BlackShardNixium

Welp. There went the day. She couldn't be bothered to hold in the irritated, if a bit exhasuted, sigh as she stuffed her supplies back into the satchel at her side. Notebooks, quills, loose paper, tightly sealed jars of ink, all found their way jammed inside the little leather sack by none-too-gentle hooves. Silvia had spent all morning convincing herself to get out of bed and get to work and then this happens. Rain. It was hardly fair. No one would be out in weather like this, bar the desperate and the dregs of society. Which meant today would be quiet, as most citizens had locked themselves inside like sensible people. She couldn't write in her own home. She had to be out and about, amid the bustle and life of the city. It was comforting; it filled her with a sense of purpose that spilled into the words she wrote and wove fantastic tales. The only places she really tended to stay away from were taverns. They were far too rowdy, unfortunately. Thankfully, there were tons of other places in Canterlot she could go to write alongside the comforting presence of other souls. But she couldn't do that if there was no one around, damn it! Grumbling crossly under her breath, she tucked a few loose strands of her mane back under her cap, settling it more firmly over her head, and pulled the midnight-colored cloak tighter across her body. Giving the soggy street one last miserable glance, she marched out of the building she'd taken shelter in and began the long walk home.

By the time she finally unearth Sapphire Crest, she was tempted to slam the stupid shovel into the old mare's bones. She had never been one to disrespect the dead past stealing their belongings but gods, there was something about this entire night that just seemed to drag on and on. Regardless, she simply placed the shovel aside, at the lip of the large crater she'd dug. Looking down, it wasn't a very pretty sight. She was decomposed, yes, but this old skeleton hadn't breathed fresh air in decades. It smelled terrible. Perhaps more terrible than the filth of the alley.However, she wasn't really interested in what remained of a once prestigious rich-bitch. She only had eyes for the rusted, mud-covered lockbox held harmlessly in Crest's hooves. At least, that was probably what had been intended when she'd been buried. But years of decay had left nothing but bitter, fragile bones lying loosely around it. It was nothing to lift the box free of its earthen grave and set it next to the shovel. She shook herself firmly, knocking a few hours worth of dust and dirt from her coat, before spreading her wings and giving a gentle flap, effectively lifting herself from the pit. She took the box and stored it in the worn, leather satchel slung over her shoulders before strapped the shovel to her back. Normally she would take the time to refill the hole she'd dug after a successful mission. But something told her nobody ever really came to visit this place. So she left it be, instead favoring to exit the dilapidated little hovel and trot back down the alley she'd came from. She'd open the lockbox once she got back home.

She could only imagine the type of drag Sapphire Crest had been. The old hag had been shoved six feet under over two decades ago, buried with some priceless antique necklace that some fat, greasy first-class ass had demanded she retrieve for him. Something about family honor and being written out of some uselss, dusty will? Silvia couldn't care less. He'd offered her more money than she'd seen in a while, even in her line of work. Must be some necklace. Sometimes, while slaving away over a mound of smelly, corpse-ridden earth, Silvia, writer that she was, liked to make up stories about her "victims". For instance, she really only could imagine that Crest had been a drag. Little old lady had died a year or so before she was born. She imagined that Crest had been all prim and proper, eating off dainty china and speaking in long, overdramatic vowels. She assumed she'd been real old-fashioned, as old folks tended to be. Gods, that irritated her. She huffed out a short breath of exhaustion as she stabbed the dulling shovel back into the rich soil for what seemed like the thousandth time that evening. Four feet. Man she was really off her game tonight. This was the hardest part of the job. The monotonous routine of digging and digging and digging, and then just digging some more for the hell of it. Grave robbing was not in any way glamerous. Three fourths of one's time was spent hunched over corpse-rot and dirt, sweating off years of one's life trying to uncover someone else's buried treasure. But there was a certain kind of roguish adventure in sneaking into hallowed ground in the dead of night and robbing God and his den of the dead blind. Wow that sounded bad. Even in her own head. She would tell herself to get a hobby, but if she was being honest with herself... this was her hobby.

Red Rising by Pierce Brown

Death is my Business And Business is good. OOC: https://mlpforums.com/topic/141767-grave-robbers-at-large-mature/ “O, Death… O, Death… Won’t you spare me over til another year?” In the dark of the night, when the cold howling of the wind had reclaimed the city and the last of the streetlights had flickered and died, a lone voice echoed out amid the grimy walls and boarded windows of the alley. The silver mare’s song was soft and lilting, yet it’s words heavy and pleading, as she paced down the center of the jagged, cobblestone path. The forlorn moaning of the earth and the faint skittering of the rats that hid in the shadows didn’t bother. Neither did the mold-encrusted walls or that god-awful stench. This side of the city only came out to play at night, and it was a sight she was familiar with. Just beyond, if one allowed their eyes to adjust to the gloom of the city at rest, one could see crumbling, stilted silhouettes of tombstones. “Well what is this that I can’t see, with ice cold hands takin’ hold of me?...” The graveyard was a small, almost pitiful little plot of land fenced off behind a just as pitiful little church nestled in the heart of a city of demons. It shared its bed with a dingy little tavern ironically placed right beside it, and it had seen its fair share of drunkards and whores stumbling their way past its gates. As far as graveyards went, it was shit. Silvia had seen far better. Who would bury valuable items in a place like this? She was surprised this little hovel hadn’t already been picked clean. “Well I am Death, none can excel. I’ll open the door to Heaven or Hell...” No matter. It wasn’t her place to make idle comments on work venues. Work was work, and money was money. Good money. Damn good money. Say what you want about pilfering shinies from a rotting sack of bones, it paid well .It was a dirty job absolutely intolerant of the weak and squeamish. It was something few ponies could do. So of course it paid well! As long as she got the reward, she’d rob the dearly departed as she pleased. It wasn’t as if they needed it anymore, anyway. Flaring out her powdery silver wings, Silvia easily cleared the sad excuse for a fence surrounding the plot of browning grass.Inhaling the musty scent of old earth and decay, she carefully trotted down the rows of headstones and diligently reading off each name. All the while, she kept singing that haunting little tune. The end had always been her favorite. “No wealth, no ruin, no silver, no gold. Nothing satisfies me but your soul.” Death could have all the souls he wanted. Silvia was a Graverobber. She would take the riches.