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3 years later.
On a work table were a wide range of tools spread out. Chisels, hammers, brushes and materials sat strewn wherever they were dropped. Curls of metal and dark wood surrounding a shield. A small child sitting on the table watching his mother's work.
Stepping back Asralda checked her work. Indented lines curved through the shield to form complex patterns, runes incribed within the curved grooves. The first piece of government equipment the clan has produced, it is a shield made for combat in formation. With two grooves made for resting long pikes or spears, it is a wonder who would receive it. Not many could afford any sort of enchanter, nevermind a rank and file militiaman. Checking her notes one last time, Asralda takes her child to the couch in the adjoining room before returning to the shield.
Taking a deep breath she begins to channel magic throughout her body to rest in her hands. The most dangerous part of the enchanting process was to give energy to ones work. To give words, thoughts and emotion the energy to carry themselves out in a manner dictated.
Placing her hands on the central glyph, a dull blue shine occurs in the circle surrounding it and slowly becomes blinding to the eye. Clearing her mind, Asralda slows her breath and closes her eyes. The central glyph begins to fill from all angles. Slowly seeping in from all sides the shine barely filled millimeter from any edge, before Asralda's eyes shoot open. Her pupils exuding a sapphire glow. Her lips moving rapidly but no sound coming out, the glyph fills instantly. The light dulls, leaving the glyph looking like it has some sort of deep blue gas. The strange gas flows in some unseen current, sometimes trying to leave the bounds of the carved indent before dissipating into nothing. Her eyes dimming to their original state, her soundless chant continues. Then her chant ceases, her breathing ceases and she almost seems to become a statue. Then the sound she was waiting for. Like the roar of fire setting alight oil, the surface of the shield is covered in a blue layer of the gas before they return to their pathways.
Letting out a large breath, Asralda takes her hands off the shield. Dragging herself to the other room she collapses face first onto the couch next to her child. Or where he was supposed to be. Finally looking up, after 10 minutes of lazing face first on the couch, the look of distress on her face is evident after discovering her child isn't where she left him. Despite more than a decade of childcare coaching from over a dozen mother's in the clan Asralda had no idea what to do.
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Meanwhile in Thangral's workshop
Taking a break from his work, Thangral slumped back in his chair and starts rubbing his eyes. Coming without a end in sight, Thangral was up to his beard in orders. Feeling something stir underneath his work desk, he puts down his charcoal pencil and peers underneath. Cocking an eyebrow he stares straight into a pair of eyes similar to his own hiding underneath. Seeing his child underneath his workbench without his mother around, he grunts in surprise at his disovery.
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To his surprise his child grunts back. A quiet child, similar to both many other Dwarven children and Dwarves in general, Zarant had yet to attempt to speak to his parents despite some prodding on Asralda's part.
Grunting right back at Zarant in acknowledgement before picking him up, Thangral sits Zarant on his knees. Watching as his son looks around in wonder the father chuckles at the simple fun the child had in his exploration. Sitting his child on the counter Thangral starts pulling out some tools from cubbies hanging above, ones he thinks the child won't hurt himself with.
Grabbing some of them with his small hands, Zarant feels the tools out before trying to lift one. A small hammer used for delicate work, Zarant grabs it in the middle. Only lifting a few centimeters into the air, he drops the hammer. Metal thumping onto wood, Zarant grunts in surprise while staring at his father in awe.
Thangral almost laughs out loud, something about his sons simple antics amused him to no end. A beaming smile on his face, he watches as his son tilts his head and can almost see him working something out. Then he watches as Zarant begins using the thumping of the tools to make a sort of beat.
Now full laughing, Thangral joins in his sons way of cheering him up. Soon Thangral is thumping the workbench with his fists, hammers and other tools to create a small chorus of song with his son.
Soon Zarant tires and cannot keep up his part in their sudden performance. Seeing that Thangral grabs Zarant and puts him back on the floor, pointing towards the door before turning back to his work with his mood significantly better.
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As a side note to Asralda's panic, it is known and considered natural that dwarven and elven children don't wander off or explore much. Perhaps a child might explore a room or small area around where they were placed in but never farther. A leftover behavior from their early history in their respective environments, wandering children could otherwise meet very very messy ends. Usually at the bottom of cliffs, pits and ledges for dwarven children. As for the elvish children they'd enjoy at least a 100 meter drop from their trees if they fell. And despite all of magical apptitude they might have, elves don't fly.
In the full blown depth of her panic Asralda runs into the workshop next to hers. Going through the open doorway she seeks out her husband at his workbench. At it she can see him studying plans and orders for the next month. The pile of papers was a mess of orders and ideas. But on his face a smile could be glimpsed as he seemingly found some way to slog through the details of so many orders. Not that she cared about any of that at the moment. Grabbing his beard she pulled hard to get his attention. After a not very manly cry of pain, he yells at her, "What in the hellfires was that for!"
Silently glaring at him, it takes him a few seconds to realize his son isn't in her hands. Looking around he glares right back at her before pointing towards the materials corner. Where the missing child was digging through scraps of precious metals.
Holding a over exaggerated theater mask, the child was looking through the eye holes and playing with it. An order from a elven actor, after finding he didn't want it since the material didn't suit what he wanted. So the green gold mask was thrown in the recycling basket before being found by the child who was obviously attracted to the shiny object.
Ignoring her husband's glare Asralda hurries over to the child and scoops him up, along with the mask. Asralda thought if nothing else, perhaps it would keep the child sitting in one spot. She could only hope this would be the end of any trouble the child could cause.