The graveyard, as it were, was a dull sight. Apart form the fenced-in area where the numerous tombstones and gravemarkers were, there wasn't really much to the place. The old, weatherworn stone fence was cracked and crumbling in several places, as well as having vines and moss vying to conquer it for their own. The graves ranged from modest or minimalistic headstones, to elaborate statues or busts. The only really notewrothy things were two locations on the premises.

The first was an old mausoleum. At the very cneter of the graveyard, this lone little stone structure stood out like a sore thumb. It's red-tiled roof and stone brickwork looked to be of decent qualality and sturdy make, but not enough so to make it the resting-place for any noteworthy nobility. Most likely, it was the resting place of a well-to-do merchant family or other influential high-profile commoners. But regardless of who it belonged to, the fact stood taht there was a large, heavy and imposing-looking dark iron door sealing the place shut. Complete with criss-crossed chains and a padlock that was the size of bulldog. Needless to say, unless there was another way in, the girls would have more luck getting inside by blowing up one of the walls with the help of Alice's concoctions, rather than trying to get that slab of steel to yield.

The second location was a small, rutty and squalid-looking shack, off some feet to the southwest of the grabeyard-proper. This eyesxore was run-down, dirty and in real bad shape, complete with most likely a leaky roof, grime-covered windows, paint so faded you couldnä't tell what color it once was, and an overgrown 'yard' surrounding the place... Though it was more looking like a thicket or mini-weald at this point. Other than these two structures though, the place had pretty much nothing that stood out at all. Maybe a tree or two that cast a bit of shade, and a few crows perched atop the stone markers and cawing ominously, but that was about it.

Brandy, having placed her arms behind her head as if she was lying down in a bed while standing up, was busying herself with a leisurely stroll through the rows and columns of tombstones. Her eyes lazily swept across the dull, empty and quiet scenery and whistled in a low and carefree manner. Then she spotted Sofia. Then she spotted Sofia clutching her bow like it was a stuffed toy. Then she heard Sofia repeatedly repeat the same phrase over and over. Then she noticed the mischievous smirk spreading across her own face.

Now, normally, Brandy herself was a bit spooked by them ghosties. However, unlike Sofia, Brandy's fears only extended to the point of being afraid of these ethereal freaks when they were actually [i]present[/i]. So, as long as she couldn't [i]see[/i] any ghosts, in her simple-minded head, there wasn't any reason to be be scared. You would be forgiven for thinking that, sharing the same fear and anjxiety where these haunting spirits were concenred, Brandy would act in a manner to calm and bond with Sofia over their mutual fear, offer sympathy and grow closer as friends.

... Unfortunately, this [b][i]is[/i][/b] Brandy we're talking about here...

Silencing her whistling and carefully maneuvering herself in such a way as to begin approaching from behind the undead archer, Brandy smirked. Tip-toeing on her soft hooves, she slowly but sureoly approached the on-edge Sofia from behind. Step by step, breath by breath, Brandy's cheeks were flushed with the tinge of red from her excitement at pranking her poor partner. And then, as she was mere feet away...

"[i][b]OoOoOOOooOooooOooh~!!Give us your bloooOOoOOoOOOoOOoOod~![/b][/i]"

Brandy's voice was altered to sound like some kind of mix between an elderly woman and the Count from Sesame Street... Apparently her knowledge of ghosts, despite her fear of them, was a bit lacking... 

Meanwhile, as Alice was sniffing around the graveyard, she'd find a few things. For once, some of the graves seemed to have been either recently filled, or otherwise disturbed, as they were covered in soil, and not grown-over with grass like many of the others. Furthemore, there were marks and signs of dragging or pushing something along the ground at various spots, most notably at the parts of the fence where there were gaps of parts large enough for a person to pass through. Finally, on some of the tombstones there were a strange mark, like an' x' carved into the lower corner. You wouldn't notice it was there if you just casucally looked at the gravestone, but if you examined it closely, you'd notice that the mark was clearly made intentionally, and not a naturally result of time or weather.

The werewolf could then hear a soft clanging and banging coming from the small shack off to the side of the graveyard. Followed by muffled shouting and an agitated voice. Followed by the door swinging open and... Someone... emerging from within the sad excuse of a home. It was a man! ... or... Was it? Maybe it was a dwarf? It was hard to tell, as he was quite short... But he lacked the trademark beard of the short-folk... In fact, he looked very odd.

"Woah! That's one ugly fella!" Brandy exclaimed as she caught a glimpse of the approaching... Person...

And while her comment may have lacked tact and common courtesy, the fact of the matter was, there really wasn't any other word to describe this poor bloke. He was a short thing, about four and half foot tall, he suffered from a case of really bad hunchback, with a large hump and his head almost looking like it was situated on his chest rather than a proper neck. His skin was pasty and pale, his hair was a mess of black, greasy and unwashed lumps of black, matte tangles. One of his eyes was bulging and nearly popping out of its socket, the size ofa  golf ball, while the other was sunken in and small, like an average green pea. His nose looked like it'd been broken several times, his legs were skinny but his arms were stocky, and his attire consisted of grey. Just grey. Grey pants. Grey tunic. Grey cloak. Grey, dirt-covered shoes. He had a bit of an overbite, and his teeth didn't seem to be able to agree on what direction to point, choosing instead to each take a unique oritentation... It kinda looked like he'd tried to bit a brick at some point thanks to that. But, as you can tell, this poor man...thing... wasn't exactly photogenic.

[color=orange]"Whass'is?! Whass'is!? Who're you'suns? You's no 'ere to be buried! Wha'choos doinä with muh graves!?"[/color] ... His voice was as unpleasant as his appearance, sounding like the guy was trying to gargle gravel or marbles while speaking in a coarse but agitated way. He was holding a shovle... Was he the culprit!? ... Or maybe the gravekeeper? OR BOTH!?