gaelic, among them was the name of a Celtic God of old, Bel, invoking Ruirac and calling on endurance. Rolling his neck to the side he glanced over towards Calum who was giving him a look. "What? I ain't be having my tea this morning."

"Oh Fuddle," was all Calum said before he spoke a few choice words in Latin and called on Nescip while he had the chance. He wasn't going to let his soul fall to those who were looking bent to slaughter them.



(Map Updated - Call your rolls If it does, slowly we will switch over to this system. Each round you will call for your actions, any movement will require a roll. A movement roll will be determined by 1d20 in Soulless Chat, you may roll this on your own. Your number is how many total blocks you can move in a single round without attacking. Forward, back, up, down, diagonal, retrace steps, whatever. Roll your movement, determine where you will go and then call for action rolls if you need them. If a Soulless is within 5 blocks of your icon, they can attack you most likely, so even call rolls if you are taking a defensive stance.)

Port Annan: Millicent looked over towards William before glancing away again and watching through a small slit in the curtains the world pass them by as the carriage started to make its way towards the town of Annan. Egerton rolled his eyes a bit but smirked. "Why yes Richard, do tell us all about how you met," he chuckled under his breath.

Rutherford sat up a bit more straight and grinned towards William. "I would be remiss to say that our meeting was anything but romantic. No grand moments of such. A simple mixing of business was what brought us together." His voice was cool and calm as he spoke before looking over towards Millicent. "Though I have to admit that it was not hard to spot my fiance in a crowd, one does tend to stand out when they are not trying to and all around are. Such is the way of the ton."

Millicents brow quirked a bit. "Truth be told, this engagement was arranged for a mutually beneficial situation," he added. "I must say I did luck out. Tis not every day that a Lord can find a woman of high breeding, a sharp mind, handsome enough, and trained in the arts."

"Oh yes, you really did luck out, perhaps one of her sisters is available for me," Egerton chuckled. Millicents eyes narrowed but she did not turn her gaze back to the men but she did grasp the fabric of her dress in her palm and tighten of a fist full of satin between her finders as her lips thinned.



The Bristol Ship: Whatever had been causing the issue seemed to be stopping. The crew of the ship were starting to get things under control as Ludwig just sat on the deck near the railing. Just in case he needed to let loose again. "Bungling Sliswormen," he muttered to himself as he placed his hand on his stomach. Dieter, his ferret not his brother, wasn't looking too well but the small rodent didn't do anything but curl up in the bag his master carried and close his eyes.

Round three my lovelies, make those con checks. Roll 1d20 in Soulless Chat, if you hit an 11 or higher, you manage to keep your stomach calm enough to feel mostly right again. Hit a 6 through 10, you really want to throw up. 2 through 4 and you are throwing up. A 1? Pm me lol

The Sea: Hazel looked up to the man and gave him a once over before she grabbed the netted ladder and started to make her way quickly up the mast until she reached the crows nest above. Climbing over the side her feet hit the bottom and she glanced out over the waters. Looking down she eyed Fyror. "Come on, ain't be gottin' all days now," she said motioning for him to get his butt in gear. (Will need to call a role for climbing)

The woman came towards Regalia and she held her ground well enough. It was an interesting beginning and one that let Regalia know that this woman was not all fluff and finery. This knowledge caused a small smile to grown on her lips as she watched Colette. "Very good, now, my turn," she said as her knees flexed and her fingers adjusted on the hilts of her chosen weapons.

The older woman lunged towards Colette, her sword still in parry position as she got close to her. Bringing the dagger close and past Colette's defense to have the tip touch the womans hip. "Oh, that's one," she said before bringing the sword up and around to go for a second point of contact but Colette was able to block this attack. Taking half a step back Regalia got on the defensive as she waited to see what Colette would do now.



Carlisle: Here we go again!

Ships were to be counted among his hated enemies as of now, Constantin was cursing in his mind while moving his head up from the coveted savior – the bucket! This thing had saved him the misery of throwing up all around and possible over himself before he could get outside to throw up over the railing so he was grateful for this thing. Now though it felt like something had eased up with his stomach.

He took a deep breath as the feeling of throwing up was still fresh in his mind and his stomach was still rebelling violently for release, but he was not throwing up right now. Despite how uncomfortable it felt and how it hurt, how much he wanted to throw up, he actually wasn't so it was a great step in the right direction! He threw looks around and back to the bucket. He could see his... well he quickly looked away and didn't dwell on those thoughts. Still holding the bucket at an arm's length he took another deep breath.

“Great Bazhooli... no chips and fishes next time... Better get on ships on empty stomachs... I think... Right?” Constantin asked, still feeling the strong desire to throw up. If it was that food's fault, he was so going to strangle that seller if he ever saw him again. From all the grudges that Constantin still felt, this one was probably the strongest. Even if the food seller wasn't responsible, he still might get harmed. Somewhere this anger had to go and might as well go at that one.

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Out of the corner of his eye, Fyror caught Hazel giving him a once over. He stiffened imperceptibly out of habitual self-consciousness. He knew in all fairness she was probably just assessing his physical fitness to climb up the netted ladder, but nevertheless, it didn't stop that innate reaction. Over the years, he had had his fair share of people leering at him as if he was a monster in the flesh due to his marred appearance. That or they would simply refuse to make any kind of eye contact with him. He was undecided as to which stung more, being treated as if you are less than human or people acting like you don't even exist. One would think that over time he would have grown accustomed to it, but he never had and probably never would. It just wasn't in his nature to not care what others thought of him.

He felt some relief when she relinquished her scrutinizing gaze. His gaze eventually gravitated back over to her, watching as she climbed up the netting and into the crow's nest with practiced ease. "Right," he murmured, nodding his head at her words to hurry up. His gaze flitted over the length of the netted ladder before finding a good handhold and foothold to make his ascent up the mast. He made relatively quick and easy work for the first several lengths, and he was about halfway up when he must have made some kind of err. He felt his heart skip a beat as his foot slipped and he tumbled down, before by some miracle his foot caught in the rope preventing him from falling to his death. He gritted his teeth as he struggles to right himself, feeling a bit like a spider trapped in its own web until he can find purchase again. Eventually he's able to recover from that near heart attack and make it up to the crow's nest. He finally grabbed ahold of the railing and attempted to get his foot over it repeatedly. He let out a disgruntled sound. It just wasn't happening, leaving him stuck between the rope and the railing.

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Virginia heard Mary's declaration that she had taken out the fifth Ryne of the group and there was a slight smile on her face. She was glad to hear that her friend was once again making great achievements when it came to butchering the undead. Of course, it was a pity that the Soulless had to be killed - they were fascinating creatures - but the dark forces had to be combated just as much as Virginia wished to join them. It was a perplexity duality of thought for the Crypt family. Continuing to utilize her trained skills, Virginia swung her axe at the nearest Ryne.

In one graceful and fluid motion, her axe penetrated its neck and emerged on the other side, the Ryne dropping to the ground as its head was separated from its body. She flexed her fingers slightly. The number of remaining Rynes was becoming smaller and smaller, with only two currently in their immediate vicinity. Of course, she had no knowledge of how many more Rynes awaited them - and if Carlisle was not instead infested with them rather than being under attack by a small number. "Six," she announced to Mary with a smirk.

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Maeve took comfort in Father O'Reily's speed, glad that Roisin would be out of this mess and that he would protect her with his life. She knew that her little rose would blossom in Rome and come into full bloom. It was a relief as well to know that she would receive a proper education, despite her disability. That was what Maeve had always wanted for dear Roisin - for her to live as normal a life as anyone else. And a better one than others as well - for Roisin to rise above what her family had accomplished and become something more.

With her shillelagh in her arm and ready to strike with it, Maeve moved forward. She recognized Lady Kirkpatrick's technique, having trained in that skill herself, and knew to be ready for just about anything. She did not have the ability to take on a trait of a Celtic god herself, yet she was focused and ready for anything. The time to contemplate her attraction to Callum could wait. Roisin was safe - now it was time to rid the world of a few more Soulless.