Session 1: Kids Incorporated (Kid! Nap! For! Profit!)

A write-up of our biweekly Dungeons & Dragons campaign from the perspective of my character, Heyou, a teenage elf barbarian. Heyou was kidnapped at a young age by bandits. His family was murdered and his face disfigured, including the almost complete removal of his ears, before being sold to the orphanage where he grew up. Orphanages are big business in our fictional world as they produce the laborers that power the economy. The disfigurement means it was impossible for any extended family to identify and claim him. As a result, Heyou has a very jaded world view but also sees the ability to make money by perpetuating the kidnap-and-sell scam. He is not very bright but considers himself so and thus he frequently uses words incorrectly. Heyou and several of his fellow orphanage mates have reached the age where they must leave and go find jobs in the fields they have trained all their lives, however they have chosen a different path and have overthrown the thieves guild that once ran their small corner of town.

These write-ups are done as a pure stream of consciousness – one of my favorite ways to write. No thinking in advance. No multiple versions. Just a laptop, the notes from the gaming session scribbled in my journal, and then I go at it in one continuous burst until it is finished. I allow myself one edit to keep it pure but to find as many errors I can before sharing.

It’s almost here. Finally. After 12 up and down but mostly dullsville years in this orphanage, me and a bunch of these other poor forgotten bastards are ready to move on and most of us will begin plying a trade.

Not me though.

I’ve got my eye on the bigger prize, and the seed for that plan was planted the day I was dumped here myself. I saw that two-faced, scheming slave driver Paula hefting that tiny sack of coins before handing it over to those filthy thugs who kidnapped me and my siblings, murdered my parents, and disfigured me before selling me off like livestock.

That’s all we really are here at the orphanage. Like livestock that plow the fields or pull the cart. We put our time in, working day and night to make our owners money, with little condensation and even less thanks. It’s bad enough being an elf where you are reviled and spat upon in the streets, but to also have my ears sawed off just shy of where it would drive me mad and then my face disfigured so no one could claim me too? There is no amount of payback good enough to square that deal.

But worry about ol’ Heyou though. Like I said, my days under Paula’s roof, fixing and cleaning the dump and keeping it livable, are just about finished. Very soon I plan to get paid too. There’s lots of orphanages in Hodor, and wretches like me and this lot I am surrounded with are what keeps them open and running. They sell us out to local trades practically from the moment we are off the teet, and then at 18 they give us the boot. Without orphans, industry and commerce grinds to halt in Hodor. Without orphans, the orphanages lose out on their precious funding. Without enough orphans, people like Paula look to acquire us by any means necessary, no matter how dirty or low they need to go.

My name is Heyou and I was kidnapped, defaced and sold into slavery, purchased by Paula and forced into child labor to keep the gears greased in a city that despises me and my ink. But now it’s my turn. There’s lots of orphanages – too many – and not enough kids. I figure at 50 gold a pop, I can create a pretty great life for myself…even if that means ruining others.

This little corner of Hodor. I know it inside and out and this will be where I will begin building my empire.

I finished fixing a couple of the bunks in our common room on the 3rd floor. Black Lizard – well, his name is Night Sky Yellow and he’s a Tielfing, but that name is bleeding ridiculous so I ain’t saying it – seems to keep forgetting he’s gotten too big for the top bunk. He’s leaving soon too so with any luck this will be the last time I need to fix any bunks in this joint.

I think he’s knows I’m pissed at him, but you can never tell. Guy gives you zero emotion. He’s flat as a pancake. Happy. Sad. Dying of the plague. Who knows?

Mayella at least could tell I was pissed though. She came at me like she does, stroking the gross doll and asking me about my feelings. She’s leaving about the same time as me and Black Lizard so if she really wants to know how I’m feeling I can explain it like this: Me, plus Black Lizard plus Mayella and the other four poor unfortunates getting booted out of here means seven open beds or as I like to see it, 350 gold pieces for me.

Speaking of pancakes though, Peyton needs me to go see Brandy the baker about getting some stuff for making pancakes for dinner. Peyton is convinced we live or die by pancakes, like it’s the gods’ Amenesia or something. I mean, when I was like 6, sure, it was a treat. But now? Meh. But Peyton, unlike Paula, that unholy spawn from the nine hells, is good people. She actually tries to mother us and make this place somewhat habitable. So, I play along. When Peyton acts like pancakes should make my pecker jump up and shoot with excitement, I throw her a bone. When I come to exact my revenge on Paula, Peyton will of course be spared. Far as I can tell, she doesn’t know about Paula’s little slave trade arrangement.

I got my sack of coins from Peyton and get ready to head off to Brandy’s. I must be in a particularly good mood because I decide to invite all the others who are set to get kicked out in the coming weeks. Brandy always bakes up some extra sweets for us. I figure, why not? One last score for all of us soon-to-be adults. I round up Veego (no beef there), Frankie (solid dude), Jillian (annoying but she hooks me up with new clothes so we’re good) and Caladryl (I really need to get him another name to. Sounds like a root you grind up to treat swamp ass). Along with Black Lizard and Mayella and her gods damned doll, we head for Brandy’s.

Like I said, Brandy is cool and hooks us up with treats whenever we need to grab some goods from here. She’s got an arrangement with Noah, the prick who runs the grocery store. He sells no baked goods and that keeps the peace in our little corner of Hodor. I call Noah a prick because he hates kids and treats us like some disease. It’s almost like he forgets that we’re the ones who plant and harvest all the crops that allow him to stay in business. He’s always honest with you though, so he’s got that going for him. If he thinks you’re thieving shit, he’ll tell you. After he takes your payment for the goods you came to purchase of course.

Anyways, we get to Brandy’s and she’s pleasant as ever. Right away she comes at us with a plate of cookies complete with a spoonful of raspberry jelly on top of each one. I immediately pocket mine while the others stuff their faces like they ain’t been fed all day. Me? I have plans for that jam later on.

See, besides just planning to kidnap children and sell them to orphanages for the that shiny shiny jingle, what I really want to do is be an artist. I paint all the time. Literally whenever I have a moment, some paper and some ink or paint, I am painting. As an orphan though, paint is sometimes hard to come by. Raspberry jam can make a nice substitute. Sometimes I’ll just cut myself and use the blood. In moments of desperation, I’ve used shit. I’m not proud but I’m also kind of over it. You start scrubbing out overfilled privies at age 8 and you get numb real quick to getting it on your hands. Besides, my art depicts bodies in various stages of death, dismemberment and decay so using shit and blood seems poetic. At least that’s what Frankie says. Mayella just tries to break out that doll and heal me or something. Whatever. Point is, I kidnap the kids. I sell the kids. I open an art studio. I live life high on the hog.

Getting back to my story, we wrap up our trip to Brandy’s and start heading back to the orphanage. Suddenly Veego starts getting weird, like something’s up. I’ve learned in my 12 years at the orphanage that when Veego starts getting twitchy, stop, shut up and pay attention. Dude is like a physic medium or something. Nothing gets by him. Very useful when you are trying to sneak out. He’ll be good crew when I put my kidnapping plan into action. Need to talk to him about that though.

So Veego’s acting spooked all of the sudden and then it hits us. Ain’t nobody on the street. That ain’t normal for this time of day. Then we see it. Smoke. Rising in the distance. It’s gotta be the orphanage.

We begin hot-footing it back there and sure enough it’s coming from the joint. Smoke is coming out the windows upstairs from the common room and the front door is open.

Caladryl and Black Lizard immediately charge in the front door as if they’re heroes or something. Veego heads around back. Meanwhile, my boy Frankie starts shimmying up the downspout with Mayella and that creepy doll in tow. Frankie yells something about trying to put out the fire coming from the common room.

Gods bless him but my artwork is in the attic. If I gotta choose between every brat in the shack frying up like breakfast taters or saving my art, the gravediggers union is going to get paid overtime this month. Besides, there’s roughly 40 kids in the place beside my crew. I don’t need to tell you the math on the booty I can get replacing that loss of livestock.

With no question about it I scamper up the tree with the third-floor window on my mind. If I can get in there before the fire spreads I can get to the attic and save my art. I look back and Jillian’s do-gooder ass is following me. Does she think I am trying to play hero too? It doesn’t matter.

I get level with the third floor and jump in, like I have done literally dozens of time, and start making my way toward the attic steps but what do I see? One of these creepy dudes that comes around every so often to collect protection money from Paula hunched over something. He turns around when he sees us and it’s Della he’s got cornered, one of the younglings, and he’s got this look in his eyes. Now, like I said, I could give a rat’s ass about all that in normal circumstances, but something about the whole saturation reminds me of when I was kid with some other sweaty bastard leaning over me. I came away with no parents, no siblings, next to no ears, and a jacked-up face. I don’t know what came over me. I just snapped.

Before I knew what was happening, I charged the guy and smashed him in the face. He staggered from the blow but I didn’t stop – couldn’t – as I continued to pound on him. And Jillian was right there beside me, but she fights like a girl, so…

Next thing I know, the protection money collector is down on the floor unconscious and Jillian is wiping blood spatter off of Della. I pull myself together and head up to the attic to grab my art collection before the entire place goes up in flames. I come back downstairs, and I notice Jillian is limping. She must have taken a hit at some point. I don’t remember. Everything is still fuzzy for me. But she is trying to get Della to the window.

I start to walk over to help but I see the knocked-out guy on the floor and all this anger in me wells up again. So, before I know it, I am picking the dude up and the next moment I am heaving his body out of the third-story window. Jillian and Della look at me in horror, but I feel strangely good about it. And also, I just found my next art subject.

With some effort, I manage to help both Jillian and Della climb back down and reunite with the others. Black Lizard tells me Paula was murdered by the protection money thugs. I can’t help but smile. Serves her right. He also tells me Peyton survived. I actually feel good about that. After a quick count it looks like only 20 kids survived. I feel fantastic about that. I immediately start adding up the gold pieces in my head. Also, for some reason Frankie actually did put out the fire. I’m conflicted about that but then I go back to visualizing the stack of coins in my head again and I decide I am good with it.

I pull out a piece of paper from the stuff I rescued from the attic, open the jar of paint Frankie scored for me, and start sketched the broken body of the guy I threw out the window. His arms and legs are bent in all kinds of crazy angles. This is going to be another masterpiece for my studio one day.

Just then I notice everyone of my crew is all up in arms. They’re talking about revenge and paybacks. This sounds interesting so I join the circle. Apparently, the guys came to collect their regular protection payment and it somehow went sideways. I’m hearing crazy talk like we should storm the base of the gang that controls this corner of Hodor…only it doesn’t sound crazy. Black Lizard, Veego and Caladryl managed to take out two of the thugs. Jillian and I removed another. All of the sudden, we’re all seeing vulnerability. But me? I’m also seeing opportunity. We take out the rest of the gang and suddenly we’re in charge. Protection. Smuggling. Kidnapping. Prostitution. Gambling. Sky’s the limit!

With all this on my mind, I let the rest know I am all in. Probably not for the same reasons – revenge, send a message, blah blah blah – but the means justifies the end.

We arrive at the location of the gang’s hideout and beat down the door. Inside we find one guy. One lone, measly, guy. I smirk. This is like taking children from unobservant parents.

Me and the crew start beating on this hog sucker. He’s got a sword but he’s not particularly good with it, plus we got numbers. In just a few moments it’s over and we stand victorious. We decide to look further into their hideout and discover a skinny little man named Sanjay. Apparently, he was the bookkeeper for the gang. Once again, I see opportunity. Only this time, I don’t keep it to myself.

I tell the rest of the orphans with me that we now got a base, a bookkeeper and no competition. This is our chance to run things and make piles of coin. They’re not sold though. Jillian and Mayella seem particularly rankled by my idea to kidnap and sell children to orphanages. It’s like they want to spend their lives swinging hammers, pumping forges, sewing clothes and whatever the nine hells Mayella is going to do with that nasty doll.

Let’s table this for later I decide as we start heading back to the orphanage, but then the most amazing thing happens. Brandy approaches us and tells us that the business owners in the area, even that prick Noah, want a meeting with us. We agree and follow Brandy to the bakery. Inside we find Noah, Evan the candlemaker, Dale the miller, Pedro the tavern keep – the whole lot of them.

They waste no time in letting us know that because of what we did today, they would like us to now be the gang that provides protection for them. I can’t believe this. In my head is it literally raining gold pieces. Even that dickhead Noah tells us we are men now and shows us a bit of respect. What the hells? But I don’t give anything away. This is my moment. If we are doing this, I am going all-in.

I call on Dale and tell him I know he uses his mill as a meeting place for processing and selling drugs. While I make it known that I expect a taste of that action each month, more importantly, I want access to his connections. I am looking beyond our little corner of Hodor. There are lots of orphanages out there and with the proper connections to the criminal underground, my kidnapping and selling of children plan is looking to bear fruit and soon!