Meetup: Angoron Party!

By high society standards the temple is not really decorated, but every inch has been scrubbed clean, sands raked, and every single banner and trophy of victory has been brought out and proudly displayed. The sands are filled with people of all types, most the more 'barbaric' looking followers of the Iron Mountain but there are a lot of other clergy, or just plain interested onlookers. And there is much to watch within. There are foot races, contests of strength, both lifting and wrestling, as well as contests of arms. Some of which are using real weapons under the watchful eyes of healers.

Several of the more enterprising members of the crowd have started taking bets on any and all of these competitions to add to the din. The noise of the crowd, cheers, war-cries and the every present drumming is almost overwhelming added to the scent of roasting meats.

Around the sands several spits are attended by both professionals and temple novices, meat ranging from poultry to joints to an entire oxen are roasting over coals. Barrels of mead and ale of all types are lined up alone with mugs and horns. Simple food but a lot of it, and notable lacking in both wine and greens.

Last but not least above a row of drums and below a vast gong is the high table, where the hard-faced high clergy of Angoron, as well as the invited from other temples sit, eat, watch and trade boasts and stories. When not down on the sands themselves of course.

"ATTENTION, CITIZENS!" A familiar booming voice rings out from a pudgy, winged halfling. "IT IS I! STEEL VON IRONBLOOD, BANE OF THE NIGHT!" Jibbom swoops in and lands upon the nearest open table, posing dramatically with flabby biceps flexed and wings outstretched. "And I am here... to party!"

By high society standards the temple is not really decorated, but every inch has been scrubbed clean, sands raked, and every single banner and trophy of victory has been brought out and proudly displayed. The sands are filled with people of all types, most the more 'barbaric' looking followers of the Iron Mountain but there are a lot of other clergy, or just plain interested onlookers. And there is much to watch within. There are foot races, contests of strength, both lifting and wrestling, as well as contests of arms. Some of which are using real weapons under the watchful eyes of healers.

Several of the more enterprising members of the crowd have started taking bets on any and all of these competitions to add to the din. The noise of the crowd, cheers, war-cries and the every present drumming is almost overwhelming added to the scent of roasting meats.

Around the sands several spits are attended by both professionals and temple novices, meat ranging from poultry to joints to an entire oxen are roasting over coals. Barrels of mead and ale of all types are lined up alone with mugs and horns. Simple food but a lot of it, and notable lacking in both wine and greens.

Last but not least above a row of drums and below a vast gong is the high table, where the hard-faced high clergy of Angoron, as well as the invited from other temples sit, eat, watch and trade boasts and stories. When not down on the sands themselves of course.

Kroth is here to test his skills, and eat, and drink. Though he often seems to feel that Angoron is more amused by him than impressed, some rather epic failures at times giving him something of a complex. For now he simply partakes of the food and drink, and watches the events.

Nicolai strolls into the temple, figuring that as a follower of Tarien he should get to know the followers of Agnoron just as well as their respective patrons know each other. Which is a matter of much debate and mystery. First he finds a drink, then a drumstick to munch on. "Hmm...not all too different from a gathering at our temple." He gestures with the drumstick at Jibbom.

"How WONDERFUL!" the elderly little gnome stands near some of the drums. His hands are clasped together, as best as they may--it's quite a geographic trip from one side of his paunch to the other, and the hands strain to touch, but the enthusiasm of the gesture makes it possible--not unlike two ham-fisted barges colliding.

"Oh, how magnificent! Why, you've outdone yourself, m'dears," to the Warriors present. The round, elderly little fellow practically beams with happiness. "Oh, you've practically outdone your--" and one of the contestants strides by. The elderly Abrahil clears his throat, "--yourselves! Oh, oh dear."

Behind Abrahil are a few assistants--gnomes all, bearing trays of food and drink, and what looks to be a giant, gummy replica--yes. It's a divine, yet sacred Candy Mountain of Angoron.

Just arriving is another dwarf, sporting rough and well-worn leathers and a wildly tied shock of copper hair. She's not wearing precisely the same kinds of clothes the priests here are, but the hammer-and-mountain rests proudly around her neck. She walks in and looks around, sighing just a bit. Here, unlike anywhere else in this human city....is -home-.

She looks around and eventually finds Yngvild. Walking up to her, without greeting or politeness blurts out, "Well! Ye're looking a mite less peaky than last time!" Hrist's voice should be familiar to her by now.

Although as impressive as ever, Jiboom's entrance doesn't quite stand out as much as it may in less chaotic circumstances. Of course it does get a round of applause and catcalls from those close. Yngvild rolls her eyes slightly as she pulls her favourite drinking horn out and hunts for the barrel of mead she semi-hid away for herself "He knows how to put on a show" she says to Hrist with a nod towards her fellow and a smile "A bit calmer at least. A bit anyway" she says as a giantborn goes flying through the crowds, barely missing a table stacked with cheeses and bread.

Munch has arrived.

Munch arrives armored. Which since it's his regular metal skin, is likely for the best. Few people have seen the golem without his armor, and fewer still want to repeat the experience. Munch are carries a massive GraetAxe upon his back, but as the dragon-head blade moves and talks, it's really more a secondary guest than a weapon. As for the large boar carried over the golem's shoulder... well, he was told to bring hor dourves.

Naturally, Boshter is here! And he seems quite THRILLED. It's a party! Hooray! He's hanging back at the moment, for the most part, and appears to be enjoying just seeing the Angorites at 'work'. If this truly can be called work, anyways.

A somewhat nervous looking novice human sidles up to the war golem "We can take that to the kitchens, er, sir?" he ventures with a glance over the armoured things body and an educated guess.

Kroth finds a seat somewhere, a drink in one hand, some food in the other. The oruch seems content for now to just observe the others here, while eating of course. For the most part though he likely watches Jibbom, the oruch having not seen him before.

"Charlie! Oh, do be careful with that--" Abrahil bobbles forward as a pair of the gnomes attempt to move the Mountain. The gnome in question wears a dour expression, and scowls at the elderly man before straightening the tray. "The Mountain is sacred, m'dears. Oh, just trust that it is. Why, you should hear the tales they tell sometimes..." And off Abrahil goes, spinning a yarn, a tale of the Mountain in one form or the other, as they set up the Candied Mountain, with the aid of grumpy Charlie. ...and a few other foods, as well.

Hrist glances sidelong at Yngvild at her comment, but just chuckles out loud at her description of the man. It'd be a hearty enough laugh anywhere else, but in this din it's barely audible. Instead of really replying, though, Hrist casually salutes--clearly she's never been in any military--and makes her way over to the hardest dwarven ale they have. She hasn't gotten a tankard yet, which is probably technically a sin. At least it's not a sin to duck. So as she collects a tankard of something -called- ale but is rather blacker than usual, she ducks down slightly and the taller folk about the table practically hit the deck, all to avoid a flying chair. Mayhap the festivities will start early tonight.

Yngvild hoists her drinking horn and guzzles the mead in one well practised motion. She does a little spitake at the Candy Mountain that wanders past and her booming laugh echoes again "I am not sure if that is delicious, blasphemy or delicious blasphemy" she says with a shake of her head. Dipping her horn again she offers a grin down to Hrist "Here is hoping we don't wind up quarantined again. Although not sure I trust some of that cheese. I swear I saw one moving earlier..." she mutters, deadpan "And I swear it used to be smaller, and there was a smoked cheddar next to it..." she trails off mock ominously.

Ionus has arrived.

A broad shouldered young man that stands just a half-hand shy of six feet. Closely cropped, ash-blond hair lays lightly over his head, leaving both ears exposed along with a jagged burn mark, scarring completely around from the left cheek down the entire length of the neck, which in turn is matched by a similiar mark upon the back of the right hand which trails around the wrist, disappearing beneath the sleeve of the white robe, brazenly displaying the Star of Daeus over the chest.

Munch understands the kid likely lost a coin toss to be the one to ask him, and thus tries to keep from making too many threatening moves. "Sure. It's drained and dis-embowled, took the liver, but the rest of major organs are still in there for roasting." Leaving the wild pig to others, the metal barbarian looks around for the center of any real party... the booze.

It is certainly not short of booze. Well unless you are one of those elvish type wine-drinkers. There are tables of barrels and bottles of mead and ale of all types. From the mild to those that almost need to be chained down. Or that would give a dwarven liver a shock.

For his part the novice scurries back to the relative safety of the kitchen, where in due course the meat will emerge to one of the spits.

You paged Ionus with 'Description in the object in case you were wondering :) Wild party basicallly'

"Oh, I'm hoping for delicious...you know, when I heard of the party, I couldn't resist! Why--well, the Mountain features in all sorts of tales of Angoron, you know. There's the time he wrestled Kor at the bottom of it. ...then the time he and Kor got into a fight nearby and smashed the--was it drinking crates or a fishing boats? I never can recall...oh, no. Well, there was always drinking after, so...ahem! Well!" The gnome looks as though he'd clasp his hands together again, but the girth of his paunch is...well, he looks doubtful for a moment, before beaming up at the Warrior again. Just beaming. "It's made of jelly, of course. Like a sort of sugared jelly-bean, you know...only more...wobbly? And with beer as a base. Sort of...add a bit of fizz and cheer, you know?"

Hrist dips out of the inevitable crowd around the ale table and makes her way back to her fellow redheaded Angorite, just in time to hear the comments on the candy mountain and cheese. She flings her head back, hair flying, and laughs uproariously. Without bothering to ask for a toast, she reaches out with her tankard and gives Yng's mead horn a good clink. "Actually, girlie, I'm sure it's -dreadful- blasphemy. I'd say that perhaps the Iron Mountain Himself should come down and give it a good whack, but I'd hate to be -wearing- it home tonight. Worse, though, I think you're right about the cheese." She grins and points. Mind you, it's just a -person- moving the cheese in an effort to cut it, but it is, in fact, moving! "HAH! See? You're right. But if we fear anything at all, I still say that...that confectioner's holy symbol over there is gonna eat -all- the cheese and maybe that pig that just came in, too. Mark my words, Warrior, we'll be defending the honor of the Mountain from that thing before the night's though!"

Kroth finds someone to do some arm wrestling with, and he seems to do fairly well until a giantborn takes him up and the Oruch loses quickly...damn giantborns. The oruch quickly moves to find more food and drink instead of risking another chance to loose at something else.

"I am not sure I recall any stories of himself that don't end up with brawling or drinking. Although there are a few that had some shagging as well" Yngvild muses as she absently rubs her chin, then settles the matter by sculling her horn of mead again. With that done she spies Kroth moving through and offers him a cheerfull wave and beckon him over "Hrist have you met Kroth. I think he is a monk?" she half asks then looks to the elderly gnome and offers her hand over "Yngvild Bjornsdottir, known as Bloodmane" she adds with a touch to her mass of blood-red curls.

Munch selects his drink with care. Don't want to take something others would enjoy more, that isn't polite, don't want to take soemthing so weak it maight as well be water, but nothign with red grapes in it... long story. Ah, the golem grabs a large jug and makes a general toasting motion before taking a swig. To be honest, that might be some paint thinner left out by accident, but with this crowd it's hard to tell. Munch seems pleased enough with it.

"Oh, yes. He does make for an interesting tale all on his own. ...such a delight, you know. And such a wonderful party! Now, you don't worry about a thing...I'll take care of the cheese, m'dears. And--" the elderly little fellow glances over at the competitions, and his ears do turn a touch pink before hurrying along towards the tables of food.

...and then the round little gentleman rubs his hands together.

If perhaps, Abrahil's movement places him on the opposite side of the room as Munch, and the golem's Teeth of Chomps, this is, perhaps, Not an Accident.

Rayne has arrived.

Jibbom has wasted no time in getting himself a drink. Once he's been drinking, the halfling has resorted to his most favorite of activities: talking about himself. At great length. To anyone who will listen. Or anyone he can convince himself might be listening. "... And that's how I saved the people of Alexandria from giant magical ants." Poor partygoers.

Rayne enters into the party she gives her tambourine a little jingle as she attaches it to her belt. The bard meanders in a bit further looking for the food and drink.

Kroth is averted from his quest for more food and drink, but doesn't mind. He is pulled over for introductions and nods, "Greetings." He says to Hrist, "I think monk might be a bit too strong a title for me, I aspire, but I lack some of thier...focus."

Hrist can't help but continue laughing as Yngvild talks about every Angoron story she knows. Hrist tosses her hair to one side and takes a deep swig of her ale, then points out over the crowd with one weapon-callused finger. "Oi. Honestly, there's not a hell of a lot of stories of the Adamant Tower in my homeland that don't start with the drinking, then get to the fighting, and finish up with the shagging." She smirks knowingly. "Mind ye, whether that last part is included depends -entirely- on how prudish the clanhome. But I eventually figured out it's always implied, even if it's never actually stated. I mean...any story with Tarien in it, you sort of assume." Hrist actually takes a moment to breathe--amazing, that--as Yngvild introduces her to Kroth. She looks at him and gives him a hearty grin and, after a moment, sticks out a hand. "That's how ye do it here, right? Shake of the hand? Nice ta meet ye, Kroth."

Munch peers around a few moments before making his way over by Jibbom. For some company, you need a thick skin. For others, metal skin will do. "I don't recall the ants, I must have been out of town. I think the most memorible was when your ex-girlfriend attacked... Helga, was it? The bulette? I congratulate your much improved tastes in your nuptuals."

Abrahil looks around for a moment, and then rolls up his sleeves... "Oh, how wonderful! Now...oh, how did that story go?" he asks. And he does his best to concentrate, but Jibbom's telling Tales of Heroism, and he turns around to give the best applause he can. "Oh, my. Bravo, bravo!" He...perhaps manages the applause. There is the paunch in the way, after all, though the attempt could be said to make it wibble and wobble, akin to a large drum. So there is that, at least.

Jibbom beams at Munch. "Ah, yes, Helga. One of the many, many maidens to have fallen prey to my legendary charms. Such a shame. But yes! Steel Von Ironblood is Alexandria's most eligible bachelor no more. I have found the love of my life, the elegant and graceful baness of life! Truly a blessing from the Coyote."

"I didn't hear the more interesting stories until I left my training. But as my trainer back home happened to be my father..." Yngvild replies to the others with a shudder at the thought of -those- stories coming from her dad "...but my Uncle happily filled me in, and stories of my parents courtship" she adds with an unfeigned look of horror. With that she quickly fills her horn and one for Kroth with whatever is nearest.

Rayne smiles a bit to Jibbom's story and she chuckles "you shure your not part Bard?" she asks with a small smile to her lips.

Kroth first accepts the handshake from Hrist, then the horn of drink from Yngvild. He takes a drink, looking around the temple for a moment before focusing back on Yngvild and Hrist. "This is actually the first time I've come to the temple since I came to Alexandria, I'm not the most devout of followers, one of the reasons the monks didn't seem to mind when I left thier company."

Morasha has arrived.

Munch nods to the Bane of Night, and shrugs. "I'll take your word on it, of the three 'F', I am made for Fighting and Feeding. I'll leave to others the Fondly Gazing Into Each Others Eyes."

Abrahil clears his throat once or twice, and then goes back to work. THe round little gnome takes a few steps back, and then focuses on the various contests and matches. He frames one of them with his fingers, and then another...much as an artist would a painting or canvas.

Hrist can simply nod as she knocks back the last of her first ale. "Oh, aye, there -is- a limit there. I'm as impossible to embarrass as anyone from Anvil Peak, I assure ye, but...no. Can't see my da doing -anything- like that." She looks at Kroth and grins. "As for yerself, well, this is actually my first time to the temple too. But I just haven't been in town for more than a couple weeks." She rolls her eyes skyward. "Would ye believe I couldn't -find- it? I'd say don't tell anyone, but I really don't care. I -do- find the whole monk thing interesting, and the right kind of monk fits in with the Iron Mountain -very- well, but it was never my thing. Truth is, I'm not -weak- but my calling has less to do with lifting weights than many of His children."

Jibbom beams at Rayne. "Quite certain. My lineage is traces back to lucht, gnomes, and heavenly beings of mysterious origins, but no bards. It must be why I am so famously modest and reserved." His big grin then turns to Munch. "You are very good at both of those things, my ravenous associate!"

As the drink flows the contests get more and more rowdy. There is the first bloodshed on one of the live weapons contests, but with the range of healers around it is swiftly taken care of. As is a more general brawl that almost breaks out when a flying Oruch spills the drink of a giantborn. After a few more serious punches it is broken up quickly, before the enterprising bookies(AKA Clerics of Tarien in general) can start taking bets.

It might not be the sort of place where one would expect to see the sort of Dawn Elf who spends a lot of her time in the library, and yet here Morasha is -- albeit with more of a curious observer's air to her than a participant's. Still, she looks to be in fairly good shape, all things considered, and one never knows, after all.

"I think you will find the Iron Mountain will be here for you as long as you strive to be strong and brave" Yngvild advises Kroth as her face grows more serious and she claps him firmly on the shoulder "Although I admit to lacking the discipline needed to be a monk" she adds as her usual wild humour returns.

"Bippity bobbity boo, have I got a view for you! Add some magic and what have you got--" A sudden spark and then a colorful whorl swirl from the round little gnome's fingers--and arc upwards, becoming larger and larger...until the contests and events are shown in 'expanded view ' overhead. The punches and grunts, the dramatic throws... expanded for the eye to see.

Abrahil looks upwards at the creation, his eyes shimmering. ...and claps his hands in delight. "Oh, how wonderful! And oh!" ...the view swings to show one of the local favorites at a dramatic moment. "PUNCH HIM GOOD!" Ahem. "Oh. Oh my...I mean, do be more careful!"

Kroth chuckles, "Well....call it an eagerness to feel the thing your hitting, and...well, the monks knew the best way to do that." He takes another drink from the horn. Turning to watch the fighting, "I enjoy fighting, I enjoy running, climbing, anything physical. Angoron and the order of righteous battle seemed the most logical choice for me." He grins as the fight continues, "Its fun, but yea, most of the serious monk tricks take quite a bit of effort."

Rayne looks then over to Abrahil and she claps a bit "yeah..!" she tips a bottle of wine to her lips. "Punch-him!" she cheers as well until she realizes that she shouldnt had been joining Abrahil on his chides, and she blushes lightly.

Reaver the GreatAxe, or 'AwesomeAxe' from one source, pipes up from Munch's back. "Oh, hey, that contest is giving out ribbons! I want one! Let's go win one!" Indeed, a simple weightlifting contest has ribbons for the winners.

"You mean you want me to go win one and tie it to you?"

"Whatever. Let's go!"

The metal man's participation is brief. Golems tend to thow off curves in the best of times, and magical enchantments are distinctly frowned upon. Which becomes troublesome if they're built in. But a bit of talking, and the TerrorMaw gets to show off a bit of his inhuman strength, quite able to rival many of the giantborn, and walks away with a Reaver sporting a bright length of ribbon. Even if it does read 'Good Participation.'

Yngvild looks between Rayne and Abrahil and booms a laugh "If there was ever a time or place to cheer brawlers on..." she points out, then moves to snag a hunk of meat from one of the spits and starts to eat hungrily as she considers "I think a seperate league for some of us next time" she muses between bites.

Hrist grunts in agreement with Yngvild as she looks out over the expanding crowd, watching one of the brawls underway. "Aye, ye got -that- right. I can't hardly put on the same color socks in the morning, let alone sit and stare at my belly button for hours on end. I mean, yeah, I respect what the do but I don't pretend ta know how they manage it. It'd drive me insane in -days-.

Hrist pauses as the gigantic image of the fighting springs into being overhead. She manages to look utterly aggrived for a moment, but then she relaxes and chuckles heartily again. "Warrior, now -that-, using arcane mumbo jumbo, to watch sacred contests of strength, -that- might be blasphemy." She laughs out loud. "Or not. If no one challenges him because they want to see what he offers, that is still strength!"

At the high table sit the various dignitaries of the local temple and the city. In the centre sits the High Warrior of Angoron in Alexandria. At first glance the high warrior is not nearly as impressive as the Aesir members, let alone the Giantborn. A local-born Arcanian he is almost the prototypical local human a closer look shows an inbuilt hardness and depth of strength to his lean but strong body, with a face that looks to be carved from granite and eyes from agate. He nods to one of the honour guards who uses a full sized Earthbreaker to slam into the gong. The sound echoes around the noisy hall, most of the Angorites falling silent by habit. The High Warrior stands there with his hands on his hips waiting for silence as the other guard brings him a huge and intricately decorated drinking horn "ANGORON!" the man proclaims as he lifts it high in a toast and then downs the lot in one long swallow. Setting it aside he holds a weathered and calloused hand up in benediction "Bless this gathering of your people and their allies. And may all those who seek to stand strong and proud know they have support in your temple" he adds with a smile that does little to soften the hard lines of his face "Welcome" he adds simply as he considers the people around "I would like to thank everyone for coming, and Warrior Bjornsdottir for pestering us long enough to organise it. We will send you the bill later" he deadpans, hopefully showing a sense of humour as Yngvild turns a rather bright pink at being singled out and scuff her booted feet whilst looking down at them. He pauses with a faint twinkle in his eye before continuing "I am Sebastian, known as Ironfirst, with the honour of being his High Warrior. I would ask the others of our temple to come forward and introduce themselves so we can be known to each other and the city" and with that several of the high up's start to do just that, a range of races and various sobriquets of varying levels of bombasticity, although no-one even approaching Jiboom.

Munch raises a fist in greeting to the various introductions, but keeps quiet. As much as he may respect Angoron, he's not a true follower.

Morasha may not be a common sight at or around Angoron's temple (to say the least), but she's got good enough manners to stop and pay attention to an authority figure while he's speaking, and once members of the temple begin introducing themselves she pays /especially/ close attention. She's not taking notes, but there's certainly a mental equivalent there. She even remembers to smile if they look in her direction. Well, she remembers eventually.

Bahken has arrived.

Stjepan has arrived.

Kroth watches the scene and toasts when its given, he then looks back to Hrist and Yng while folks are doing introductions. "It is not as hard as you think, it is not so much staring at your navel, or meditation every day all day, as more understanding your own self, your body and its limits, then learning to go beyond. I meditate very little if I can avoid it, sometimes I fall asleep."

The round little wizard wriggles his fingers and the scene overhead changes again--the invisible wizard's eye swooping to focus on the features of the High Warrior, and the sacred lifting of the horn! A tweak, and the voice booms--carried not just by throat, but by magic--until it soars the very skies. By the wriggle and wobble of fingers, Abrahil's having a grand time. ...and if there are sparkles. Well, there are sparkles.

Rayne looks onto the speaker and her eyes glitter slightly, she leans in to hear his words and then lightly rocks back onto her heels. Her tambourine jingles as she rocks and she sighs with a whisper.. "wow, now.. /that/ is a ...." she murmers the last wistfully under her breath and the wild half-elf simply tugs a bit more wine from her bottle

Bahken enters quietly, placing a few coins where donations are received to show that he doesn't come empty handed, he pauses to watch some of the contests as he sidles his way inevitably towards the food.

Hrist is a total newcomer to this temple, so despite being sworn to Angoron she's not mentioned in the introductions in any capacity. She's got a big grin and another clink of her tankard to Yngvild's horn when the latter is called out, though, chuckling a bit at the Bloodmane's discomfiture and letting out a brief bark of a laugh at the humorous bill comment. She looks ready to respond to Kroth, but the bigwigs are speechifying, so she holds her peace for now.

You paged Stjepan with 'Desc on the object, and the totally made up High Warrior just did a speech. @Emit At the high table sit the various dignitaries of the local temple and the city. In the centre sits the High Warrior of Angoron in Alexandria. At first glance the high warrior is not nearly as impressive as the Aesir members, let alone the Giantborn. A local-born Arcanian he is almost the prototypical local human a closer look shows an inbuilt hardness and depth of strength to his lean but strong body, with a face that looks to be carved from granite and eyes from agate. He nods to one of the honour guards who uses a full sized Earthbreaker to slam into the gong. The sound echoes around the noisy hall, most of the Angorites falling silent by habit. The High Warrior stands there with his hands on his hips waiting for silence as the other guard brings him a huge and intricately decorated drinking horn "ANGORON!" the man proclaims as he lifts it high in a toast and then downs the lot in one long swallow. Setting it aside he holds a weathered and calloused hand up in benediction.

"Bless this gathering of your people and their allies. And may all those who seek to stand strong and proud know they have support in your temple" he adds with a smile that does little to soften the hard lines of his face "Welcome" he adds simply as he considers the people around "I would like to thank everyone for coming, and Warrior Bjornsdottir for pestering us long enough to organise it. We will send you the bill later" he deadpans, hopefully showing a sense of humour as Yngvild turns a rather bright pink at being singled out and scuff her booted feet whilst looking down at them. He pauses with a faint twinkle in his eye before continuing "I am Sebastian, known as Ironfirst, with the honour of being his High Warrior. I would ask the others of our temple to come forward and introduce themselves so we can be known to each other and the city" and with that several of the high up's start to do just that, a range of races and various sobriquets of varying levels of bombasticity, although no-one even approaching Jiboom.'

Although the hierarchy of the temple is generously described as fairly loose, Yngvild t4ends to be a little modest at times so she waits some time before stepping up "Yngvild Bjornsdottir" she announces to her fellows and the crowd "Known as Bloodmane..." she adds with a touch to her wild mass of curls "Warrior of Angoron" she adds with a raise of her horn in toast.

Kroth goes quiet now, not about to introduce himself infront of a full temple, and likely be questioned why he hasnt donated or showed up for services, nope, not going to do it.

Nicolai stands up suddenly. "Well met!" he booms, raising his own mug in a toast. "My name is Nicolai!" he booms. "A priest yes, although I follow Tarien the Trickster! But I hear nothing but good things about Agnorite parties." He starts to raise his mug to his lips but then pauses. "And the Agnorites too. Bwahaha!" Then he tilts his mug back and doesn't stop until it's drained

Rayne laughs a little "Rayne, of Ceinara's Faith.. I too come to support your party."

"And I.... AM STEEL VON IRONBLOOD, BANE OF THE NIGHT!" Jibbom introduces himself. Again. "Alexandrian Hero! Slayer of dragons! Demolisher of demons! Vanquisher of giants! Former King of the Realm of Ironbloodia! Savior of the Quarry Nymphs! Defender of..." It just goes on like this.

The High warrior clears his throat and casts a -look- at those of his temple who are shying back from introducing themselves.

A wriggle of Abrahil's fingers focuses the overhead image on each person in turn. And then...and then there's Jibbom. The image suddenly expands, showing the lucht in full, wing-spreading glory!

...though mercifully it cuts off after a while, and swings to the next person.

"And I am Boshter! Of Blar! And I am not an Angorite, though some people say I should be! They also say I shuld be a Tarienite! But, in truth, I like Vardama! But I am here because I like ANgoron! Because he is very strong and he punches people very hard!" BOshter makes a punching gesture. "SOme people need to be punched very hard! In the FACE."

Munch shrugs, as others are doing it, and waits for a moment of quiet. Which of course takes a while once Jibbom gets started. "I am Munch, the TerrorMaw, child of Reos, student of Kor. This is Reaver, my companion." The golem holds up his axe for all to see... not that it's much needed, with the magical visuals above.

Stjepan strides in at the end of the speechmaking and blessing. He bangs his chest at every cry of Angoron, adding a big voice to each call. When his time comes, he steps forwards, "Stjepan, solver of problems, protector of the short, like Angoron, the Iron Mountain. HAIL THE IRON MOUNTAIN!" Both hands go up in the sky, maybe testifying a little.

The wizard-eye swings that way, just in time to show Boshter punching the air! Then, to each introduction in turn, voices magnified to boom to the heavens, themselves. Sparks of all hues and colors fly from the little wizard's fingers.

Rayne smiles as she takes a bottle with her for travels and she leaves some gold for the monks...they were rather entertaining.

Seeing everyone else get up one by one, Hrist chuckles indulgently and stands. This...well, makes very little difference in her height, but at least her feet aren't dangling off the side of a chair. "I am Hrist," she shouts out to the rafters, "Lately of Anvil Peak but always in service to the Adamant Tower! I am honored to be among the Midwives of Angoron, though everyone else in Anvil Peak is even more honored that I'm out of their earshot." She thrusts her fist skyward (Hey, it almost reaches the height of Yngvild's head!) and shouts, Hail the Iron Mountain! HAIL ANGORON!"

Bahken fills a tankard and tegs a chicken leg, sipping one then eating of the other as he watches a wrestling match with a slow thoughtful chew.

Kroth is doing his best not to be pointed out by the magic eye. He quickly fills his mouth with some food, an excuse not to have to speak, he also has taken a step back from Hrist when she speaks. He mumbles out something like Hail angoron with his mouth full when everyone shouts it.

The oruch before you is well built, but not overly developed in any single way. He appears strong, agile, and sturdy, and its apparent from the calouses on his hands and knuckles that he likely is a warrior of some sort. His garb is a simple robe of dark grey, his clothing under consisting of the type of apparel an acrobat might wear, loose enough to move, but not too lose as to get caught on something.

Yngvild isn't going to let folks get away with being wall flowers so claps a heavy hand on Kroth's shoulder and offers him a feral grin "And this terribly shy oruch..." she booms out, making sure all eyes are upon them "...is Kroth, a stronmg and brave monk although not temple bound at the moment" she adds then hefts her horn up "HAIL THE IRON MOUNTAIN"

"Hail Angoron!" Sure, it sounds silly when someone like Morasha says it, but so what? It's fun! And besides, everyone else is doing it. Fortunately, she's small enough, and quiet enough -- even when hailing -- to pass mostly unnoticed, which honestly is just as well.

"Oh! Oh, I'm Abrahil Fizzletorque Brindlegear...and we provided some of the catering, today! Do check out the Gumdrop! Gargoyle! if you're ever that way--the wonder of magic, trapped in delightful, candy shells! It melts in your mouth, not in your mind! We've brought the Candy Mountain as a thank you for all the wonder and HEROISM! Angoron's faith brings to Alexandria!" The words HEROISM! gets emphasized, just like that! "...Made of beer, magic, and forged through local candymakers' mighty efforts." The little, round gnome looks so delighted at the announcement, and blushing bright red, too. He hurriedly swings the mage-eye over towards someone else.

It seems the elf get some attention as a passing Aesir thrusts a horn of mead and dripping drumstick at Morasha, without much regard for neatness, juice and mead slopping all about as he offers her a slurred "Angoron!" before falling over onto the sands at her feet.

Munch wanders a bit before finding himself with a few of the mroe drunken crowd, ready to start a bit of a contest. Really, it's more a Korrite sort of contest, but there's a few followers of Kor in the crowd. The game is simple. Weight Tossing. You pick up a weight, and you toss it to the next guy, who catches it, and if still able, tosses it back. Continue until the Healers tell you to knock it off.

The healers here, even those who have remained mostly sober, seem rather less inclined to stop dangerous competitions. At least until serious blood is shed. One of the more burly ones even joins in with the Korrites, just to show that the locals can keep up as well.

When Munch the Chomper ends up on that side of the field, Abrahil finds some interest over at the food tables at the opposite. Er. Happenstance! ...of course. ... He's terribly interested in the goings-on, of course. Just. You know. Those teeth!

Kroth turns his head slightly at Yng, giving a small glare, then he finishes swallowing and gives the obligitory "Hail Angoron. Hail the Iron Mountain!" He raises his horn of drink, then finishes it off after the hailing.

Bahken moves over and starts chatting up one of the female wrestlers, getting the 'inside track' as it were to the moves he clearly has little understanding of, nodding quietly as he continues to be a spectator.

"Hail to Angoron, greatest friend and long term associate of the Coyote!" Jibbom is enthusiastic, at least.

Stjepan gives another "ANGORON!" bellow when Kroth is outed, then gets himself a jack of mead and a big hunk of meat, wielded by a legbone. Settling in, he gets closer to the action.

As the last folks step, or are pushed, forward the High Warrior raises his hand again "Eat, drink, compete and be merry" he booms out with a smile that softens the granite like crevasses of his face before with that last command he sits down and starts to drink and boast with his cronies.

"Steel Von Ironblood! In Honor of Anhoron, I challenge you to a match of wrestling of arms!" BOshter point at him.

"CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!" Jibbom bellows, downing his drink and waddling over to Boshter.

Oh. Oh, my. As Hrist gets up to get another tankard for herself she happens to be looking towards the back and spots the elf, offered a flagon of her own (and a bit of splash to go with it, but par for the course, there) by a drunken Angorite. She gets a wicked grin on her face and leans towards Yngvild and Kroth. "Oi, 'scuse me, 'cause I see some entertainment here. I'll probably be back." She scoops up a second flagon of her own, and shoves her way through the crowd towards the back, nearer the entrance of the open-air temple. She makes zero attempt to disguise or slow her approach to the elf, curious more to see if she'd started in on the drink she was just given than anything else. Yea or nay, though, Hrist walks right up to Morasha and offers her cheesiest grin. "Hey there! Ye ain't merry enough. Too sober. How's this feats of the Iron Mountain find ye today?"

Yngvild flashes a grin in response to the glare from the Oruch and pats him on the shoulder "Couldn't let you hide away. You are too good" she adds sincerely as she snags more food and drink and sits by him "When we step foward we provide an example to others that they too can be strong, and that we are here to step forward when they cannot"

Munch quickly moves to find a good place to see Boshter and Jobbom wrestle. He's less confidant the victor than some, but utterly sure it'll be entertaining.

Naturally, Boshter clears a table space and gets up to it with Jibbom. He stretches his arm out across the table and yells, "PLACE YOUR BETS. THE MONK OF BLAR, OR... STEEL VON IRONBLOOD!" He waits for Jibbomt to grasp his hand.

The mage-eye swings that way, magnifying images of Boshter and Jibbom overhead, just as it had the other contestants and speakers.

Jibbom grasps Boshter's hand, giving the hobgoblin his best look of steely resolve. Which is pretty much just a big goofy grin. "You are brave to seek to challenge me once more, my orange associate!"

Bahken steps away from the wrestlers and moves over to the Jibbom and Boshter match. He looks between the two, "As awesome a name as Steel is, I never bet on little ones in challenges of strength.. Even Angoran little ones. 10gp on the Monk!"

Techically speaking Morasha /has/ started on her flagon. For values of start that involve cautious sipping, at least. She's not much of a quaffer. "Oh!" she exclaims, when Hrist approaches. "Quite well, thank you. Is intoxication mandatory?" Glancing over the crowd, she could probably answer that question with a 'yes'. "There certainly seems to be more than adequate merriment as it is."

Kroth grunts, watching the two pairing up to arm wrestle, but he continues speaking to Yngvild. "I am not much of an example, sometimes I'm lucky, sometimes I'm unconsious or falling down cliffsides. Perhaps when I have a bit more confidence I will profess more, but I do not feel I am an example worth of Angoron. My faith is...more in myself, and I think Angoron respects that more than another god would. I do not seek his blessing or want to bask in his radience. I'm fine as long as I myself believe I'm worthy.....this, is why I was not really prepared to announce myself to the temple."

"Platinum on Boshter" Yngvild booms out loudly towards the competition. With that she looks to Kroth and frowns deeply, a hand reaching up to rub her chin "Luck is. Luck..." she says a little unhelpfully "We will not always be the big damn hero" she points out with a gesture of her drinking horn "It is the getting up and continuing on that is the real example to people"

"Indeed, Steel Von Ironblood! I am very brave! And very orange!" Boshter immedaitely begins to 'wrestle' with Jibbom. Clearly, he is having great difficulty with this, as Jibbom must CLEARLY be a great deal stronger than he seems.

Nicolai eyes Jibbom, then raises a hand. "I'll take that bet!" he calls out. He has to support his fellow Tarienite, after all.

(OR Boshter is putting on an act. It's probably an act.)

Munch mmmms. "Von Ironblood, I've been told the lady folk are very encouraged by a victor." Okay, so he sucks at being motovating.

"Alas, there is only one lady folk for me now! The Baness is not to be crossed!" Jibbom chipperly replies to Munch as he tightens his grip. "It is time for heroic struggle!" He pushes on Boshter's arm with all the might his flabby little arm can muster.

""Nooooo," wils Boshter, as Jibbom inevitablyp pushes his arm down. "Oh noooo! THis can not be! How is the agent of Tarien defeating me in Angoron's hou-- oh, right. Tarien." His hand hits the table.

Hrist laughs out loud and gestures with one of the two flagons in her hands over the crowd, looking up at Morasha. "Well, ye see, lass, it is and it isn't. Do ye have ta let yer eyes swim and puke yer guts up the next morning? Nah. Mind ye, a lot of these louts -do- that, and if that's what they want to do to themselves they sure as hell can. But the -spirit- of drinking to each other's health, of raising the tankard to the Iron Mountain and giving yer all to test yer limits, hone yer strength? Aye. That -is- what we do here, lass. And I couldn't resist coming up and talking to ye when ye looked like a stag in front of a carriage."

Hrist takes a big swig of one of her tankards and looks Morasha right in the eyes. "Ye see, lass, it's easy to just wave a hand and say Angoron is about bulging biceps and iron livers and not a whole lot else. But he -is-. He's so much more. There's a lot of kinds of strength, and he's just as much about what's in here"--she taps Morasha's chest with a tankard, lightly--"as anything else. The biggest biceps won't help anyone who quails in fear when their life is on the line, or who won't stand up for herself. I can see ye fight, lass, I'm sure ye've faced that fear and lived it down. Angoron is in you as much as anyone, ain't He? Ye've just to realize it."

Kroth nods to Yng, still watching what he firmly now believes is a fake battle between Jibbom and Boshter. "I do that, I get up, I keep going. But so does a farmer who has lost his crops to a storm, so do thousands and thousands of common men and women each day. They get up, and they face the world. I'm not sure thats enough....I really don't know whats required, so as I said, I simply judge myself. Right now, I'm still lacking."

"When I first joined my Uncle Thorvald's company we were on a seige contract" Yngvild stage whispers, a whisper that carries far and wide when done in her voice "...we had an outbreak of dysentry. As the most junior cleric I was put in charge of the clean up and sanitation. The jakes were less full of shit than he was..." she says with a nod to Jiboom and a faint look of disbeleif as Boshter seems defeated, fading into suspicion as her eyes narrow down.

Munch rolls his eyes, which is fairly impressive for stationary magicite, but buzzes in amusement at Jibbom's 'win'.

"HEROIC VICTORY!" Jibbom bellows triumphantly, pumping his fists in the air. "Behold the might of Steel Von Ironblood, Bane of the Night!"

The crowd respond with a shower of food bits and catcalls aimed the two 'competitors' with one or two of the more agressively drunk restrained by the slightly more sober. Which doesn't stop a wheel of soft and stinky cheese sailing from the back towards the 'Bane of Night'

Bahken frowns a little, not expecting a 'fake' competition in the house of the Athlete.. He shrugs and returns back over to the wrestlers. If they want his platinum, they'll need to ask for it.

"Augh! Ow! Hey!" BOshter is laughing as food assails him.

Stjepan turns his back, looking for more food.

Yngvild snorts once at the reply of her fellows then looks to Kroth "We are often our own harshest critics. Well some of us" she adds with a glance to Jiboom "Competition is a sacred rite here" she says with a disaproving shake of her head, then she returns to her own food and drink, spying Stjepan and offering him a wave.

Kroth nods to Yng, throwing a piece of bread at Bosh and Jibbom himself. "Yes, perhaps we should show them a real competition?" He grins, "Or someone else if your scared." He flexes a bit.

"I'm aware. But one can not honor Angoron without also honoribng his friendship with Tarien," says Boshter, sincerely, to Yngvild. A bit of food falls out of his hair. He beams at Kroth, though. "Yes!"

He is also hit in the face with bread.

Morasha gives Hrist's explanation some thought. She does, in fact, sip curiously at the contents of her flagon while she does so. "So drinking, in a sense, is a kind of way of testing one's limits in its own right," she speculates. "It's not that it's done for the sake of intoxication -- as pleasant a pastime as that can sometimes be -- but that the intoxication is a fortunate side effect of testing oneself against one's fellows and oneself. After all, if you're frightened to drink down a flagon of ale, you certainly shouldn't rely on yourself to face an angry umber hulk -- is that the idea, more or less?" She sounds really curious, rather than just making conversation.

Abrahil rubs his hands together, and then rolls up his sleeves...the Tarienite's face is suffused with laughter and merriment...and the mage-eye swings towards the next contestants, and the next, giving each one equal time, in turn.

"Well I spent the beginning of the evening being thrown around the sands by a dwarf" Yngvild admits wryly, although she shows no shame in the admission. She considers and then shrugs "Why not the latter half being beaten by an Oruch to show he is stronger than he thinks?" she says as she gets to her feet and grins at Kroth.

Kroth grins, "I am not a fool, I am stronger than some, weaker than others. Though I am now wondering who the strongest of angoron is here tonight...simply to challenge the joke from the korite." This with a head bob towards Boshter

"The Coyote and Angoron are the greatest of friends!" Jibbom chipperly declares. "We must all honor this if we are to properly celebrate the mighty!"

Hrist nods in reply to Morasha, and doesn't seem put out in the least by the notion of turning the conversation into an intellectual exercise. "Aye, lass, that's a big part of it, though make no mistake, there's plenty of people here who don't really realize that and just want to get drunk. As ye'd expect, it takes a lot more to make my eyes cross, so I sort of get philosophical while they get soaked. Also, alcohol is sometimes called 'liquid courage' for a reason." She grins and takes another swig. "It -does- have that effect, too. But let me ask ye this: What takes more strength? Convincing yourself to start? Or convincing yourself to -stop-? The Iron Mountain seeks those with strength of -will-, for that is what guides morality when laws fail us. Drinking is a test of sorts, and ye can think of it that way. But it's not a sacrament and not necessary in the way the spirit of competition and self-improvement is. That make any sense ta ye?"

"I would not bet against the high warrrior in anything" Yngvild replies to Kroth with more than a little hero worship in her ice blue eyes as she glances to the high table where he is gesturing with a chop bone in illustration of fights long past. Looking back to Korth she shrugs "Shall we then, may as well get my arse kicking done before dessert"

Morasha gives a slow nod, hearing this. "It reminds me of a saying -- it doesn't translate exactly into tradespeak, but the gist of it is that knowing when /not/ to act is just as important as knowing when to act, if not more so. So there are many different sorts of competition, and each of them is useful in their own way, but they aren't the /point/; making more out of oneself through the use of them as tools is?"

Bahken seems to have shifted topics with his conversation partner to her regular workout routine, admiring the definition it's provided her. He hands her a full tankard as he continues to sip his own.

Kroth moves over to the area used earlier, finding a comfortable position and raising his arm. He waits for Yngvild to get setup and clasps hands, "Perhaps if I win, I should help you with a workout routine like the monks taught me. Nothing beats exercising with the sunrise."

Munch shrugs. "You can always try removing your arm and rebuiling it with superior materials." Works for him.

"Nothing perhaps except sleeping in" Yngvild counters with a wry smile as she sits down opposite. Her leather jerkin is already sleevless so the ripple of her muscles can be seen as she clasps hands with Kroth and starts to push against him.

"Yes! Exactly." Hrist grins as she replies, finishing up one of the tankards she's still holding. "Now, mind ye, there's some people here who no doubt see things a lot simpler than that. But far as I'm concerned, the entire point of the Athlete's dogma on this whole subject is to better yourself. The rules don't say what kinds of competition to have, they say it must be fair and true. Everyone loses sometime. But we train here, and perfect ourselves in His sight, that when we fight for -real- we're the victors. And when we win, we give praise in His name because it was the Athlete who taught us how to make us good enough to win. That's as true for a drinking contest as it is in mortal battle. As for knowing when not to act? That's absolutely true, too. It's about having the wisdom to make the right choices, and the willpower to make the hard ones. You usually know what the right decision is because it's the hardest one. The Iron Mountain isn't -only- about self-betterment, after all; He demands that we use our skills in the right way. Knowing when to act and when not to act is right in line with that."

Kroth seems to concentrate, pushing slowly against Yng to get an idea of her strength. He seems to nod somewhat and his brow furrows as his arm seems to flex a bit more, putting more effort into it. He speaks as he works, though the words are a little strained with effort, "The monks said, our bodies our a temple to angoron, and should be treated like one. Of course, that could be why there are so few." He manages a slight smile as he pushes against Yng.

In contrast to the Tairens Yngvild is giving it her all, muscles bulging as her face reddens. However it doesn't seem she can match the strength of Kroth and slowly her arm is pushed down. Letting out a growl of effort she stalls for a moment but soon enough the point of no return is reached and her hand hits the table with a thud "I would offer two out of three, but it would be pointless" she admits, not being too proud "And I have my eye on that beer jelly..." she says then pauses and looks over at Hrist and Morasha, brows drawing together as bits of their conversation drift through the din "...are they seriously..." she trails off and bursts out laughing.

Stjepan turns, taking his time with the food. He's a big guy, he has needs. Needs. Listening to the words go by, he lets them wash over like a wave. A warm, soothing bath of dogma.

Kroth steps back, stretching his arm after the competition. He gives a nod as Yng turns to head over towards the ladies, and he wanders off to find more food and drink.