Session Zero: The Kingdom of Broken Things

The Wheeler basement smelled like stale pizza and old laundry. Eddie Munson stood at the head of the table, one combat-booted foot on a folding chair, sweeping his arms wide like a theater director unveiling a masterpiece. The map unrolled across the plywood surface—a sprawling parchment landscape of forests, mountains, and lakes, hand-drawn in black ink with painstaking detail. The others leaned in: Mike Wheeler with his arms crossed, trying to look cool; Will Byers already tracing the shoreline with his finger, a small smile playing on his lips. "Welcome, brave adventurers," Eddie announced, his voice dropping into his full dungeon-master gravel. "To the kingdom of... Broken Hollow." Mike squinted. "Broken Hollow? That sounds like—" "Like nothing you've ever seen," Eddie interrupted, pointing at the eastern edge. "See this? Lake Mournful. And over here, the Ashen Woods. And this," he tapped a cluster of buildings near the center, "is the town of Rustmire. Its residents complain about the water, the roads, the kids who keep vanishing into the caves." Will's hand stopped moving. "The caves are called something specific?" "The Maws of Despair," Eddie said, grinning. "They run deep, boy. Deeper than anyone remembers. And something in them preys on the surface-folk. Tugs them down at night, leaves behind only nightmares and claw marks." The basement air thickened. Mike uncrossed his arms. "That's just... a coincidence." "Is it?" Eddie raised an eyebrow. "The king of Broken Hollow died a few years back. Mind flayer shit, they say. Poisoned his court with whispers. Now his son rules—a boy-king who didn't ask for the job, who draws maps of places that don't exist yet. Sound familiar?" Will met Eddie's eyes. "Does the boy-king have a sister?" "Used to. She's dead." The silence stretched like a held breath. Then Eddie clapped his hands. "But that's backstory! Your party begins in Rustmire, at the foot of the Maws. You've been hired to find the missing children. First question: what's your party name?" "The Hellfire Club," Mike said immediately. "Nope. Taken." "The Vanquishers?" "Too generic." Will tapped the map again. "The Cartographers of Light. Because we draw the maps, and we fight the dark." Eddie's grin softened. "That's... actually beautiful, Byers. Cartographers of Light it is. You all gather at dawn, the air thick with ash from the Burning Woods to the north. The ground trembles—some say it's the mountain, some say it's what lives under it. Your first choice: follow the trail of blood into the Maws, or search the abandoned chapel on the edge of town for clues." Mike straightened, setting his jaw. "We go into the Maws. Straight at it. That's what heroes do." Will shook his head gently. "The chapel first. We need information. We've been in the dark before, Mike. We don't go in blind again." Eddie watched them, the flicker of the basement's single bare bulb casting shadows across his face. For a moment, the map wasn't just ink and parchment—it was a mirror. He felt the weight of every battle he'd never fought in, every monster he'd only described, and the strange, sharp truth that this story was theirs, written in scars they'd earned together. "All right," Eddie said, quieter now. "The Cartographers of Light choose the chapel. You push open the rotted doors, and inside, the air is cold. A figure waits at the altar. Not a priest. Not a demon. Just a girl in a torn cloak, holding a lantern that burns blue. She looks up, and she says, 'You shouldn't have come. He knows you're here. He always knows.'" Mike and Will exchanged a glance—the kind that held years of unspoken memory. Eddie pulled out his dice. "Roll for initiative."