Forgotten Lives

Chapter 1

 TW: SWEARING, VIOLENCE, ALCOHOL

      "Oh come on, I didn't even do anything!" Quinn squirmed against the hands that were quite forcefully leading her out the door. It was a lie, of course— She'd stolen a few drinks, but then again, who in that bar hadn't? If she could get away with not paying, why wouldn't she?

       "Save it, brat! I know your kind, tiefling. Thieves and monsters, that's what you are!" The bartender grunted as Quinn elbowed him in the chest, but didn't loosen his grip. Making it to the door, he pushed her the rest of the way out, causing her to fall onto the hard gravel floor. She winced as a few sharp stones cut into her skin.

       "Wait, wait, please!" She called, standing and spinning around, but it was too late. The bartender gave her a final, pretentious glare, and slammed the door. Quinn fell back into a sitting positon, slamming her hand onto the floor, "Damn it! That's the third bar today!"

       Snickering came from behind her, but Quinn ignored it. Some humans probably. For some reason, it brought them great joy to cause pain to tieflings, whether it was because of the standard stereotype or because of their own beliefs, Quinn didn't care. It was unfair, whatever it was.

        Sighing, she stood once more. There was no point in dwelling on what was. She only just got to this town, no need to cause a scene. There was bound to be another, less prejudiced bar somewhere in this place. At least, she hoped.

       "Keep your head down, Quinn," she muttered to herself. Turned out, there were no bars in the entire town that allowed tieflings. However, in a group of people, she managed to sneak herself into this one. Perks of being a rouge.

       Luckily, the eyes weren't on her. Rather, all attention was on the stage— An albino elf was hopping around, playing a flute. A bard, Quinn assumed. She hated bards— There was nothing worse than people who only got rich based on luck.

       "Hello there ma'am, what can I get yo—" the waiter paused, dropping his notebook. Groaning, he conjured a broom, "Seriously? The sign said no tieflings! Great, now I have to deal with this!" He walked over to the side of the room, grabbing a broom, "Alright, out, out!"

       "You have got to be kidding me!" She ducked, avoiding a whack from the broomstick. The playing from the stage stopped, and the room went quiet. Shoot, now all eyes were on her. A single, high-pitched key came from the stage.

       "Hey, Tom! 'Least, I think that's your name. Leave her be— She's a friend of mine," Quinn turned to the stage to see the albino bard waving. What was she doing?

       "Friend? A... Tiefling?" The waiter paused, looking back and forth between the two. He paused, thinking for a moment, then lowered the broom, "R-Right. If you say so. Just," he poked Quinn with the broom, "Don't cause any trouble, got it? And the moment Hanzai-Teki leaves, you're out."       

       "Yup, yup. Just put down the broom, please," Quinn responded, pushing the broom a bit further away. She didn't have intentions of staying longer than a drink or two, so that wouldn't be a problem. The waiter cast her a suspicious glance, but still moved away to put the broom back.

       "I'm only letting you stay because that bard brings us good money, tiefling. Don't expect me to serve you," the waiter hissed as he brushed past her. The music began again, and he was gone.

       Quinn sighed, sitting back in her seat. She grabbed a drink while another waiter was t it ned the other way, and began sipping it, casting a glare at the stage. That was just like a bard— Always having to shove themselves into whatever situation was around them. She didn't need that woman's help. Quinn took another sip. Damn, this drink tasted good.

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658 words

Hello! Trying out a D&D thing here. As a small note, I'm not the greatest, per say, at knowing the rules of D&D. However, I enjoy it, and I really wanted to write this story. Hope you enjoy!