proof is in the adversaire

we're born at night, so much of our life

What had started as a suggestion of a stroll out to Peekaboo Rise to find something for Asta to smack with his cane - Danta is sure they once drop-kicked a tangleweed out here once or twice - has become an unfortunate exercise in trying to burrow his way beneath the Butcher's coat collar. He'd realised quickly after they returned from Torchline that Flowerbirth was slow to thaw the post-Longnight snows, and now that they're up on the hillside, the frost at their feet and the bitter wind howling around them has quickly eroded any of the Maverick's wish to be outside.

But they are still here for a purpose, and his very reasonable compromise (in his opinion) has been to shift into a gore crow to leech away his fiance's warmth. He'd perched at first on Asta's shoulder, a sinister companion to the tall Ancient as they ascend Peekaboo Rise, but one gale too many has caused him to inch further and further up towards the other man's neck.

Now, Asta will find it difficult not to notice the way Danta is sneaking into the collar of his coat, a bundle of grumpy fluff and feathers that clicks his beak and nibbles behind the Butcher's ear, as if that will make him more amenable to the idea.

Dantalion

is just carvin' through the dark

// nothing is as simple, I worship, you're my temple //

They do cut a striking figure en route to the Peekaboo Rise. Asta with his height, bundled up against the cold, the cane that glints in its multi-hued metals that make up the bladed bottom half. Posture perfect as ever, his shoulders broad and straight enough to be a good perch – if Danta chose to stay there. The wind is something that bites against them, each gust one that’s progressively colder feeling, and Asta’s tail flicks in irritation of it as he tries to retain some semblance of heat.

Of course, it’s about this time that Danta’s bullying his way into his collar, too. The wind has knocked some of his hair loose from where he’d swept it back, leaving a part of it falling into his face opposite of where he currently is trying to readjust his head enough for Danta to fit his smaller, feathered body into whatever space there was between his neck and his shoulder. He’s managed to do a pretty decent job given the room he was working with, and with each little nibble behind his ear, Asta shivers a little with the sensation.

The Butcher wasn’t ticklish, traditionally, but something about the way Danta’s beak scratches has him a little more jumpy than normal. “At this rate, you may as well just bite.” He says after the third time he’s shiver-flinched, huffing a warm laugh as they step up the hill, keeping his dark eyes peeled for any movement. "It tickles, darling."

Astaroth

// and heaven, hold your gates open, all the hell we've been through //

we're born at night, so much of our life

Having nestled his way into the space between Asta's collar and neck by the time he's shivering and laughing about it, Danta offers a quiet croak of acknowledgement, a silent are u sure about that when it comes to his curved beak and the soft flesh of the Butcher's throat. He does nibble this time at one of the earrings in Asta's earlobes as if to make up for it (and also drawn by the sparklies), though when he can't get it free he fluffs up his feathers and relents.

"TiCkLE tIcKLe," he announces nevertheless, the word warped by an avian throat, though there's no denying the pride in him for it. They near the top of the rise now where there's very little cover against the wind, and the next chill breeze that slices across the sky has him nearly melting into Asta's coat as a result, relishing the warmth of his body against his feathers.

He can't see anything out here just yet - nothing worth attacking with the other man's cane anyway, but that isn't to say there won't be something promising on the other side of the hill.

Dantalion

is just carvin' through the dark

// nothing is as simple, I worship, you're my temple //

He should have anticipated the reaction he gets – the croak and the incessant attempt to get the bloodstone earring out of his ear. With zero luck and a variety of more shivers that spark goosebumps against his shoulders and down his back, Asta’s got the front row seat to hearing the gravelly, deep tickle tickle that leaves the gore crow.

It sparks another laugh – more vibrant and deep despite the chilly wind that streaks toward them again as they crest the hill. His dark gaze continues to take in the area, searching for anything he might be able to grab. So far, everything comes up empty, but the Butcher doesn’t seem to mind so long as Danta’s curled up around his neck again.

At the top of the hill, the Butcher pauses, squinting down the other side in his search, spying a few birds taking off in the distance. A doe makes a small appearance popping her head out from behind one of the bushes, though it’s too far from them to realistically do anything about it. “Mm, so far nothing. Let me know if you spy anything from your lovely vantage point.” He tilts his head enough to look back at Danta on his shoulder in his peripheral, lips quirking in an amused smirk before he takes up his view again, settling the cane between his feet to rest his hands on.

Astaroth

// and heaven, hold your gates open, all the hell we've been through //

Far across the rolling terrain, a small group of High-Land Cows grazes contentedly, their large forms half-obscured by tall grass and the gentle rise of the land. Long strands of greenery trail from their hides, swaying lazily as they move.

They seem entirely at ease, chewing slowly and shifting only when one wanders too close to another’s space. A low, relaxed rumble passes between them, more conversational than alert.

The group remains where it is, peaceful and unbothered, a quiet reminder that not everything in the Hollowed Grounds is sharp-edged or hostile. For now, they simply exist, untroubled by the world around them.

---

High-Land Cow Areas Found: Hollowed Grounds, King's End, The Draig Cordillera — Common High-Land Cows are large, placid cattle whose thick hides are overgrown with long grass, moss, and low vegetation, causing them to blend seamlessly into their surroundings when they remain still. From a distance, a resting herd can easily be mistaken for gentle rises in the land or patches of overgrown pasture. Some rare variants grow sweetgrass among the vegetation on their hides, lending their meat a naturally sweet flavour when consumed. Despite their size and strange appearance, High-Land Cows are docile creatures, slow to move and content to graze for hours at a time. Challenge Rating: Moderate HP: 1500 | To Hit: +6 | Dmg: 35 Movement: Walk 25 ft. SPECIAL SKILLS Sweetgrass Variant: Some individuals grow sweetgrass along their hides, flavouring their meat naturally; Vegetative Growth: Grass and moss regrow quickly if trimmed or harvested; Weather Hardy: Unbothered by rain, wind, or temperature shifts; Unassuming Presence: Rarely draws attention unless startled or approached closely

TRAITS Living Camouflage: Grass-covered hides allow them to blend perfectly into natural terrain when unmoving; Placid Temperament: Naturally calm and non-aggressive; Thick Hide: Dense skin and layered growth provide natural protection; Grazing Behemoth: Can feed for long periods without rest; Environmental Mimicry: Often mistaken for part of the landscape at a glance ACTIONS Startled Shift: Suddenly stands or moves, startling nearby creatures who mistook it for terrain; Defensive Shuffle: Pushes or nudges with heavy bulk to create space rather than attack; Trampling Step: If threatened, may stomp forward, knocking creatures aside unintentionally; Low Bellows: Emits a deep, resonant call that can summon other High-Land Cows or warn off predators

we're born at night, so much of our life

Asta's laughter prompts a brief and affectionate nuzzle from a curved beak, Danta attempting for just a moment to preen the Butcher's beard, but at the reminder that they're up here to look for something suitable to murder, he casts his sharp eyes out across the hillside again. He can see the High-Land Cows (not tangleweed, rude) as slow moving shapes nearly perfectly blended against the long grass, clacking his beak at them, but they are far too large and clustered together to make a good target for his fiance's cane.

And so, reluctantly hopping back out from his place tucked into Asta's collar, the gore crow opts to take to the sky, spreading dark wings to catch on that chill breeze and take him higher. He spots the doe as well, though she is (perhaps wisely) making her way back down the rise, spooked by the appearance of the dark silhouette at its summit. Then his beady eyes catch on a patch of brown close by, innocuous enough to look like dead moss and grass to those who don't live here.

Quicksand moss, he thinks, should be more than adequate for Asta to test the serrated blades of his cane, and he lets out a caw and starts to descend in that direction.

Dantalion

is just carvin' through the dark

// nothing is as simple, I worship, you're my temple //

The movement he’s searching for is completely ruined by the High-land cows that appear, a small huff of annoyance leaving him (because yeah, no tumbleweed so obv very rude), and Asta certainly knows when not to bite off more than he can chew. So ignoring the doe and the cows in the hopes for something easier to tackle, that wouldn’t turn this into an event that would last all fucking day, he shifts his weight a little before he decides to descend the hill.

Before he takes his first step, though, he feels his fiancé move against his shoulder – the gore crow taking a moment to push off his shoulder with a surprising amount of weight for how little Danta weighs in that shift to begin with, and as he takes to the sky Asta’s foot finally drops to take the first step down this side of the hill.

The cane shifts in his hand, pressing into the still cold ground when he hears the caw and looks up in time to watch Danta descend toward something of interest. He picks up his pace, reaching the spot after a few long moments (he’s only slightly breathing heavy from the increase of speed), he laughs a little when he sees the ominous cloudy eyes of the quicksand moss. It’s a strange brown patch among the greenery starting to try and poke its way through, and Asta takes note of the sharp teeth that stick up in the worst case of an underbite the Butcher thinks he’s ever seen.

“Well, better than nothing, wouldn’t you say Danta darling?” He purrs, shaking out his shoulders briefly before he’s drawing up the cane, taking a moment to debate whether to use the whip form or the regular bladed edge of the cane. He decides on the latter, and as he resets his grip, the Butcher shoots a wink toward the gore crow. “Shall we?” Already knowing Danta was smart enough to get out of the way the second Asta’s lifted the cane, the Butcher wastes little time in slamming it down upon the quicksand moss with the bladed edge, intending to slice it almost in half. It works and sprays up a little flare of moss edges and brown, black fluid, and already Asta finds a fair amount of satisfaction in it.

---

Quicksand Moss: 18/47

Astaroth

// and heaven, hold your gates open, all the hell we've been through //

we're born at night, so much of our life

Already drawing back up with a beat of his wings as he spots Asta's approach, the gore crow manages to somehow look mighty proud of his discovery, especially with the Butcher's confirmation that it will do for today's outing. Croaking his immediate agreement, Danta does indeed get himself out of the way of either version of the serrated cane, wings flaring wide as he watches it slash down at the patch of predatory moss.

Cawing a laughable version of a battle cry in response to the spray of debris and brackish fluid, the Maverick is quick to join in; he's no bird of prey, but that doesn't make him any less nimble when it comes to diving for something to claw at with his talons. Trying to rake across the quicksand moss, he might only be good for helping (if that) in this form, but it doesn't make him any less enthusiastic.

---

Danta tries to help!

Gore Crow
Type: Dark | Level: Basic | Cost: Action | Mythical: No
(23 damage if successful)

Dantalion

is just carvin' through the dark

// nothing is as simple, I worship, you're my temple //

He should be very proud of the discovery, because Asta wastes very little time zeroing in on their prey. It’s different from the kinds they usually aimed for, but satisfaction still comes in droves as he slams the bladed side of the cane down onto the quicksand moss. He withdraws the cane a touch slowly, mostly because he spies the flare of dark feathers flaring, joining in.

Unfortunately, Danta only comes away with half of the quicksand moss that Asta’s already torn off, but it’s something in his clutches to feel proud of and revealing more of that dark brown, black liquid that accompanies the writhing mass of the rest of the quicksand moss.

Which for Asta, only proves to make it that much easier to see the rest of the remaining moss – you’ve done well Danta, professional helper – and with a quick shift of his hold on the cane, slams down once more on the moss until it no longer writhes and Asta can feel that sense of accomplishment in his chest at the destruction with the limp remains of the moss.

“That was quite satisfying.” He hums, stepping away to find a nearby and lone tree trunk, slender enough he can swipe the sides of the bladed cane onto it to get rid of the bulk of black, murkiness. He’ll clean it later, but for now he’s pleased at the task and holds out his arm for Danta’s dark feathered form to return to him should he wish to. "But I think, perhaps, we should head back now, yes?"

---

Quicksand Moss: 0/47

Astaroth

// and heaven, hold your gates open, all the hell we've been through //

we're born at night, so much of our life

Lucky for Asta, Danta's avian instincts are too preoccupied with what he's got in his talons to realise he hasn't actually done any damage to the quicksand moss, and he circles high to shred it with beak and claw before letting it flutter away like debris on the wind. By this time his fiance has completed his murderous task, and with a loud caw! of victory befitting any corvid, Danta swoops in to land.

He takes his perch on Asta forearm with a proud rustling of his wings, shifting his feet until he's settled and satisfied as well. Clicking his beak on the affirmative, he wastes little time in hopping back up to the Butcher's shoulder, obnoxiously preening his hair as they turn towards the descent of Peekaboo Rise. By the time they get back home the section of dark locks he's chosen will be an utter mess, but of course in Danta's mind - and like everything else about Asta - it's perfect.

~FIN

Dantalion

is just carvin' through the dark