I used to work in a tavern. It was in the middle of nowhere and sat on a lake that glistened all throughout the year. It was beautiful, and the staff were very nice. They would always help me clean the tables and stuff. Honestly, the worst part about staying at the tavern was the customers.

Since the tavern was in the middle of nowhere, customers would only come here because they were adventuring and they stumbled upon us, or the customer is hiding from a scandal or assassin. It sounds sort of comedic, but it’s really not. These people have suffered. Some of them are complete idiots, usually nobles, that should be hanged for what they’ve done, but many of them are facing undeserved punishments.

There was this lake goblin I met some years ago. His name was Ftirjan. Being a rare goblin made him special and more powerful than the average goblin. He found this out very early. Got a big head because of it. His clan taught and cared for him when he was just a goblinoid. He bullied a lot of his less special brethren. When he finally became old enough to be considered a goblin and finally start on his more magical training, he and some of his magical brethren got captured by slavers. Their clan was destroyed. Ftirjan’s ego was basically destroyed after that. He was used as cheap labor by a farm. It was a bad place. Very bad. Abuse, starvation, too little cold in the warmer cycles, and too little heat in the colder cycles. When he got his chance, he killed the family that owned the farm and started a small revolt. He was able to steal some money for a cheap trip on a carriage. It was enough to escape. Some knights tried to kill him, so he ran some more. He ended up at the tavern, and stayed here for a couple of days. And then he left. Hope he’s doing well.

Another slave, this time a orc, was freed from slavery and escaped here. I forgot her name as it was quite some centuries ago, but I haven’t forgotten her story. She was born into slavery. Every since she was a child she worked on a dock building boats. She was lucky that her slavers didn’t pay attention to her and that she was the only orc. She knew what happened to the more unfortunate females. It was horrifying, and I full heartedly agreed. The orc girl didn’t actually escape. She was freed. A very pompous noble bought her, and then she was put into a random forest. The noble, the idiot that he was, forgot that orcs can’t just survive in the wild. The noble assumed that she could survive simply because she was an orc. She was extremely lucky to survive, but she lost some fingers and a tusk in the process. And she only survived her head injury because she stumbled upon the tavern I was formerly working at.

My last story is that of a lich named Zarius Fourfoot, aka, me. I am a centaur that grew up lavishly. I was the son of a merchant named Zaroni Fourfoot. My father made a lot of money on nice horseshoes and other pieces of jewelry. Even elves and humans came to buy from him. He had the money of a rich baron. My sister, being a few years older than me, was groomed to be the heiress of the business. She was going to inherit the shop, but bandits attacked. They killed everyone. I died of a knife wound, but not before taking a pendant that my father cherished. It saved me, but only just barely. When I woke up I was only bones. It was some thousand cycles later. I wandered around and then came upon the tavern. I started working there as I knew liches were not welcome in the world. I worked there for a long time. When I left, I at least had the ability to protect myself from priests and the like. Now though, I basically have my own kingdom. Liches are quite powerful, especially with the right resources.