The snowstorm blanketed Dellsmite in a layer of fresh snow. The new moon left the city in darkness, allowing two figures clad to black woolen garb to sneak around unseen. The absolute secrecy of their operation weighed heavily upon them, and so they travelled in complete silence. Together they crept towards the house of the wealthiest Dellsmiter, where they would begin their mission.
"Won't she see our tracks in the snow?" One of the shadows whispered.
"No. It will snow much more to tonight, and it will cover our tracks. She will never know we were here. Or at least," she smirked, "She'll never know who was responsible."
The other figure smiled mischievously as they reached her doorway. The man put his ear to the door as the woman kept watch. "We're clear." He whispered, and slowly opened the door. They stepped out of the snow and analyzed the house. It was sturdily build, finely crafted, and beatifically decorated. Paintings hung from the walls, a soft carpet ran under their feet, and a warm fireplace glowed from the corner, casting a little light on them.
They knew beneath the floors lay great riches. Glittering diamonds, solid gold blocks, important artifacts and finely forged armor rested just under their feet. That didn't interest them at all. They were after something greater, something far more... Interesting.
"You hid the cargo just outside, right?" The man asked. His partner nodded in affirmation. They crept outside, and dragged a large wooden crate out from a hidden space near the house. They lifted it out of the snow, for this cargo could not get wet.
"Be very careful." The woman whispered as they carried the box into the house. Snow blew into the room from the open door, so they hurried. "Our operation would be nothing without this..." She muttered, heaving under the weight.
Once they set the crate in the living room, they sealed the doors. They moved all the valuable items onto shelves high above the floor. Once everything was secure, they began opening the crate.
As soon as they lifted one board, a head popped out. A small, white, feathered head. The marauders smiled as they gently lifted the chicken out of the crate and set it free inside the house. Roughly eleven chickens followed, until twelve birds were running around the living room. The man pulled the crate out of the house and re-buried it where it hid, as the woman scrawled out a note to the house's owner.
Any successful mischief maker must sign their work. With approval from her partner, in handwriting much unlike her own, the woman wrote:
Dear lazuly,
enhoy teh chockins.
-The Prankmasters
"Won't she see our tracks in the snow?" One of the shadows whispered.
"No. It will snow much more to tonight, and it will cover our tracks. She will never know we were here. Or at least," she smirked, "She'll never know who was responsible."
The other figure smiled mischievously as they reached her doorway. The man put his ear to the door as the woman kept watch. "We're clear." He whispered, and slowly opened the door. They stepped out of the snow and analyzed the house. It was sturdily build, finely crafted, and beatifically decorated. Paintings hung from the walls, a soft carpet ran under their feet, and a warm fireplace glowed from the corner, casting a little light on them.
They knew beneath the floors lay great riches. Glittering diamonds, solid gold blocks, important artifacts and finely forged armor rested just under their feet. That didn't interest them at all. They were after something greater, something far more... Interesting.
"You hid the cargo just outside, right?" The man asked. His partner nodded in affirmation. They crept outside, and dragged a large wooden crate out from a hidden space near the house. They lifted it out of the snow, for this cargo could not get wet.
"Be very careful." The woman whispered as they carried the box into the house. Snow blew into the room from the open door, so they hurried. "Our operation would be nothing without this..." She muttered, heaving under the weight.
Once they set the crate in the living room, they sealed the doors. They moved all the valuable items onto shelves high above the floor. Once everything was secure, they began opening the crate.
As soon as they lifted one board, a head popped out. A small, white, feathered head. The marauders smiled as they gently lifted the chicken out of the crate and set it free inside the house. Roughly eleven chickens followed, until twelve birds were running around the living room. The man pulled the crate out of the house and re-buried it where it hid, as the woman scrawled out a note to the house's owner.
Any successful mischief maker must sign their work. With approval from her partner, in handwriting much unlike her own, the woman wrote:
Dear lazuly,
enhoy teh chockins.
-The Prankmasters
