Work Text:
In Callestan, on the edges of Boromar territory, two individuals look at a wall, one, a Gnoll, walks closer and starts to paint in some unseen details. The warforged tapped their fingers against their elbows.
“Gnawbones, I don’t think we have the time to make this perfect”
The Gnoll grunts, ignoring the warforged and pulling out a rag to wipe away some paint. A trussed up bundle next to the pair starts to stir before a third figure slides from the roof above them and lands on it, the hood of her jacket covering her elven ears. She turns to look at the pair.
“Boromar’s coming!”
The Warforged turned to the Gnoll.
“See?”
The Gnoll rolled his eyes, putting the lid on a tub of paint before hooking it and the brush to his belt.
“Sure, Dent, sure.” He growled, cracking his neck as he turned to follow his compatriots. The elf sighed.
“You’re so particular about painting now.”
As the group moved off, before Gnawbones could retort, the sound of boots running along the cobbles could be heard. Smirking, the elf pulls out a vial of grey-brown liquid and throwing it in their direction.
“Bolt!” She cried as the street behind them was filled with a sudden flash and then smoke. As the trio rushed from the scene, Gnawbones called to the elf,
“Well we’ve at least made them eat their words Lilia.” She huffed out a crow of laughter as they continued to speed away from the scene.
As the smoke cleared the Boromar thugs would find hogtied thugs and on the wall besides them scrawled the words:
Art of the Grafiti they left: https://photos.app.goo.gl/xANPFSNgvtmvQQmy6