Eamond woke to the sound of rats gnawing on the orphanage's debt ledger. Sunlight filtered through the closet's cracks, painting his golden hair in prison-bar stripes. "Rise and grift," he muttered, tossing the mothballed blanket aside.
Good Morning, [User: Eamond]!
Current Net Worth: 2 Copper
Objective: Earn 10 Gold (or Die Trying).
Recommended Strategy: Exploit Minors. Legally Questionable? Yes. Profitable? Also Yes.
Eamond stood in front of his bed and began thinking on how to accomplish this task, sunlight glinting off his golden hair like a taunt.
He first makes note of his "assets":
14 orphans (malnourished, but agile).
Lysandra (pyromaniac with a debt list).
1 rusty butcher's cleaver (worthless, but menacing).
2 copper coins (pathetically clinking in his pocket).
"Start small," he thought. "Think scalable."
He strode into the dining hall, where Lysandra was burning what might've been oatmeal. The orphans froze, spoons mid-air, as if he were a wolf in a pantry.
"Listen up," Eamond announced. "We're launching a hostile takeover. You're all shareholders."
Lysandra's spoon melted in her grip. "We're not your employees."
"Correct. You're independent contractors. No benefits, all the risk." He flipped open the ledger. "How do you feel about… fruit stand redistribution?"
A boy with a black eye (Garret, a demihuman cat) asked curiously. "What's that??"
"I'm glad you ask, you'll find out soon." Eamond said.
As Eamond make his exit. Lysandra followed him.
" By the way, which way to the market?" Eamond turn and as Lysandra. She could only faceplamed and show him the way.
When they arrived at the market it was incredibly busy even if the sun isn't high up yet
Eamond lingered at the edge of Alcasa's bazaar, golden eyes scanning the chaos. Vendors hawked wilted greens and bruised fruit at inflated prices, while beggars picked through trash. Inefficient. Undervalued. Perfect.
"See that?" He pointed to a fruit stand where a vendor berated a customer over a half-rotten melon. "Supply exceeds demand, but he's pricing like it's a luxury. Textbook incompetence."
Lysandra scowled. "So?"
"So we arbitrage." Eamond pointed at a discarded crate of overripe peaches, that a vendor just thrown out "These are worthless to him. To us? Raw material."
" A little help here." Eamond ask as he tried to lift more than a box and failing, so Lysandra reluctantly help him gather all the boxes with different fruit and carried it to the orphanage.
Back at St. Marla's, Eamond drafted the orphans into assembly lines:
Eamond herded the toddlers into a corner of the kitchen, where a mountain of scavenged fruit teetered precariously. "Listen up, shareholders," he said, holding up a peach so overripe it wept syrup. "Green mold: bad. Brown spots: artisanal. Understand?"
A girl with pigtails sticky from fruit juice raised her hand. "What's 'artisanal'?"
"It means 'charge double.'" He tossed her a less-rotten apple. "Sort anything salvageable here. The rest—" He kicked a bucket of oozing sludge. —"Compost for phase two."
The toddlers dove in, tiny hands patting fruit with surprising diligence. Eamond watched, arms crossed. "You—yes, you with the snail. That mango's a write-off. Toss it."
In the courtyard, older orphans hunched over a splintered table, mashing peaches into a dubious paste. Garret, the cat-eared demihuman, grimaced as pulp squelched between his fingers. "This smells like feet."
"Feet with potential," Eamond corrected, stirring the cauldron of boiling preserves. He'd repurposed a rusted soup pot, its bottom scorched black from Lysandra's earlier "contributions." "Add cinnamon. Nobles love cinnamon. It's like glitter for rich people."
A boy dribbled honey into the mix. "Why honey?"
"Because sweetness distracts from desperation." Eamond dipped a wooden spoon, tasted the sludge, and winced. "Perfect. Bottle it." They soon bottle it in a jar that they found many of around the orphanage. Good thing the orphanage has a steady stream of clear water in the back to clean all the jar.
Eamond was thankful at this moment when he found out that buying a small pot of honey and cinnamon only cost him 2 copper coins or else this idea might not work.
Lysandra leaned against the wall, arms crossed, as Eamond thrust a stack of wooden scraps at her. "Burn these labels. Something… mystical."
She glared. "I don't do logos."
"You do now." He flicked a copper at her feet. "Think 'ancient phoenix runes.' Or just scribble fire a lot."
With a sigh, Lysandra ignited her fingertip and scorched jagged symbols into the wood:
PHOENIX BRAND PRESERVES
BLESSED BY FIRE
LIMITED EDITION (Because We'll All Die Soon)
"Artistic," Eamond said, inspecting her work.
"It's garbage."
"Garbage with brand equity." Come let's see if can get more ingredient for tomorrow.
The next day came and
At dawn, Eamond gathered his "sales team" (Garret and the toddlers) near the noble quarter. "You're not selling preserves. You're selling magic." He handed Garret a script scrawled on stolen parchment. "Memorize this: 'Harvested under the Blood Moon! A single jar cures gout, baldness, and marital ennui!'"
Garret blinked. "What's 'ennui'?"
"Rich people boredom. Now—" He shoved a jar into a toddler's arms. —"You're a tragic orphan. Cry. Profitably."
The toddlers wailed on cue, their cheeks smeared with dirt (strategically applied). A passing noblewoman clutched her pearls. "Oh, the poor dears!"
"For just 10 copper, save our life and your complexion," Eamond said acting quite pitiful, materializing at her side. Thanks to his good looks and charm, the noble woman's heartstring was struck and She bought three jars.
+30 Copper!
Reputation Increased: [Heartless Hustler] – Guilt trips now 20% more effective.
After a full hour Eamond has manage to sell at least 15 jar whileLysandra watched from the shadows, her arms crossed. "You're conning them."
"Conning implies deception," Eamond said, pocketing coins. "I'm offering hope in a jar. Nobles crave meaning. Rotting fruit? Meaningless. But phoenix-blessed preserves?" He grinned. "That's a story worth paying for."
"It's lies."
"No. It's marketing." He tossed her a copper. "And you're complicit. Congrats."
After the day end and the night start, Eamond was able to sell all 55 jar.
That night the orphans feasted on stale bread—their first full meal in weeks. Pip clung to Eamond's leg, sticky hands smearing his trousers. "Goldie! Eat!"
Karma Adjustment: +1 (Involuntary Kindness).
Warning: Empathy lowers profit margins.
Eamond peeled her off. "Invest in hygiene, Pip. You're depreciating my brand."
The next morning, Eamond and the other woke up early and gather in front of the orphanage.
"Let's go back to the market and buy some more ingredients. Next stop is to market our preserves as a noble approve one so that we can rise it's price some more." Eamond said.
He, Lysandra, and the other kid then goes to the market to buy more fruit. He remind them to haggle the price down as much as possible if they can and gave them some money to buy it.
In actuality he gave the kids each 5 copper coins and kept the rest for himself and Lysandra to buy ingredients.
As he was buying some fruit he found a fruit vendor—a sweaty man bullying a scrawny boy over a stolen orange.
"Pathetic," Eamond muttered. He than strode forward, golden eyes blazing. "Sir! Why don't I get that orange of your hand." The vendor stop harassing the boy and turn to Eamond and said.
" Fine by me but, you owe me 10 copper coins. " he demanded.
" 10 copper coins, that unreasonable. Unless that bruise orange can cure all ailment, that shouldn't cost much. Especially since stall a few walks from here sold it for 2 copper coins" Eamond said the last part a bit louder and it got some customer who was planning to buy leave.
" You,-" The man said trying hard not to make to large of a scene.
" Hmm it seems you lost some customer, how about I buy those crates of over ripe oranges and his orange for 20 copper coins. So that it won't go to waste.
" Y- Make it 40 and you have a deal."
"35 and that's my final offer"
" Deal, now scram you street rats."
As the man goes back to grab the crates. I help the boy stand and got a good look of his face. He had black hair and black eyes as well as a sharp feature, in a couple of years he'll be a heart breaker.
As I was done inspecting the boy he said "Thank you for help-"
" I didn't help. I saw an opportunity to get things for a lower price. But since you've fell thankful. How about carrying boxes for me." Eamond stopped him mid sentence.
" O-Okay" he replied
" My name's Jake. "
" And I'm Eamond, now move along" I said carrying a box and started moving to the orphanage to drop of the crates and continue shopping.
As Eamond finished his shopping trip, the sun was setting and they (Jake and Him) returned back to the orphanage. When they was near the entrance saw everyone with a happy smile and a few crates of fruit in the back.
Some child was eating a piece of hot bread happily, some was holding a new toy thightly and chatting cheerfully with the other kid.
Eamond stared at the orphans laughing over stale bread and wooden toys. Pip, the gap-toothed toddler, waved a carved horse at him. "Look, Goldie! It neighs!"
"Fascinating," Eamond said flatly, though his chest tightened at the nickname. Goldie. Pathetic.
Karma Adjustment: +1 (Involuntary Kindness Detected).
Warning: Empathy is a Liability. Recommend: Raise Prices 200%.
" Come Jake, you still need to help unloading this crates"
" Okay " Jake replied quite comfortably
After unloading the crates, Jake lingered in the orphanage kitchen, fingers nervously picking at his threadbare sleeves.
" Okay Jake, you go grab some bread and go back." Eamond said calmly
"I… I can't go back," he blurted, avoiding Eamond's gaze. "My dad's Crimson Fang. Drinks. Gets angry. Last night, he…" Jake tugged his collar down, revealing a bruise blooming like a rotten plum.
Eamond's golden eyes narrowed. "And?"
"I can help clean or anything. I also know the Crimson Fang weakness"
" Go on.."
"My dad said they keep records. A ledger. Hidden in their outpost's west tower. Routes. Bribes. Blackmail." Jake's voice trembled. "I'll tell you where—just let me stay. Please."
New Contact: [Jake – Age 12. Trait: Crimson Fang Insider. Loyalty: 70% (Motivation: Survival)].
Eamond studied the boy—sharp features, desperate eyes. Pathetic. Useful. "Fine. But you earn your keep. Touch my copper, and I'll sell you to the Fang."
Jake, voice trembling. "Dad said the Fang keeps a ledger—routes, bribes, blackmail. It's in the west tower, he also said they lax their guard near dawn and the guard there always have hangover."
" I see, Lysandra!"
"Yeah, what do you want know?" Lysandra comes in to the kitchen and ask annoyed
" Can you help Jake settle in, he is now part of the orphanage" Eamond explained.
"Wha-you-, Fine follow me Jake." She relented after seeing Eamond gaze
That night, Eamond reviewed Jake's intel by candlelight. "Ledger location: west tower. Guard rotations: lax at dawn. Weakness: hangovers."
New Quest: [Steal Crimson Fang Ledger – Reward: 50 Gold].
Bonus: [Acquire "Kingdom Chest" – Contents: ???].
Lysandra leaned against the doorframe after listening to Eamond plan, arms crossed. "You're really doing this? For a book?"
"For leverage," Eamond corrected. "Information is the only currency that appreciates." Lysandra than leave his room (closet).
Alone in his closet, Eamond traced the orphanage's debt ledger. Pathetic. But not for long.
Karma Adjustment: -3 (Premeditated Exploitation).
He ignored it. Jake's bruises, the toddlers' laughter—distractions. Survival required cold calculus.
Yet, as Pip's giggles drifted through the door, he paused. Weakness.
"Focus," he hissed, slamming the ledger shut.