Time:10 AM
Location:Ironhold Gakhumi’s Tavern
Interactions:None
Mentions:none
Equipment: basic travel pack, medical pack, foot soldier armor, foot soldier shield and weapons. 

Arn had questions.  So many questions.  It had made the miles he marched from his father’s estate to the Dwarven capital of Ironhold pass by unnoticed.  Why had his father, or at least the person who he had always known as his father, and his mother kept his true lineage secret?  Why had his birth father sent him away?  Why now, after all these years, had he been summoned to occupy a void left by the recent death of the crown prince, who apparently was his brother. 

A frustrated grunt escaped the young dwarf as he adjusted his pack.  He was smart enough to know that he may never get any answers or if he did, he may not like them.  Was it smarter to be blissfully oblivious?  With another exasperated sigh he continued on his journey.  The imposing high walls of Ironhold in the distance. 

He had never been there before.  As a common foot soldier, he had been relegated to forts and outposts.  His father’s, Thur, estate had been the closest thing he had to visiting a noble household.  Now he was to live at the royal castle?  The medic shook his head.  This was too much.  How, by all the gods, was he even supposed to even know what to do?  Most officers received some sort of fork and knife training that taught them how to behave and act amounts polite company. 

The young Battlehamer (should he start calling himself Mountainspine?) had only even achieved his rank as corporal because he was skilled in the healing arts.  If he had only revealed the he was also a prodigy at martial arts, then his rank and authority might have been higher.  As it was, he already suffered the benefits and drawback of being Thur Battlehammer’s son.  He just wanted to be treated like any normal dwarf. 

[color=0054a6]“Well I can kiss that goodbye now.”[/color] He muttered sarcastically to himself.  [color=0054a6]“Shit, now I am some sort of prince?”[/color]  He groaned, his mind heavier that the normal 70lbs gear pack he carried.  When he had been told the story and summoned to the capital, the young dwarf had been at a loss on what to take.  So he decided to stick to his training and just packed as if he was going on mission.  

The road began to fill with other travelers the closer he got to the city.  Mainly dwarven kind but there were other mixed in there.  It was no secret the dwarven city was a perfect hub for merchants seeking to trade in expensive metals, weapons, armor or any other type of metallurgy.  Some took a look or two in his direction but he was mainly left alone apart from some travel greetings. 

This is how Arn had wanted it.  The emissary had offered to escort him to Ironhold but the young corporal had needed time to think so he opted to walk instead and forego any sort of spotlight that an armed escort might provide.  He also did this out of safety.  
The crown prince had recently been killed.  If a half blood like himself had been summoned then that meant that there was no one else, any one else, that could take the throne.  It was well known that the late Queen had only borne him the one son.  There were sure to be assassin on the look to further weaken the kingdom or even an inside rival wanting to establish a coup.  Either way, the less attention he drew to himself the better for all involved, even his mother and adopted father. 

But his kind was loud, boisterous and given to unnecessary violence.  He was not daft.  He knew that in this world it was kill or be killed.  However, he knew that unlike animals, sentient being are able to talk their differences out…for the most part.  If fighting was inevitable, it would be the last option he ever reached for.  He groaned again louder than he intended, making a few passers by look in his direction. 

He realized that he was walking into a hornet’s nest.  The dwarves were sure to demand revenge and war following the death of the crown prince.  Arn could not bring himself to refer to him as his brother.  Was the plan merely to bring him in and make him the flag to rally around as he led them to war?  If he refused or offered an alternative would they listen?  What acceptable alternative could he offer?
The young medic shook his head.  It was more tired that his body after all that thinking and rabbit hole chasing.  He was used to the strain of marching 60 or more miles in full gear.  He was used to the aching of your feet and walking them raw.  The young soldier could swear he was taller when he joined the military, but all that walking with gear on felt like it had compacted his spine.  

He would gladly march with double gear, bootless in armor made of sand paper rather than assume a title he had never wanted and was not trained for.  But, what if he was able to prevent war?  Would it not be worth it to suffer if thousands could be saved?  He let out a long destitute sigh.  His eyes looked up to see the towering gates of the imposing wall that defended the dwarven capital.  He took his first steps towards an unknown future. 

[b][i]Time skip to that evening. [/i][/b]

The young medic sat on the wooden chair that seemed to have been repaired many times.  It leaned to the side obviously pointing to the fact that it had been repaired in expectation that it would break again.  Understandable as dwarven taverns were often the locations of brawls.  As one would expect after finding out that you are the ill conceived son of the King who needs you to step up because the brother you never knew just got killed and now you are the next in line to lead the nation, the young dwarf needed a drink.  
He set his gear to the side of his table.  The king, a poster child for what a dwarf should be, Rough, stern, full of battle scars and grumpy, had ordered him to go to Riverport.  He was to meet with one named Annya. Not just any Annya but THE Annya from the Sun Elf kingdom.  From the time he stepped out of the castle’s doors he was on a test.  He was to prove himself in being worthy to be the next leader of the kingdom.  

Arn had not even wanted to be the heir to begin with and now he had to leave everything he had always know to earn the right to do the thing he did not want to do.  He groaned again.  Luckily his mean had just arrived.  He was not a heavy drinker but he felt that one or two pints were applicable.  He downed the first in one gulp.  The honey taste lingering in his tonge as much as the foam that had fallen from the tankard lingered in his beard. 

He wiped his beard quickly and burped into the crook of his elbow unlike any of his kin.  He reached for the second tankard and without knowing, he would say out loud for anyone to hear. 

[color=0054a6]“What the hell am I even going to say to Annya Biren when I meet her.  Am I even going to be able to meet her?”[/color]  he shook his head in hopelessness.  He grabbed the tankard and took a swig of it.  [color=0054a6]“This sucks…” [/color] The young dwarf’s concerns were masked by the loud and rowdy nature of the tavern.