Time: 10 a.m.

Location: River Port Beach-Slime Day-Bath House

Interactions: [@kazemitsu] Kharne, 

Mentions: [@potter] Saoirse Rue, [@Helo] Bowyn, [@princess] AnnyaEris & Raven [@Tae] [@FunnyGuy] Kaleb

Equipment: Wooden Mallet

Amas: 899

As he stood in line, the dwarf solider replayed in his mind what he had done wrong.  How had it turned out that he had so grievously alienated a new member of the company so rapidly and with such efficiency?  Kaleb did not seem like a naturally aggressive person which made the sudden wall that risen between Arn and him more formidable than the Tri Murum of his own Ironhold.  That was saying something as the walled fortress city was one of the wonders of Avalia.  

Arn’s stocky legs moved heavily as his reddish brown haired head hung low.  As a dwarf, his line of sight was already below many people.  His current downcast mood made him seem even smaller.  More like a shaggy stone than an actual humanoid.  Kaleb’s mistrusting glare still burned into his mind.  There was accusation in the elf’s eyes.  A chill went down the spine of the medic.  Had he been a regular dwarf, he would have cussed the elf, hefted his hammer and proceeded to exterminate more slimes as carefree as the hulking lizard man, Kharne. 
As it was, the young soldier was also worried he had given the dragon born a bad impression of himself too.  However it was meant, the dwarf could not help but feel that the hulking slime slayer had basically scolded both he and Kaleb like one would do quarreling children.  A touch of shame could be felt on his cheeks as his turn to turn in the cores for payment came close.  Kaleb had capitalized on having the last word as Arn moved away shouting after the dwarf that only a pint of drink could help forgive. 

This was actually a good sign.  Dwarves did not drink with other people unless they trusted them.  By drink, one meant flagon upon flagon of ale or spirits until the room began to spin.  If this is what the elf mean then perhaps there was a chance yet.  This lifted the medic’s spirits some to the point that when it was his turn to exchange the cores, he was polite and speaking again to the pretty racoon demi human that attended the stall. 

Somehow he began to drift towards Kharne, Kaleb and the demi human Ishmael.  It was impossible to lose sight of the giant lizard man so it was easy to always know where the group was.  The dwarf himself lagged a few steps behind. [color=0054a6] “I am the damn baggage train….” [/color]He muttered to himself.  The trio in front of him were the real force where he was the almost forgotten beasts of burden that followed any army 
They all made their way to one of the sponsoring places to get cleaned up.  There was no doubt that the locales would offar services that would remove as much coins that had been earned as possible.  Massages, hot stones, rejuvenating mud, etc.  No doubt with hiked up prices.  Arn was not interested in any of these added amenities.  After all, a hot bath was already far and beyond what one received in the frontier. 

As a matter of fact, there was a saying that the only difference between a deployed legionnaire and yak is that the yak smells better.  Often times, only a freezing plunge in a glacial lake or river run off could be achieved.  Remembering this, Arn felt ashamed that he could enjoy such lavish pampering while his brothers and sisters endured the cold norther climate. 

The soldier heard Kaleb boast his kill count.  Arn  himself had only achieved 59 cores.  Mainly because after his interaction with the elf, his hammer arm had felt sluggish and the fire in his heart had been no more than a kindling.  Kharne did not seem to have had any problem becoming the bane of the slimes.  

Any who had witnessed the slime ooze falling off him when he first made his way to the chasing tents had no doubts that he was perhaps the highest earner.  The dragon born had been so avid at dispatching slimes that he basically became the un official ambassador for the Slime Day festivities.  No doubt the organizers would invite him for the following year.  If the war had not destroyed River Port…the dwarf thought darkly.  

The solider looked around at the smiling faces of all the participants.  How many of these faces would be solemn in death he wondered.  His eyes then scanned that of the eclectic group that followed Princess Annya and he wondered the same.  He gave a sigh.  War and death were never too far apart.  His cheeks reddened as he felt horrible that he had such dreary thoughts on such a lovely day.  Especially as the group made their way to the lounging half of the group which had stayed on the beach.

His eyes could not help but catch just how lovely all the ladies were.  He quickly averted his eyes and seemed to cross his gaze with Bowyn.  The lad had mentioned wanting to fight in the war against the dark elves.  Arn gave him a sad look as he wished that the white haired fairy would not be one of the ones that paid the price of peace.  The soldier could not help but shift his gaze to Rue which seemed to be having fun.  Her smile made his resolve to protect them all in any way he could cement. 

The clang of armor as it thumped to the ground made the dwarf start, being wrenched from his dark thoughts.  Kharne, the victorious smile killer, set his armor down and then made his way to the baths.  Arn, the donkey’s tail, mumbled an apology and request to be excused to the lounging ladies and followed the trio.  

The locales seemed to have been more than prepared to receive such a big crow,  Tents had been erected that housed huge tubs that would accommodate ten or so people.  In the ante room of the tents, one could remove their clothing and place it in bags for washing.  Some undergarments were provided which fit the dwarf a big too tight but too long too falling past his knees.  

Stocky as he was, his arms and chest were muscled.  Calluses from years of wearing armor adorned his neck, shoulders, back and sternum.  A nice patch of curly hair hung like a pelt from his chest.  Scars crisscrossed  his body.  Not like tortured person but as befit a person who has seen combat for decades.  

Arn settled himself into the tub opposite of Kharne holding his reddish beard with delicate hands making sure that it did not touch the water.  Not that the hot water or the dissolving slime remains would truly hurt it but the dwarf could not go against millennia of pride in the facial hair. 

Not knowing if the question regarding the enjoyment of the Slime Day was directed at anybody in particular and needing to give off a better impression than he obviously had, the medic volunteered an answer. [color=0054a6] “Yes, I was not aware that such an event existed.  Though truth be told, my old drill sergeant would scoff at the idea that untrained people would swing mallets indiscriminately.  He would probably say, ‘all your gonna do swinging your weapon around is cool off on a hot day.  I prefer a cold drink me self’.” [/color] A slight smile appeared on Arn’s face as he remembered fondly the bastard of a drill sergeant.  The man had survived plenty of battles and seen many of his friends die.  This made him an excellent master at arms but a poor empath. 

Looking around to those in his company he said,  [color=0054a6]“I know we did no have much time to talk during the breakfast introductions.  I am Arn Thurson.  A medic in the Stone Shield legion of my Ironhold homeland.  I hope I may be of service to Princess Anny and you all.” [/color] His voice was firm enough but his heart was not.  He had never truly introduced himself other than when reporting in.  Usually this was achieved by stating name, rank, and purpose.  Though that may not be as well received outside of Legion jurisdiction.