grievous is considered a 3-3-3 character

♔

「 Skill Point: Gravedigger 」
Sreda

Apparently, digging in random spots wasn't deterred by the great monster of 2025. Instead, Grievous found himself falling back into old habits as he dug a hole for the corpse he was hoping to hide for later.

Under the red wisteria, he holed himself up with the carcass of a doe. He didn't want her to spoil too fast, but still wanted her to get that extra bit of flavour as the rot began to set in. Gross, he knew, but this wasn't about right or wrong. This was something he found a guilty pleasure in doing, and he wouldn't allow anyone to ruin that for him.

One, two, one, two, the count that accompanied each dirtied paw as it sank into the dirt.

Skill:

---

The witch took her time, for Sreda never rushed. She did not intend to break her promise, but of course, she didn't quite specify exactly when she'd deliver herself to Northfall, did she? Instead, she chose tonight to dance through the deep red sunset. She would move with a sway, careening through the shadows with a lilting precision and a haunting stagger. It was something she reserved for herself, in those soft twilight moments of blood-red symphony.

Her movements would slow only at the scent of the dead, a gentle trail wavering in her wake as she steadied ... her nose gently sniffing at the dawn-lit air.

She would see him soon enough.
Drenched in the red light of sunset,
bathing beneath the autumn-touched wisteria.
She would see him.

Burrowed beneath the body of a doe, she would see him. And she would approach, her swaying dance decaying into a lilting walk as her ears cupped in his direction. Through the darkness, her amethyst gems shone, and she watched the way his paws wove through the dirt and decay with ease. Trying to raise the dead? Or simply saving it for later? A valid question. Her words were even, moderated despite her own internal curiosity. She would slow at the side of his hole, lifting a brow as she peered at his work.

---

grievous is considered a 3-3-3 character

♔

「 Skill Point: Gravedigger 」

Grievous did not spare the wolf a glance, certain no one would try to steal a corpse beyond its consumption date. Instead, the brute continued his methodical burrowing, the sinews of his legs stretching to meet the flex of each burning muscle.

I would not be keen to raise the dead in this accursed land, his mind flickered back to the bog monster he'd seen, the rabid waters that turned animals feral. So many instances in this troubled land reminded him much of his home, yet there was a darkness he could not quite place.

The burning of his flesh finally became unbearable, his body climbing from its hole until the fires of his eyes met her own blazing amythest. Greivous found himself pausing, mentally of course, as physically he looked as disinterested as ever in something living, compared to something dead.

She smelled divine. The smoky notes that brought out the rot really tingled in his nose. It was a musk that enticed him; Excited him. For a moment, he did not feel she would judge him for his peculiar palette.

I plan to bury her. Slowly, she'll ripen with rot, and only then will I unmask her for a taste. His voice was low, but behind his hauntingly still expression lay a passion, one that danced in his eyes as he lifted them from donor to the new, gemstone-eyed doe.

Skill:

---

The gravedigger's amber eyes would turn toward her, an apathetic intensity lingering behind crystalline gems — an apathy that rivaled even her own. Sreda would watch him for a few moments longer before neatly settling herself down at the edge of the half-dug grave. Square paws would angle toward him before she rested her tail in a neat curl around her feet.

"I would not be keen to raise the dead in this accursed land." Probably wise. Believe me, I've tried, she'd offer cooly, lifting a brow as she recalled the Demon* she'd resurrected in the heart of the fires. A failure, for the beast had run off. Even the devil-soul she'd pulled from Dimitri had dared not stay on this plane with her. She'd also been unsuccessful in revitalizing her grandmother ... a shame. Perhaps their souls were too fragile for the living realm.

Maybe this stranger had the right idea, to enjoy the dead rather than try to reverse their eternal condition.

His large frame pulled upward from the hole, the underlying scent of sulfur and dirt lifting into the breeze with the steady motion of his frame. "I plan to bury her. Slowly, she'll ripen with rot, and only then will I unmask her for a taste." There was a chilling lilt to his voice, a buried intensity that danced behind his eyes ... ready to be unbound. It stirred something in Sreda's chest, a pesky warmth that caused a strange hiccup in her heartbeat for a fleeting moment as her gaze turned from him to the doe and back again.

He spoke his 'order' for rot casually, much like a 'normal' person would place their order at a coffee shop.

A man with taste, she'd offer him by way of compliment, flicking her ears forward. Her tail would flick, unveiling her paws. Does such a man seek assistance in his endeavors? Or does he prefer to work alone? She felt she knew the answer, for there was a similarity between the two of them. They worked alone — almost exclusively. But perhaps, just this once, he, too, would seek the company of something living ... if only for a brief moment.

Besides ... she may be small, but she was certainly an efficient grave-digger.
And un-digger.

---

* she thought she revived a demon, it was just a wolf, but don't tell her that

---