Ester delivers babies.

She lives by herself in a cottage in the woods (not the forest, the woods, not every tree is just waiting to come over all animate and clobber you to death) roughly equidistant from some half a dozen villages including the one she was born in herself.  She is not at home to Asmodean clerics or their lackeys.  They're the type to come by demanding to know why she isn't patriotically making herself worse at her job by putting the creator of the entire universe second to the national big kahuna.  She thinks that is a very stupid question, and the answer to that very stupid question is "that is a very stupid question", and it would just not be a productive conversation.  Fortunately, for some reason nobody in the villages can remember exactly where she lives, she must be around here somewhere, who did we send last time we needed her?  oh, was it your grandmother?  the dead one?  I'm sorry, I'm sure we'll scare her up before the baby's due but today we really have to get on canning all these pears, your fancytitleness sir.

Ester did not of course always live by herself in a cottage in the woods.  She had children.  You can hardly be a good midwife if you aren't familiar with the experience from both ends.  She and her late husband, may his soul get where it's going, had five sons who lived to adulthood (and a stillbirth and one who died aged six months of fever), and then were all caught up in a recruitment drive by the baron, who was falling behind on his commitments to provide troops.  They didn't have land to inherit, so they couldn't keep one back; her husband was a shoemaker who died of dysentery a bit later on, and the state did not have an interest in making sure that the villagers in the area had local shoes instead of having to get them off traveling sales-sharks, not to the point of passing up arrow-fodder

.Ester briefly lived with her daughter-in-law, after delivering her only grandchild, but it was ultimately determined that she and her daughter-in-law would get along better from several miles apart.  Frankly Ester isn't even overly fond of the grandchild.  She seems like she's doing fine probably, nearly ready to get married herself.  So: cottage, woods.  Sometimes babies are not where they belong and must be chivvied along and she is the one to do it.  Sometimes mothers are trying to die at the moment when this would most inconvenience their babies instead of some more appropriate date and she is the one to fix it.  She also dabbles in predicting the weather.  The Asmodean cleric serving most of her zone of operation is fine about making sure the dead don't rise, so at least she doesn't have to do that too.  She's an old woman and most of the time just wants to put her feet up and rest her eyes.

Unfortunately, some ninny decided that it was only Asmodeans that Ester was not at home to and that surely Reclamation government officials and anyone who talks to them would be fine.  So now she has to assume they know right where she is and will come bother her if she doesn't show up when she's supposed to.  She is scowling the entire time she spends sitting in the back of the oxcart that's heading in that direction.

"I just thought it would be fine since they won't be making primary worship of Pharasma illegal.  It's safe to go along with the official rules now," begins the vintner's boy who's transporting her along with half a dozen barrels of wine.

"You shut your trap, sonny, you haven't learned one thing useful to do with your mouth since I put you on your mama's tit twenty years ago."

They have a very quiet ride.

Ester delivers babies.

She lives by herself in a cottage in the woods (not the forest, the woods, not every tree is just waiting to come over all animate and clobber you to death) roughly equidistant from some half a dozen villages including the one she was born in herself.  She is not at home to Asmodean clerics or their lackeys.  They're the type to come by demanding to know why she isn't patriotically making herself worse at her job by putting the creator of the entire universe second to the national big kahuna.  She thinks that is a very stupid question, and the answer to that very stupid question is "that is a very stupid question", and it would just not be a productive conversation.  Fortunately, for some reason nobody in the villages can remember exactly where she lives, she must be around here somewhere, who did we send last time we needed her?  oh, was it your grandmother?  the dead one?  I'm sorry, I'm sure we'll scare her up before the baby's due but today we really have to get on canning all these pears, your fancytitleness sir.

Ester did not of course always live by herself in a cottage in the woods.  She had children.  You can hardly be a good midwife if you aren't familiar with the experience from both ends.  She and her late husband, may his soul get where it's going, had five sons who lived to adulthood (and a stillbirth and one who died aged six months of fever), and then were all caught up in a recruitment drive by the baron, who was falling behind on his commitments to provide troops.  They didn't have land to inherit, so they couldn't keep one back; her husband was a shoemaker who died of dysentery a bit later on, and the state did not have an interest in making sure that the villagers in the area had local shoes instead of having to get them off traveling sales-sharks, not to the point of passing up arrow-fodder

.Ester briefly lived with her daughter-in-law, after delivering her only grandchild, but it was ultimately determined that she and her daughter-in-law would get along better from several miles apart.  Frankly Ester isn't even overly fond of the grandchild.  She seems like she's doing fine probably, nearly ready to get married herself.  So: cottage, woods.  Sometimes babies are not where they belong and must be chivvied along and she is the one to do it.  Sometimes mothers are trying to die at the moment when this would most inconvenience their babies instead of some more appropriate date and she is the one to fix it.  She also dabbles in predicting the weather.  The Asmodean cleric serving most of her zone of operation is fine about making sure the dead don't rise, so at least she doesn't have to do that too.  She's an old woman and most of the time just wants to put her feet up and rest her eyes.

Unfortunately, some ninny decided that it was only Asmodeans that Ester was not at home to and that surely Reclamation government officials and anyone who talks to them would be fine.  So now she has to assume they know right where she is and will come bother her if she doesn't show up when she's supposed to.  She is scowling the entire time she spends sitting in the back of the oxcart that's heading in that direction.

"I just thought it would be fine since they won't be making primary worship of Pharasma illegal.  It's safe to go along with the official rules now," begins the vintner's boy who's transporting her along with half a dozen barrels of wine.

"You shut your trap, sonny, you haven't learned one thing useful to do with your mouth since I put you on your mama's tit twenty years ago."

They have a very quiet ride.

Ester delivers babies.

She lives by herself in a cottage in the woods (not the forest, the woods, not every tree is just waiting to come over all animate and clobber you to death) roughly equidistant from some half a dozen villages including the one she was born in herself.  She is not at home to Asmodean clerics or their lackeys.  They're the type to come by demanding to know why she isn't patriotically making herself worse at her job by putting the creator of the entire universe second to the national big kahuna.  She thinks that is a very stupid question, and the answer to that very stupid question is "that is a very stupid question", and it would just not be a productive conversation.  Fortunately, for some reason nobody in the villages can remember exactly where she lives, she must be around here somewhere, who did we send last time we needed her?  oh, was it your grandmother?  the dead one?  I'm sorry, I'm sure we'll scare her up before the baby's due but today we really have to get on canning all these pears, your fancytitleness sir.

Ester did not of course always live by herself in a cottage in the woods.  She had children.  You can hardly be a good midwife if you aren't familiar with the experience from both ends.  She and her late husband, may his soul get where it's going, had five sons who lived to adulthood (and a stillbirth and one who died aged six months of fever), and then were all caught up in a recruitment drive by the baron, who was falling behind on his commitments to provide troops.  They didn't have land to inherit, so they couldn't keep one back; her husband was a shoemaker who died of dysentery a bit later on, and the state did not have an interest in making sure that the villagers in the area had local shoes instead of having to get them off traveling sales-sharks, not to the point of passing up arrow-fodder.

Ester briefly lived with her daughter-in-law, after delivering her only grandchild, but it was ultimately determined that she and her daughter-in-law would get along better from several miles apart.  Frankly Ester isn't even overly fond of the grandchild.  She seems like she's doing fine probably, nearly ready to get married herself.  So: cottage, woods.  Sometimes babies are not where they belong and must be chivvied along and she is the one to do it.  Sometimes mothers are trying to die at the moment when this would most inconvenience their babies instead of some more appropriate date and she is the one to fix it.  She also dabbles in predicting the weather.  The Asmodean cleric serving most of her zone of operation is fine about making sure the dead don't rise, so at least she doesn't have to do that too.  She's an old woman and most of the time just wants to put her feet up and rest her eyes.

Unfortunately, some ninny decided that it was only Asmodeans that Ester was not at home to and that surely Reclamation government officials and anyone who talks to them would be fine.  So now she has to assume they know right where she is and will come bother her if she doesn't show up when she's supposed to.  She is scowling the entire time she spends sitting in the back of the oxcart that's heading in that direction.

"I just thought it would be fine since they won't be making primary worship of Pharasma illegal.  It's safe to go along with the official rules now," begins the vintner's boy who's transporting her along with half a dozen barrels of wine.

"You shut your trap, sonny, you haven't learned one thing useful to do with your mouth since I put you on your mama's tit twenty years ago."

They have a very quiet ride.