I still don't know how or why I even started this, it just came to me one day. I am, however, enjoying the hell out of writing it. I needed a breather from my other stories and this is working wonders. I've always loved Dungeons and Dragons. I love fantasy, sci-fi, anime, manga, video games, comics, the whole kit and kaboodle. I'm just a huge nerd.

I also noticed there weren't any crossovers of this type, so I had to jump on it. Now for reviews!

Allen Blaster- I hope you enjoy it man, just shoot me a question when ya got one and I'll explain everything. I'm very well versed in D&D lore.

KOTG- Thank you very much, but this roller coaster is just starting. Each main character is introduced in their own chapter. If you thought BB sounded bad, wait until you read what else I have planned!

RPGPersona- I actually got my screenname from playing D&D. I had a Barbarian/Druid named Foamsatmouth Forlongperiodsoftime who was terrified of getting lost in forests. He used ironbark armour and weapons and had a drinking-and-speaking-in-gnomish problem. I hope you enjoy this, my friend, from one adventurer to another. As for what Raven is...you are incorrect.

OMAC001- Negatory, sirrah/mad'am. They won't meet for several chapters. Drow are just sarcastic/hateful bastards at best.

Golem XIV- I honestly didn't know the crossovers section wasn't included in the primary story listings, so chances are this story won't get many views. *disappointed sigh* oh well, I'm going to do my best to enjoy writing it anyways. TG you were going through Allen's fav stories lol

It seemed like he did everything he could to make her absolutely miserable. Dragging her across the breath and width of Aber-Toril, through all sorts of fights and wars, dealing with man and monster alike, he seemed to make it his life's purpose to make her absolutely hate him and his very existence.

Which she did do, quite happily.

Oh, how she had cheered when that young hydra broke loose from its confinement and attacked him, tearing his right eye out before someone put it down. Oh, how she had smiled when a tribe of orcs descended on their convoy and slaughtered more than half of it, all of which were providing some valuable service to the man. Oh, how she had shed tears of laughter when his apprentice tried to kill him and assume his mantle.

Of course, he had beaten her quite severely each time. Slaves weren't supposed to be amused, let alone happy.

So here she was, manacled and gagged in the small warehouse he owned, surrounded by dozens of other slaves. Their fetid stench had long since faded from her attention, as did their moaning and whimpering. She supposed her disinterest in them came from having been a slave herself for going on three winters now.

She cast her gaze about the room as her hands mindlessly tugged on the chains betwixt her ankles. They were of a lesser quality than the ones adorning her wrists, so they were more likely to break. Not that they ever had, but perhaps Tymora, the Goddess of Luck, would smile upon her one day.

She looked to the other slaves, all manacled together, their bodies a mass of shivering flesh as they desperately sought out warmth from each other. It might have worked, were there not a gaping hole in the roof. Snowflakes lazily drifted in, carried by a chill wind. The building itself was in rough shape, barely held together by a patchwork charade of hastily erected boards lining the walls inside and out. The only door to the room was heavily barred from the outside, where a single guard was posted with a warm fire under a sheltered overhang close by. There were mounds of straw littering the room, just as filthy as the inhabitants and undoubtedly full of all manner of parasites and vermin. It was a wonder that the rats hadn't started feeding on the decrepit bodies that were forced to dwell in such a place.

She glanced at the hole and snorted in half-hearted amusement. It had been a young fire genasi that had done that, going berserk after a fellow slave had died at the hands of some particularly aroused thugs that their master had recently hired. Their master had killed the men for losing him profit, of course, but the damage was done.

The genasi had surged out of his chains, roaring prayers to Kossuth, the God of Fire. Eerily enough, his rage apparently reached the ears of the primordial being and he granted the fire-kins' prayers. In his fury, he rampaged through the district, killing every slaver he could find. The fires that bellowed from his hands smote down a half dozen men at a time and set buildings ablaze. The smell of charred flesh lingered throughout the building for tendays afterwards, much to the disgust of the other slaves. His anger unabated, he began to assail anything and everything he could find. He screamed his rage to the heavens for the loss of the other slave, a pale skinned, black haired elven girl named Tonimonetti.

In the end, his rage mattered not. He never found the slave master. Instead, he was met by a priestess of Auril, the Goddess of Ice. Even the flames of Kossuth could not sustain the battered, beaten, and starving body of the fire-kin against the dreaded ice magic the priestess had wielded. The genasi died there, his body pierced by dozens of shards of ice that came from the hands of this hateful and cold woman known only by the name of Rouge. His corpse was mounted against a wall out in the open for all slaves to see, a clear message of what would happen if they disobeyed or revolted. The genasi, once known as Isiah, was the first and last slave to rebel in a long time.

Of course, none of that mattered to the shackled young woman sitting in the warehouse. She had long since figured out that the only escape was death. After she had been betrayed and enslaved, it had taken her some time to come to this realization. It had taken a longer time, but she had accepted it. The Lady of Loss would guide her soul when the time came, she knew this.

That line of thinking always led the girl to an amusing thought. She could, theoretically, turn all of these slaves into Sharrans, worshipers of Shar, the Lady of Loss. It would be reasonable, since all they had to do was accept their fate as the dirt that society was built upon, cast out and forsake by the rest of society. She herself knew her value to the civilized world was even lower than that, considering her heritage.

But as was stated a moment ago, none of that mattered. Nothing mattered at all to her. Nothing ever did since she accepted her fate. Even living to see another day didn't matter to her, really. Death would be a freedom from bi-daily beatings, starvation, and verbal abuse.

The sound of crying drew her attention from her musings. She searched the congregation of slaves and found a child, no more than five winters, sobbing in arms of a woman. The gagged girl struggled to her feet and shuffled over towards them. The sound of her thicker-than-average chains awoke many. The other slaves drew away from her fearfully as she trudged towards the child.

She may have been bound and gagged, but she was still a tiefling, afterall. And nobody trusted demon-kin.

The child, however, didn't notice her approach until she reached out and drew it away from the woman. The tiefling girl knew the woman had finally died of hypothermia, for she had been ill for days. Most of the people there were very sick from the cold, their ragged clothes barely covering their filthy and malnourished bodies.

The child wept in her arms as she patted it on the head. Its hair was so filthy, matted and gnarled with knots, that she was slightly concerned with getting her hand stuck. Were she able to speak, she would have consoled the child and instructed it to embrace its loss.

After some time the sobbing died away as the child passed out from exhaustion. Looking around, the tiefling spotted an older dwarf with a ragged beard and balding head. He was the closest thing she had to a companion during her enslavement and while she was grateful he didn't shun her as the others did, she knew one day he would be gone too.

She nodded towards the child and he nodded back as he pulled himself up from the cold floor. He trudged over to her and took the child into his embrace. Wordlessly he returned to his spot and wrapped his arms around his charge.

The door opened and every conscious slave in the room instantly cringed. At this hour, this could only mean that someone was leaving.

And not in a good way.

The tiefling girl turned and faced the men approaching. Of all the slaves, she was the only one who could do this and get away with it.

"What have we here?" A deep and foreboding voice echoed throughout the room. "I seem to have lost another piece of property. I am…disappointed."

The tiefling girl glared at the speaker, the slave master. He was a tall man with only one eye, a hard face, and short white hair. It was hard to tell if he had seen forty or sixty winters, for even though he looked aged he was quite active. An eyepatch with glistening onyx jewels in the shape of an upright black right hand, thumb and fingers together, adorned his missing eye. All who saw him knew he was one of Bane's followers, utterly devoted to the God of Tyranny, and he did not shy from it. The man was outfitted in black iron armor and blackened leather from the neck down. It was unremarkable in appearance, for the man did not dwell on frivolous things such as impressing people. He wanted functional and that was what he got. The only other unusual piece of his attire was the gauntlet on his right hand, which was of far higher quality than anything else he wore. The blackened adamantine glove was his symbol of his clergy and he could cast spells as easily as he crushed skulls with it.

She didn't see the backhand coming, but she certainly felt it before she struck the floor. Her head cracked against the floor hard, gashing her temple on the old and frozen wood. Reeling, she struggled to sit up.

"I might not be allowed to kill you, child, but I will beat you for each time you fail to inform my guards that I'm going to lose piece of property to something as ridiculous as being cold. As many times as we've had this talk over the years, you should know this by now." He snarled. Beside him, a large man shifted uncomfortably. The tiefling glanced at the man, who had obviously been the one guarding the door. A half ogre, he was far larger than anyone else in the room. Despite this, he was terrified of his employer.

"M-Mr. Slade, I apologize, I-" The large man stammered, his deep voice barely hiding his fear.

"It matters not, Baran." The man known as Slade spat. "I was coming down here to inspect my merchandise anyways. We have a big day tomorrow. I'm expecting to sell every piece I have this time, so give them some damned blankets and build them a fire! I'm not losing another damned coin because of weather! Do you understand me?!"

Baran nodded furiously. "Yes sir, Mr. Slade, right away!"

Slade stormed from the room and Baran turned to his companions, roaring. "You heard the boss! Semor, Bill, bring them blankets! Hiiven, start them a fire!"

Semor, a small dark skinned man from the far south city of Calisham, nodded and ran out of the room. His companion Bill, a simple minded but strong man from the hills beyond the city, followed suit. Hiiven, however, frowned and grumbled to himself as he left the room. The hulking, dark haired barbarian disliked taking orders from the half ogre to such an extent that they quarreled often and violently.

But these orders came from his employer, so he was more inclined to follow along. For now, at least.

His face darkening, Baran turned towards the tiefling girl and she knew what was about to happen. She covered her head up as best as she could.

"You damned witch!" He snarled. "You could have told me that one of them died! You know he docks the guards' pay when one of you worthless dung heaps dies! You just cost me a week's stipend!"

His foot connected with her ribcage and sent her crashing across the room. Gasping for breath, the tiefling stared hatefully up at the half ogre before her. He sneered at her and began to lash out with his foot. Considering the bulk of his body, each blow was like being struck by a large horse.

She was sure to have some broken bones and new bruises by the time this was over.

She wasn't really sure when the beating stopped, nor was she certain when the fire was built. But one thing that she did know was that every part of her hurt when she regained consciousness.

"'ere now lass, don't be moving too much. He got ya good this time." A voice said gruffly from her side. Her left eye cracked open, the right one welded shut from her black eye and crusted with dried/frozen blood. She nodded minutely at him and he gently lifted her head up as he held a small cup of water up to her. He had loosened her vocal restraint as best he could, allowing a small trickle of water to dribble around the cloth and into her parched throat.

The curious thing about this gag was that it was slightly magical in nature. The only way for it to be removed was to recite a small cantrip, which would cause it to unknot itself and return to being a regular rag. A ridiculous waste of magic, to be sure, but one had to take certain precautions with people like her. At least, that was the slave masters' line of thought.

As the dwarf lay her head back down, the girl couldn't help but to sigh. Sure, now she wasn't dealing with the cold, but an enormous amount of pain instead. And in the morning, she would be sold for a fair price in the slave markets of Luskan.

"I know what yer thinkin' lass." The dwarf murmured. "I cannit see things endin' well tomorra' either."

She snorted in amusement. The dwarf had no idea what was in store for her.

It had happened every time she had been sold off to some unsuspecting fool for a hefty sum (under the pretense that she was 'an exotic creature sure to entertain you for decades'). She would spend a few days in service of a new master, getting acclimated to their lifestyle and 'returning to a proper state of health as to properly entertain her new master' (as a noble in Waterdeep had once put it), only for someone to break in, kill the buyer, rob his house, and take her back to Slade. She had had dozens of 'masters' over the past couple of years, but she was bound to this damned slaver until her death. All because the one person she had trusted more than anyone in her life had betrayed her for reasons she still couldn't comprehend.

Thankfully, she had never once been raped by any new buyer or even the slave masters' men. A few had tried, yes, but what Slade had done to them would have put the demon lords of the Abyss to shame. This was her life, full of murder, betrayal, torture, and greed. It had been that way for three whole years now.

And she accepted it.

"Oh no…not you too."

The demon-kin raised her head up and looked back to the dwarf. He had his back to her and was cradling something in his arms. She shook her arms slightly and the sound of the chain drew his attention. He turned towards her, the child in his arms.

Only this time, the child neither spoke nor stirred. In fact…it wouldn't do anything like that ever again.

The tiefling let her head drop back onto the floor with a thud. It hurt, but not as much as her heart did. Seeing a child die was always a terrible thing, no matter how many dozens of times she had seen it over the years.

"What am I to do with her?" The dwarf mumbled. "Iffen they see her, they'll beat you again lass. It's a wonder they haven't killed ye, as often as they beat ya."

She tilted her head to the left, then right. Her gaze drifted across the fire towards the largest pile of straw. Sighing to herself, she shook her chains once more. The dwarf looked to her and she nodded in the direction she was looking. He peered across the fire and raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Tha' straw? It's full of rats. They'd…" A look of understanding rose on his face. "Ah. I understand…"

He struggled to his feet, his own shackles impeding his movement. After he stood, he carefully walked around the other slaves huddled around the fire and approached the refuse. He kicked the bulk of the straw to the side and set the child down. His heart heavy, the dwarf then kicked all of the straw back over the small body. With any luck, it wouldn't be found for quite some time.

Wordlessly, he made his way back to her side and sat down. His face was troubled and the tiefling could see it clearly in the firelight. Carefully, she reached out and patted his knee. He glanced down at her and sighed.

"Aye lass, I know. That doesn't make it any easier."

She nodded in understanding. It wasn't the first time she had seen it, nor would it be the last.

Such was the life of a slave.