A babies cry sounds out in the house attached to the smithy. At the sound a hammer sounds out striking against metal. The sound of mail rattling as the door to the workshop opens. Heavy footsteps come from the squat doorframe, each step solid, firm and steady. A figurtive brick of dense muscle walking, the figure approaches a petite women. Sitting up in the bed she cradles a newborn child in a thick wool blanket.
Seeing the figure approaching the women is smiling as she holds out the child to be swaddled in a small sheet of newly made mail, an armor blanket. Gently wrapping the light mail around the child the man scoops the child into his arms and stares at the small bundled child. Holding his child in the woolen and chainmail blanket the man is utterly overwhelmed. While creating the mail he could block out all thoughts and worries, but looking down at the small bundle he couldn't stop himself. He was looking at his one of his greatest wishes come true, a son of his own.
A smile breaks out from behind his bearded face and he hugs his wife before turning. Tears streaking through the grime and dust from the workshop, he looks over to the midwife and a small group of visitors.
Five men and two women, all but a single tall female, are dwarves. All the men are grinning towards the new father while the midwife is holding her head high in satisfaction at a job well done. The one standing out most from the group is a thin female mage clad in a deep forest green robe. By her side stands a ash fighting staff loosely in relief. Towering over everyone, her elven ears, light skin and lithe form is out of place among the squat muscular dwarves surrounding her. Stepping past the others in the group the youngest man among them, evident due to him having the shortest beard of all the men in the room, bows deeply in front of couple.
"In darkness does the fire still burn bright?" The young man asks.
"It survives the darkness and a new man has joined the fight." The new father replied back.
Nodding, the young man brings his right fist to his heart before sprinting out the doorway. The sound of his boots clap against the polished stone floors before he can no longer be heard by those in the house. Grinning the father imagines the look on his clansmen's faces as the messenger brings the news to the main household. And then he imagined the hungover look of the entire clan after today's celebrations and starts chuckling.
After the young man leaves the rest of the group step toward the couple together. Smiling but still feeling quite out of place the elf speaks in common to the mother. "Quite strange these traditions of your's. While I understand how important a child is for your race considering how often it is you actually give birth, as my race is the same situation, I cannot help but to think it seems a bit over the top in some aspects." She says eyeballing a armored warrior standing guard across the room.
Standing near the entrance where the messenger just left, stands a grey bearded elder dwarf. Covered in scalemail over a padded gambeson and topping it off with a spectaclehelm he cuts an imposing figure. The man almost looks like an ancient statue holding guard over some ancient holy ground or ancient kings tomb. Holding a hammer, tall if not taller than himself, the old man eyeballs the elf and snorts, "It's an ancient tradition elf, older than my great grandfather's father. And I been makin curse words longer than ye been jumping in ye trees."
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"Ignore him Elenora, he's just a old timer remembering tales from his childhood. His great great grandfather was known to tell the children stories of the war with the elves when both of our races met. This old man is one young ones who had the 'privilege' of having to listen to those stories." Says a man in the group.
Clad in a elaborate embroidered cloth tunic and leather trousers, the man looked the part of a weathly merchant visiting a noble customer. With a potbelly to match his image, he stood out from the other three men. The other three are in tight fitting working clothes and with the muscle to fit them, the three seem more fit to be in a workshop or mine than be on a social call unlike the potbellied man.
"Aye the old man still thinks oh hisself as some kind oh warrior. Like theres anyone that actually wants teh fight wars anymore." The wiry man of the group says.
"Now now Kurrock didn't yer mother teach ye to respect ye elders? The ol man might be a bit unusual for learning te fight but he's a master of his own craft just like ye an me. So stuff it like that furniture ye make." Rebutts the least muscled of the three men.
After giving both the men by his side a slap on the head, the last man in the group steps forward from the group. An old dwarf with a pepper jack beard he speaks up, "Alright alright if ye all have satisfied yer incessant need for chatter let's get the legal proceedings out of oh the way." Clearing his throat before speaking the dwarf straightens until he stands ramrod straight exuding an authoritive aura. "I, Norbrok head of the blacksmithing guild as well as the combined representatives of the other Dwarven guilds of the town of Ah-Dwasill, recognize the creation of the new Steelguard clan. As a Clan you are entitled to one vote in the regional Clan gathering. Also you will receive the whilst right to own land for rent, the right to produce goods for the kingdoms military among other privileges. You are obliged to provide at least one recruit for the local militia every 50 dwarven standard years, who will be in the militia for 10 years minimum. This is subject to adjustment as your Clan grows and will be accessed every 100 years......"
After the formal announcement which had gone on for awhile, the man slumps down for a moment to take a deep breath. Shooting back up the man breaks out in a large smile. "Great! Now that we got all that useless legality shite out oh the way, congrats you two!" Almost shouting it out, the rest of the group also break out in smiles. One by one the men shake the newborn father's hand before promising to go drinking together next time they meet at the guildhall. The elf stands near the mother, trying her best not to break her self imposed cool and calm demeanor. Talking politely with the mother for a short while the mage leaves to return home in the nearby elven city.
After a bit of banter the group leaves. Probably to go back home to celebrate. Dwarves don't have children often and a dwarf will use any opportunity they can to celebrate. With the group gone, the elder dwarf nods at the couple before leaving himself.
Now the small new family is alone in their new clan hold. Sitting together, the father holds his small child smiling gently before speaking. "Yer name, little one, will be Zarant. Son of Thangral and Asralda of the Steelguard clan"