Using the stream system that ran through the craggy hills and orcan encampment, the orc and his precious bundle managed to slip by the battling forces undetected. Pushing through the exhaustion that threatened to overtake him, the orc made his way across Faydwer; stealing what they needed from anyone they crossed paths with. Days later, the orc crouched by the walls surrounding the Port of Faydwer, clouds obscuring the night sky, too late to board the ocean vessel from the outcropping.

As the ship, Stormbreaker, bound for Freeport, silently glided up to the dock, the orc adjusted the oilskin to ensure the child would stay dry and slipped into the water. While the passengers and cargo were unloaded and the Freeport-bound ones were loaded, the orc climbed up the mooring lines and clambered over the rails. Undetected for the moment, they hid themselves amidst the cargo. A shrill whistle sounded and the gangplank was raised, the night breeze catching the sails and soon the ship pulled away from the docks and towards Antonica.

The baby's eyes seemed to glow in the dark and she peered around into the darkness that was like daylight to the eyes of the drow. It was chilly and strange sounding in the hold as they were below the surface of the water. The orc was doing his best to not fall asleep, his head nodding to his chest before being yanked upright in a panic. The girl-child was in his arms, when the door to the cargo hold was flung back and a large human in rattling armor clunked down the stairs, muttering under his breath. The orc bolted upright, awake in an instant, his grip on the swaddled child tightened, praying to both his god and hers that she would stay silent.

But neither Innoruuk nor Rallos Zek are normally inclined to grants prayers. The infant whimpered and began to fuss at the bright light and loud noise, uncomfortable with the tight grip. The human raised his lamp and squinted into the darkness. When he made out a shape larger than a rat, he drew his sword, "You there! Show your face, scoundrel!"

Desperate and trapped, the orc placed her down behind a crate, thinking to save the child, and moved forward slowly, showing his hands to prove he was unarmed. At the sight of the orc, the human cried out in surprise and anger, directing some of his power towards the enemy, stunning the orc, before he ran the orc through.

Grunting with his last breath, the orc whispered in the common tongue used for trading, "Knight...save...ba-..." and collapsed, a pool of foul smelling blood forming underneath him.

The human frowned in puzzlement at the last words, scratching at his moustache. He leaned over to clean his sword off on the body when another movement in the shadows caught his eye. Sword up, he grabbed the lantern and raised it to see a bundle of cloth moving. Poking it with his sword, the bundle squealed and jerked again. Stepping over the stinking corpse, he peered around the box; shock on his face when he saw what appeared to be a baby. He sheathed his sword and picked up the child, peeling back layers of oilskin and well-made cloth. His frown returned, deeper than before, when he noticed that her skin wasn't dark due to the lack of light.

Undiscriminating, the child wrinkled her nose and laughed at the sight of a funny-looking face, reaching up to tug on the man's beard. When he didn't smile back, she quieted down and returned his serious look, holding his gaze with her dark eyes.

It was the paladin who looked away first, troubled. "By the Abyss!" he cursed then sighed, his mind racing. He believed that life was precious and children should not be punished for their ancestor's sins. He sighed again and shook his head. "No promises, little one, but let's see what the Lord Protectors say." Whispering a quick prayer to the God of Valor, he blessed the child with spells of protection. Tucking his new burden against him, he grabbed the lantern and headed back up the short ladder, forgetting his original need for whatever was in the cargo hold.

Above decks, a group of human paladins lounged along the railings. There was a group of dwarves sitting off to one side, playing dice to pass the time but their hearts weren't into the game, as they were not allowed to drink on the journey. The knights of Brell Serilis looked up, curious, as the human closed the hatch, struggling as he balanced a small bundle and the lantern and the door. "What y'got there, Pegador?" The humans started to gather around him.

Pegador Maral cleared his throat as he put down the lantern, "I went to look for...funny, I can't remember...anyways, while I was down there, I came across an orc." There was an outburst of sounds, swords scraping half out of sheaths, as the paladins looked around as if the ship was suddenly going to be overrun with the smelly creatures. Pegador raised a placating hand, "Don't worry, he was stowed away in the dark, behind some crates. I think he was the only one. For some reason, when I killed him, he said 'Save baby' to me, so I looked around, and by Erollisi's grace, I found this little one."

They crowded around him, unsuspecting, some of the dwarves leaning over trying to see what their taller counterparts were up to. When he pulled back the cloth, they drew back collectively, scowling and exclaiming all at once. "Sir Maral, are you blind? What were you thinking?"

"Why didn't you kill it?"

He frowned and drew back protectively, cradling the child against his chest, "It's only a baby though!"

"Sure, but it's one of Hate's children!"

One of the dwarves elbowed another, "Hey, aye 'eard dat dem inkies be eatin' babies o' dar enemies."

The pair nodded seriously at each other, tugging at their beards, while another piped up, "Yar, well I 'eard dey drink blood fer dem magiks!"

The fourth dwarf, a blonde bearded female in gold-trimmed armour spoke up, barely audible over the clamour of the males, "Aye ken fer a fac', dey b'stealin' chill'un an' kill d'guards fer der slave-tradin's. Me cuzin live o'er in d'Comm'nlan's ou'side o' Freeport, an' some o' 'er neighb'urs ha' loss der children t'darkie raiders." The group fell silent as they turned wide eyes up to Pegador and the infant.

He sighed heavily, "I know what she is, but...she's only a baby...even Erollisi wouldn't turn her back on a helpless infant, would she? What am I supposed to do? Kill her? Abandon her? Take her back to Neriak and get myself killed in the process?" The group shuffled their feet, unsure and unhappy with the choices, each paladin secretly glad that they were not in Pegador's place.

He turned his back on his comrades, heading down to the galley to see if he could find something that the child would want and perhaps a soft cloth for a clean diaper, stopping to let the captain know about the body and stowaway. He grew pensive when he thought about going before the masters at the Hall, meditating on his bunk while the babe slept in his arms, asking forgiveness for the slaying of an unarmed foe in haste. The rest of the voyage he stayed away from the others.

Two days later, as the sun began to sink behind the cityscape, Stormbreaker pulled up to the dock, the Harbour Master and his assistants awaiting them to tally the cargo. Pegador gave a small half-elf boy a silver piece to carry his bag and lance while he led his horse, the infant tucked in the crook of his arm, her face covered with a fold of cloth. The city's lamplighter nodded to the paladin as he carried his ladder to the next lamp. The tower of the Temple loomed ever higher as they made their way through the streets of Freeport toward the Hall of Truth, home of Freeport's knights.

In short order, the horse was stabled and in good hands, and Pegador was walking down the hallway outside of the barracks. A pageboy stood next to the door, "I see one of my companions has been to the Lord Protectors already," he held out his hand for the summons the boy held, giving him a copper piece in exchange. He sighed to himself then straightened his shoulders, "Very well then, I guess no rest for the wicked." Placing his bag at the foot of his bunk, he stopped by the kitchen to get a small skin of milk for the child, and made his way to the offices of the guild masters.

The room was comfortably warm with a small brazier in the corner. There was a tapestry over the window to keep the cool evening air out, and a rug of wolf fur on the floor. On the walls were pictures of past heroes of the guild along with beautifully wrought swords, some still stained with the blood of foes and dragons they had slain. To his left were two large chairs against the wall. On the wall opposite the main door were a group of sturdy wooden desks, unusually void of paperwork.

At this moment, the headmasters of the guildhall were occupying three of the chairs: Valeron Dushire, the High Lord Protector of the Hall, and his two main advisors: Kalatrina Plossen, a peaceful, statuesque woman of darker coloring, and Merko Quetalis, a tall man with auburn hair and moustache who was absentmindedly fidgeting with the pommel of his sword. Near the back door, standing next to a small table with a pile of blank paper and an inkwell was a young squire, one of the few females called to this duty, who stepped forward to take the child from Pegador's arms.

Gesturing for the knight to sit after returning the salute, Valeron shifted in his chair and stretched a leg before him. "Welcome back, Sir Pegador Maral. We will hear your report of the mission tomorrow with the others, but for now, we wish to hear more of this...discovery...you made on the journey home."

Succinctly, the man recounted the story. When he finished, Valeron nodded, "And what do you suppose we do with the child of the drow, whom, I need not remind you, harbor no goodwill towards us?"

Presented with the same dilemma as on the ship, Pegador answered the same, adding, "And the thought of raising her to be a spy or something similar makes my stomach turn. That is not the way of Mithaniel..."

Merko cleared his throat, his voice rough, "We can agree with that. Would you be willing to accept responsibility for this child for the rest of your natural life, should we come to that?"

Dropping to a knee and bowing his head, the knight drew his ceremonial short sword, "Before you, before the Marrs, I swear I shall."

"An oath, while appreciated and will be asked of you should it come to that, is not what is needed at this moment, Sir Pegador," Kalatrina's voice was like fine brandy, "Do rise. Go, and clean up from your trip, rest the night. We shall send the child to the Temple to be ensured it is healthy, and we..."

"She, ma'am."

"Your pardon?"

"The child is a girl. She has a small tattoo, but other than that she is flawless."

The woman arched an eyebrow in mild annoyance and then nodded. "Very well, she shall go to the Temple, we shall deliberate on this matter and you will remain after tomorrows mission briefing to hear our decision." The trio stood, Valeron nodding his dismissal to Pegador.

Unable to even say goodnight to the infant, he left the room, weary. The barracks were quiet as he walked through to the bathing room, washing off the travel dust and leaving his armor to be cleaned by a page, before lying down on his bunk. He remained that way, arms folded under his head, eyes staring at the top bunk above him, listening to the other men snore in the darkness, until the sun's rays began to color the morning sky.