Author's Note: I only got around to playing Hordes of the Underdark in spring 2008, so although it's been out a few years, I'm still obsessed. :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Bioware or any of the characters created by them for Hordes of the Underdark, Shadows of Undrentide or the original NWN campaign. Nor do I own the setting or any of the quotes taken from the in-game dialogue.

I own all of my original characters, my original dialogue, original plot additions and descriptive passages.

This story is written in British English, hence some spellings may look different if you're accustomed to the US variant, and the story contains some Brit slang, particularly with Tomi's dialogue.

Enough said. On with the story.


Beginnings

Maeren the village midwife had never seen the like, in all of her years of delivering children. It was not the reluctance of the mother to hold or even look at the child which struck her as unusual. Sadly she'd seen such a reaction once or twice before. Nor was it especially strange for a child to have some discolouration on the skin, although the bronze mottling on her lower legs was strong enough to be some kind of birthmark rather than a rash. No, something else entirely had caught her attention. She carefully turned around the child in her arms, supporting her head, before turning to Priscilla, the mother.

"Would you look at that? She's got a thin little tail extending from the base of her spine. Why, it's almost like a rat's tail, save that there's a little triangular point on the end. What kind of man was the father?"

It wasn't the most tactful thing to say to a woman who'd just given birth, especially one who had been withdrawn and depressed throughout an unwanted pregnancy. Maeren regretted the remark as soon as it was out of her mouth, especially when she heard the woman's strangled sob. Still, the mother was hardly going to overlook a feature like that. Nappy-changing was going to be a real nuisance with this child, no doubt about that.

"I don't know what the father was," Priscilla said quietly. Her voice betrayed something more than fatigue, a deep, weary bitterness. While she was speaking she did not look in Maeren's direction, and the midwife guessed that she did not want to look at her child at all.

Maeren remembered the day when the girl returned from a trip foraging for mushrooms in the woods, for she'd been in the village at the time, checking on a woman who was close to term. Late in the evening, Priscilla had stumbled along the pathway leading from the forest, disoriented and bruised, her dress badly torn. A few of the local men had gone out looking for her attacker, but never found him. They guessed that the attack might be yet another lawless act by a thief who'd been plaguing the village recently, poaching chickens and breaking into a few of the more isolated homesteads, but they never found him. Whether he was an escaped criminal or itinerant traveller, they never knew, but the thefts stopped as quickly as they had begun, suggesting that he'd either been caught by someone else or had moved on to prey on another area. Priscilla had been curiously reluctant to describe the man, but it was obvious she was not a willing partner, that it was a rape rather than a seduction she'd come to regret.

"Did the father... did he have a tail, too?" Maeren said carefully.

"I... I don't know. It was getting on for twilight - and when he caught me, he was behind me. But..." Priscilla's voice trailed off. "His nails... they dug into my skin like an animal's claws, and I caught a glimpse of his face just before he left me alone. I don't know what you'd call him, but he didn't look human - his eyes were glowing like embers." She swallowed convulsively, breathing deep. "No, I won't say any more: I don't even want to think about him. I've never told anyone as much as this because I was too ashamed of the fact that such a bestial creature coupled with me. Don't tell anyone else, will you?"

"It's no-one's business but yours. I promise I won't say a word," Maeren knew the suspicions and superstitions people could have around here, their insular nature encouraged by their narrow-minded old cleric. Why, half the time she wondered if he'd accuse her of being a witch someday, just because she was more effective a healer than he. She took another look at the child. Wrinkled though she was, as all newborns were, her drooping, sleepy eyelids didn't seem to be concealing any oddities. That was something in her favour, at least. The baby had the normal amount of fingers and toes although her nails were dark and oddly shaped.

"I can't keep the child," said Priscilla. "She's going to be a monster, just like her father. I can't love her, Maeren. I hated her even before she was born, I felt like I had a malign presence in my body, and now I know she's marked. What am I going to do?" Her voice was rising in panic.

"There, now," Maeren laid the baby down safely in the crib and went to the mother. "Settle down, love. It's always like this, you're worn out and your feelings are bound to be all over the place right now. Just rest for awhile. I'll keep an eye on the little one over here and then I'll bring her to you for suckling when you're feeling more calm."

"No! I don't want the creature anywhere near me. I won't be able to sleep knowing it's here in this room. Please, Maeren. Take it away... please."

It. Maeren knew what she was asking, and her heart sank. It hadn't been the first time someone made a request like this, and each time, they'd start out by calling the child it, never he or she. Girls who had children too young, too early, older women whose pregnancies had happened while their husbands were away for a while. Regardless of how much she could sympathise with their predicament, she always declined: if the women wanted to smother their own child, they'd have to take responsibility for doing it themselves, and not while she was in the house.

"Take it away," the girl repeated. "I'll... give you some extra money. Everything I have. Just... make it go away. Please."

Maeren sighed. If she left the child here, then one of two things would happen. Priscilla might start to feel some natural mothering instincts when the babe cried for milk, even coming to love it in time, but she had a feeling this was the least likely scenario. Looking at the mother, at the desperate, almost wild look in her eyes, Maeren suspected it was far more likely that she'd come back another week to find out that the baby had died in its sleep quite suddenly, and she'd be the only one with suspicions about the real reason why. She raised a hand to her mouth, fingering the hare lip which had been with her since birth, an unconscious gesture which she made whenever she was feeling particularly troubled. Her features marked her as different, and that was one reason why she'd never married or had any children of her own, instead making a living from delivering the babies of other women. The baby was marked in a far more startling way than she, and she couldn't help wondering how it would affect her future.

She let out a sigh. "I'll take the child, for the moment," she said reluctantly. "I'll see if I can find someone to adopt her."

As she walked away from the shack with the small bundle wrapped up in her arms, she thought about where she could go next. She had an idea, but she didn't know how it would turn out. Just a week ago, she had gone to visit Helene, the wife of a paladin who lived in the neighbouring town. Good people they both were, but it seemed that parenthood was not part of their deity's plan for them. Twice before, Helene had miscarried, and this time around she'd carried the child almost to term only to deliver it stillborn. A mixture of intuition and experience told Maeren that that Helene would probably never bear another child, even if she were prepared to take the risk of trying again. She was still recovering from the shock and the physical trauma, but her breasts were still heavy with milk, ready to feed the child she had been unable to bear. Maybe she would be prepared to wet nurse an unwanted baby, and with any luck she'd bond with the poor mite closely enough that she'd want to keep her.

Maeren's greatest doubts were about Helene's husband. For a paladin, he was nowhere near as fanatical as some of his peers, being a down-to-earth and practical man who loved his wife deeply. Even last week, after Maeren had been tasked with giving him the bad news, he said to her in private that he was beginning to wonder about adoption. Maeren knew he would be thinking about a normal child, not one born of an cruel act with such a visible mark of wrongness upon her. The tail would always be there as a constant reminder of her origin and she would be marked out as an aberration, a freak, even if her adoptive family were prepared to accept her. Nonetheless, Maeren was painfully aware that she had no-where else to take her, and she could not feed the child herself. She had to try.

Maeren noticed the cleric walking towards her, the last person she wanted to see.

"Afternoon, Father," she said casually. She fought back the urge to look down: she knew that the blanket covered the tail adequately.

"Wait," he said in his thin reedy voice. "Priscilla gave birth at last?"

"Correct, Father."

"Then where, pray tell, are you taking the child?"

She looked the old cleric in the eye. "You know about the nature of this poor child's conception, don't you?"

"I do. A most shameful business."

"Yes. It's a real shame that she was attacked, I'm sure that's what you meant to say, and while this child is here she will serve as a constant reminder. I know of a lovely couple who have lost their baby recently, and I think they would be open to the idea of adopting a child. They are good people, religious too. The husband is a paladin."

"Is he now?" said the cleric. He appeared visibly disappointed that such a paragon of virtue might even be acquainted with the disfigured midwife.

"He is indeed," said Maeren. "Good day, Father," she said, walking on before the nosy cleric had the chance to quiz her any more.

Maeren only hoped that everything would turn out well. She looked down at the bundle in her arms. "It's hardly your fault who your dad was, after all," she said. She'd be sure to press that point home to the paladin, hoping that his sense of fairness would overcome any instinctive revulsion.

Her cottage was placed a short way outside of the village in the right direction for town, and she stopped by there on her way. As she walked through the door, cradling the child carefully, her terrier barked out a joyful welcome.

"Pipe down, Ratter, that's enough now," she said wearily. The dog stopped barking, but he still pranced around her ankles, the stump of his docked tail quivering frantically.

Maeren stared down at the dog, her mind whirling, then glanced at the little cabinet where she kept various tools of her trade. Bandages, rubbing alcohol, needle and thread for sutures, as well as scissors which were kept razor-sharp. Perhaps there was hope for the girl's future after all, but she'd have to suffer a little first.