“To Steal from Death”

The smoke from Scarrow Eck’s cigarette curled upward through the damp air of the sewer tunnels, disappearing into the shadows that clung to the mossy stone walls like old secrets. Kara watched the thief lord’s thin fingers drum against his wooden desk, a nervous rhythm that betrayed the anxiety beneath his easy confidence.

“You want us to rob Grandpa Death?” Kara’s voice echoed slightly in the underground chamber, drawing glances from the other thieves lounging around stacked crates and rickety tables. “The man who sleeps with meat cleavers?”

Eck’s lips curled into what might have been a smile if it had reached his eyes. “That’s exactly what I want,” he said, taking a long drag. “And I have it on good authority that he’s sitting on enough gems to make us all very, very comfortable.”

Beside Kara, her partner Thorne shifted his weight, leather armor creaking. The big man’s scarred hands rested on his sword hilts—a habit that had kept him alive in the rough part of town for longer than most. “What kind of authority?” he asked.

“The kind that knows where he keeps his collection,” Eck replied. “Top floor of Meat Hall. His private room. Problem is, getting there requires more finesse than my usual associates possess.” His ruthless eyes fixed on Kara. “That’s where you come in.”

Kara had been expecting this. Word traveled fast in the Slink, and her reputation for getting in and out of impossible places had finally reached the thief lord’s ears. Still, this felt different. Reckless. The kind of job that started wars between guilds.

“What’s the catch?” she asked.

Eck’s cigarette glowed brighter as he inhaled. “No catch. Just profit. Excessive coin, as I like to say. The Butchers have been getting too comfortable lately, thinking they own these streets. Time someone reminded them that power shifts.”

“And if we get caught?”

“Then you’ll have bigger problems than worrying about your cut.” Eck leaned back in his chair. “But you won’t get caught. You’re too good for that.”

Two hours later, Kara and Thorne stood in the shadow of Meat Hall, studying the imposing stone structure that dominated the rough part of town’s central square. Even in the pre-dawn darkness, the building radiated authority—broad steps leading to heavy oak doors, windows that seemed to watch the street like hooded eyes.

“Still think this is madness,” Thorne muttered, adjusting the coil of rope slung across his shoulder.

“Everything we do is madness,” Kara replied, pulling her lockpicks from their leather pouch. “The trick is making it profitable madness.”

They’d spent the previous hour studying the building’s layout, memorizing the information Eck had provided. Main hall on the ground floor, administrative offices on the second, the Sirloin tavern on the third where late-night revelers would provide convenient noise cover. And at the very top, Grandpa Death’s private chambers, where the guild leader slept surrounded by his collection of “liberated” gems.

The lock on the side door yielded to Kara’s picks with barely a whisper of protest. Inside, the smell hit them immediately—raw meat, sawdust, and something else. Something metallic that made Thorne’s hand drift toward his sword.

The main hall stretched before them, a maze of hanging beef carcasses that swayed gently in the air currents, casting shifting shadows in the moonlight that filtered through high windows. Kara moved between them like a dancer, each step carefully placed to avoid the creaking floorboards she’d identified during their reconnaissance.

They reached the stairs without incident, but halfway to the second floor, Thorne’s boot found a loose board. The creak seemed to echo through the entire building.

Both thieves froze, listening. From somewhere above came the sound of raucous laughter—the Sirloin’s patrons, still drinking away their troubles. After a long moment, Kara continued upward.

The second floor proved easier to navigate, its administrative offices locked but empty. The real challenge would be the third floor, where they’d have to slip past the tavern’s overflow crowd to reach the final staircase.

As they climbed, the sounds grew louder—singing, shouting, the crash of mugs against wooden tables. Kara pressed herself against the wall and peered around the corner. The tavern was packed, bodies pressed together around tables laden with meat and ale. Fire pits on the covered patios cast dancing light through the windows, and the air was thick with smoke and the smell of roasted pork.

“There,” Kara whispered, pointing to a narrow servant’s stair tucked behind a cluster of wine barrels. “We can slip around behind—”

“Well, well. What have we here?”

The voice came from directly behind them. Kara spun to find a massive butcher blocking the stairway, his black apron stained with what she hoped was just animal blood. The blue-gray skull emblazoned on his apron seemed to grin in the flickering light, marking him as a trusted member of the Butchers’ Guild – and one of Grandpa Death’s violent minions.

“Just looking for the privy,” Thorne said casually, but his hands were already moving toward his weapons.

The butcher’s laugh was like grinding stone. “Wrong floor for that, friend. But don’t worry—I know exactly where you belong.”

He lunged forward with surprising speed for such a large man, a wicked blade appearing in his fist. Thorne’s sword cleared its sheath just in time to deflect the strike, steel ringing against steel.

Kara didn’t wait to see how the fight would end. She dove between the wine barrels, rolled, and came up running toward the servant’s stair. Behind her, she heard Thorne curse as more footsteps thundered down from the tavern above.

The final staircase was narrow and steep, ending at a heavy door marked with symbols that made Kara’s skin crawl just looking at them. But the lock was surprisingly simple—either Grandpa Death was supremely confident, or he wanted thieves to make it this far.

The door swung open silently, revealing a chamber that took Kara’s breath away. The room was sumptuous beyond anything she’d expected in this rough neighborhood—silk tapestries, carved furniture that belonged in a noble’s mansion, and everywhere, glittering piles of gems. Rubies, emeralds, sapphires, and diamonds caught the moonlight from tall windows, casting rainbow reflections across the walls.

And in the center of it all, on a bed that could have housed a family of four, lay Grandpa Death himself.

He was even larger than the stories claimed, his blocky gray beard rising and falling with each breath. The two meat cleavers lay within easy reach on his nightstand, their edges gleaming with an oily sheen that suggested recent use.

Kara moved like a ghost, selecting only the choicest gems—nothing too large or distinctive, nothing that would be immediately missed. Her leather pouch grew heavy as she worked, and she was just reaching for a particularly beautiful sapphire when Grandpa Death’s eyes snapped open.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The guild leader’s gaze fixed on Kara with the intensity of a predator evaluating prey. Then his massive hand shot toward the cleavers.

Kara was already moving, rolling across the floor as the first cleaver whistled through the air where her head had been. She came up near the window, gems spilling from her overstuffed pouch as Grandpa Death rose from his bed like some terrible mountain coming to life.

“THIEVES!” he bellowed, his voice shaking the very walls. “THIEVES IN MY CHAMBER!”

The second cleaver flew end over end, embedding itself in the wall inches from Kara’s face. She didn’t wait for him to find more weapons—she dove through the window, trusting to the rope Thorne had secured there hours earlier.

She rappelled down the building’s face as shouts erupted from within Meat Hall. Lights blazed to life in windows throughout the rough part of town as the Butchers’ Guild mobilized. By the time her feet touched the cobblestones, the entire neighborhood was stirring.

Thorne was waiting in the shadows across the square, nursing a cut on his arm but otherwise intact. “Tell me you got something,” he panted.

Kara held up her pouch, which despite the spilled gems still contained enough wealth to set them up for months. “Enough to make this worthwhile.”

“And enough to start a war,” Thorne observed as armed butchers began pouring out of Meat Hall.

“That’s Eck’s problem now,” Kara said, but even as she spoke, she knew it wasn’t that simple. In the rough part of town, wars had a way of consuming everyone, guilty and innocent alike.

As they melted into the maze of alleys that would carry them back to the Slink, Kara couldn’t shake the image of Grandpa Death’s eyes in that moment before he’d reached for his cleavers. There had been something in that gaze—not just anger, but recognition. As if he’d been expecting this.

As if someone had told him it was coming.

Behind them, Meat Hall blazed with light and fury, and Kara wondered if they’d stolen from Death himself—or if Death had simply let them think they had, for reasons of his own.

The gems clinked softly in her pouch as they ran, their weight both promise and threat in the dangerous game of the rough part of town, where every victory came with a price, and every theft was just the beginning of a larger story.

Only time would tell what that story would cost them all.

This short story was created by Claude.AI, using the one page dungeon named “To Steal from Death” in The Rough Part of Town as the training set. This is an experiment to see if the Heartwizard Games roleplaying supplements can be used as source material to generate stories. Hopefully you liked it!