Of Raakel (a Mordheim story)

Ilyanas Tomb of Doom

1. It was in Mordheim that fate put me at the opposite end of a vampire’s sword. Rogue versus the Undead. How laughable, right? Double daggers versus a cursed blade. Do the calculation. The answer isn’t good. And as Andrus von Mordis bore down upon me with his broadsword, maybe it was the swell of my breasts blooming from my leathers that stopped him, or perhaps the idea bloomed in his head that he was destroying a potential member of his cult.

“You steal, yes?” he asked, blade near my neck.

“I’m a thief, yes,” I said, realizing a bargain was being struck.

“The Undead needs you, for who else can pick up these stones if we are battling our foe?”

“Me,” I agreed, “I can do it.”

“Is good, no?” he said.

“Yes,” I said, trying not to pant.

“You get Wyrdstone,” he said as if I hadn’t the…

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