All Slugs are Worthless

"Hey, Slug! Guess what, your name is now Green Mold!" Arknosos looked at me. "Your name," she told me, "is now Slug."

"I'm sorry, training sergeant, but my name is still Rhishisikk."

She immediately moved to strike me with her baton. I wasn't there.

Say what you will about chain over leather, it doesn't impair your movements unless it's worn wrong. For that matter, neither does the full plate worn by the dwarven Warrior caste. True, it's heavy. A normal human would find it ankle-crushing and limiting of their movements.

Sergeant Arknosos was NOT a mere three Might, and was probably above five. She caught me on the backswing, dealing only eight damage, which my total armor could absorb. Still, it hurt like one of Kismet's bare handed attacks.

"Your name is whatever I say it is, Slug." she told me. "You think your victory in the arena makes you worthy to be here?"