Party for the Light

Organised chaos is perhaps the best way to describe it, as various workers, clergy, chefs, decorators etc are running around with the last minute preparation. For her party Yngvild moves between the groups, the towering Aesir cleric looking uncharacteristically nervous. Still she tries for outward calm as she uses her powerful voice to guide the folks setting up, and lending a hand when needed.

Svarshan comes up behind Angoron's Warrior. He wears Am'shere's colors in their full glory. Silver, for the Empress. Gold, for the Dragonfather, and then all the colors of the jungle that his tribe's had decided looked nice that evening. Which means there are...quite a few colors. Quite a few, in bright and sturdy weave, arranged over armor. "The kegss jusst arrived, shaman Yngvild," he tells Yngvild. "Where sshould we put them?"

Miruan is an odd duck out. She is in Elune's colors, now with a long cloak over a tunic and pants in lieu of her robes since the great migratory bird incident. She seems serene, peaceful and wide-eyed. Curious. She is cheerful, listening to people more than talking. She is helping set up, too. Though, her load is a bit lighter than the bigger folks. "Oh, I have one, too." One keg!

Unfortunately locksmiths are not required at this event, however Renfrey is never far behind if the word 'catering' is mentioned in serious tones. The half elf has already gotten his stick fingers on a pair of sweet buns, one in each hand it he may have already sampled and possible bathed in some of the beer by the smell of him. Clad in black and grays unlike the festive Paladin he approaches mumblings something like a greeting through a mouthfull of sugary treat. "'tis nice. There gonna be wine?"

A chiming of little bells announces the beginnings of the arrival of the revelers. The trip up into the mountains is not an unfamiliar one for Aldean, although it perhaps takes him in a different direction than it normally would. He's opted for the warmer clothing of the Alexandrites, in the cheerful blue and yellow shades common to the south, and more durable boots for the climb, arcane-marked cloak over all. The chiming comes from the chain of tiny golden bells wrapped around one of his boots. Over his back is slung an ornately crafted hand drum, in addition to the set of pipes tucked into his belt and a long, thin red case he carries under one arm.

Renfrey stands a few inches shorter than 5 and a half feet tall but is made to look taller by a rather thin build. His black hair is pulled back into a tight foot long braid save for a few stray strands that fall forward contrasting with his pale skin made only a little darker by a day's worth of stuble. His eyes are an emerald green and have a vaguely elfish quality to their shape which, along with the points to his ears, marks his heritage as more than human.

He wears a sleeveless dark armored leather jerkin over a dark green long sleeved shirt. On his hands he wears elbow length fingerless gloves of the same dark brown leather with reinforced armored forearms and tool pockets on the inside of the arm. Black pants are held up by a thick leather belt with an oversides steel buckle, with several large pouches across the back of the belt. The right thigh of his pants has three buttoned pouches sown into it while the left features a holdster for a handcrossbow. On his legs he wears dark armored leather greaves over ankle high black boots that come up to protect his shins and knees. Over his chest he wears a diagonal strap of leather with numerous pouches, a rapier hangs smartly from the bottom of the bandolier while a large steel ring at the top on his left shoulder secures a cloak that hangs down the left side of his back.

Schneider is here, and clearly a bit underdressed, in just his loincloth, but the weather never bothers him much. A tiny tendril of breeze, unfelt elsewhere, blows back his hair, and he smiles widely as he takes advantage of free drinks.

Much as ever in these dangerous times Yngvild is in her armor. It is finely crafted but plain in decoration. In deference to the whole carrying and organising things she has left her Earthbreaker in a corner, and for the moment her surcoat is hanging from it. As she is addressed she turns and glances to Svarshan. She pauses there a moment and blinks "Is that you sunblade? Your clothing is blinding me" she quips in her booming voice. That turns into a boisterous chuckle as she slaps him in the shoulder "Up near the tables and the firepits" she says to both him and Miruan. She glances at Renfrey "Somewhere I am sure, but we are still setting up lad"

Schneider is a man of giantborn race, standing over seven feet tall, though with an athletic build combining muscle and grace. Long platinum hair is pulled away from his face by a leather headband, and falls unbound halfway down his back. His face is angular, with a prominent nose and a devil-may-care smirk. He wears a fancy copper half-face mask that covers his eyes and nose. His teeth are perfect. Barechested, his broad shoulders and hard muscles are clearly displayed. Around his waist, he wears a study swordbelt from which hangs a greatsword in a black leather scabbard. The hilt of the sword shows its fine make. He wears a leather breechcloth and stout leather boots.

"Everything that pleasses Angoron," gravely. Svarshan thumps his tail hard, and smiles. It's his characteristic, slow smile--though there's more behind it. A glint of coal eyes, with an ember in them. He fights back a wider grin, and crosses his arm. "Ale. Teletelling. Drumss. Ale..."

He grins at Yngvild then, outright grins, "My cihuaa picked it. Out," he tells her. Most solemnly. Officially, he can find no fault. But it doesn't mean he doesn't take it with humor, and he followers her gesture towards the table and firepits. "Come on, Renfrey. Let'ss help them move the. Drink."

Miruan smles at Svarshan. She is happy to absorb the cheerful, energetic atmosphere of the area. There's a polite wave to those she passes by. There's a curious look to the others. Schneider is an unfamiliar face, and so she offers a polite wave. She'll help move her keg to near the table, as directed. There's a smile to Yngvild. The wide-eyed, attentive monk is a little overwhelmed but she seems quietly happy. "cihuaa?" She asks curiously.

Renfrey grins at Yngvild "I know! Took some doing to get to these before they were put out. Call it... product testing!" he says with a smile. He then looks at Svarshan and then back at himself "Me lift things? I can try I guess?" replies the scrawny locksmith

Walking her way into the monastery, Vasya smiles to anyone looking her way, but she chuckles at the kegs being brought in. "What a place for a party it seems." Vasya says as she heads to a nearby wall.

Schneider peers around, smiling to Miruan as she offers him a wave. He will raise his mug in salute. He looks over as something heavy is being moved, but they seem to have that under control. Not one to put forth effort if someone else is so eager.

Standing little over 5' tall, this woman has slightly tanned skin and red hair that falls to her shoulders. She has large blue eyes with red eyebrows sloping over each. She has an angular face, with full, red lips, a pert nose and an angular chin. Her hair usually has a braid in it, somewhere.

She has a slender body that somehow has a full figure. She wears a green, leaf patterned breastplate and carries a Glaive in her hand, and a longbow on her back. She also wears soft leather travelers boots.

"Transslation isss...my wife," returns the Sunblade, after struggling with the words. Svarshan smiles warmly at Miruan, before, "Excusse uss." Then, to Renfrey, "It iss for the mosst ssacred of. Causses," he tells him. Then clasps the man on the shoulder, and gestures towards the entryway. "They have a cart jusst. Outssi--Sschneider!" he calls out, seeing the other man. And gestures towards him, then the entry. "Could usse ssome help!" Suddenly he has one task, and he is focused on that task: bringing in yet more beer!

"Naw, mate." Aldean's hands are still full as he walks up behind Renfrey. "Can't have ye liftin' that, ye'll hurt yerself." He flashes a grin that is very much his usual easy and winning self, mobile features wreathed with anticipation. "IF it's a hand yer needin', Darshan, ye'll get it as soon as I've set this lot down." He nods to the instruments he carries.

"Anyone who arrives early has to pitch in" declares Yngvild somewhat sternly, albeit with a faint glint of humor in her bright blue eyes as they sweep around the room "Players excluded" she adds with a glance to Aldean and a smile. She reaches up to run a hand through her braided hair and letting out a soft sigh. Well soft for her, loud by normal standards.

Schneider is called over, at last, and he comes over to help out Svarshan. "What can I do?" he asks cheerfully enough, looking the situation over. He peers sidelong at Yngvild, but ... he's helping now, so that should cover that.

"I see. That's wonderful," Miruan smiles at the Sunblade. Miruan smiles at Yng, nodding. Schneider gets a curious look. "Ooh, I see.' They're pals! Miruan looks around, wide-eyed and - well, it's huge. She'll help after she sets down a keg, preferring to move in lighter food. She feels a bit small by comparison to some. Still, the monk is cheery. "So many introductions will be in order," She boggles. Vasya gets a wave.

The sith pauses at the words, "Peasse to your nesst," he returns warmly, and stops to wait for the bard. He then gives Renfrey a look that says, you got off this time! He seems in a high good mood, today. To Schneider, "There iss a cart outsside. We will. Head that way onsse Aldean iss ready."

Schneider ahhhhhs. "Yep, peace," he says with a smirk. "You want me to carry a cart inside?" he wonders. Well, he is really big. But we're waiting for someone? Well, he can do that, too.

Renfrey grins at Aldean "Well you know I am good for a hand when you need it, just with all these big strong types around why ask the poor little ol' me?!" he notes jabbing a thumb over his shoulder to Schneider. "If something is locked I am your man every day of the week." he starts in on his second pillaged sweet roll.

"Aye, cap'n," Aldean nods to Svarshan, then turns himself towards the stage and gets the attention of the Tarienite leader with a raised hand. A brief discussion, and the instruments get left on the edge of the stage, far enough back that they're unlikely to be damaged or knocked off the edge. His hands now free and the small day pack left behind, he turns and jogs back to where the sith-makar and friends await, with a grin for Yngvild. "I'll be tunin' in a bit, lass, but if a man ain't haul he gets no ale, an' can't have that." He, too, seems to be in high good spirits, mobile expression wreathed in anticipation.

Yngvild claps Aldean on the back rather firmly "Looking forward to hearing you" she rumbles then glances around the room that is slowly becoming less chaotic "I have been asked not to sing myself. Something about souring the ale and scaring the young folks away" she adds as her smile fades a little. But not for long as she reaches out to steady a neophyte carrying too many small barrels "Be careful lad, that is my Mother's winter cider. Spill that and she will sail down from Stormgarde to go after you" she cautions with a big grin.

Miruan has to smile at all of the goings on, even if the monk is a little lost looking. Still, there's things to be done and help to do. She seems happy to help stock tables.

"Truth," to Aldean. Words from a sith who lives among the tribes--damn sure you pull your own weight, and the simple word has a truth to it that comes with understanding.

And then, well...

At the entryway, no, just outside of it--a simple cart waits for the trio. A loaded cart. That's the word. Loaded for an army, it's manned by two khazad and led by two mules. The khazad, not the mules, stand there, one with bristling beard and one, a thick braided mane of hair. They eye the trio as they emerge.

"Hey! Glad for the help. I'll loosen the straps, so you can get to them," the woman asks, while her partner loosens his broad shoulders, and prepared to pitch in.

There's quite a few. The barrels bear the mark of a local brewery many adventurers are likely familiar with. Simple, straightforward fare that's guaranteed to leave a belly warm. And today? Painted brightly with Angoron's symbols. Definitely in the spirit of things.

Schneider will pick up a barrel in each arm, because he can, and carry things inside. Yes, he's grandstanding a little. But it's in a good cause: Booze.

Renfrey eyes the cart arriving with a grin "Well maybe I can help afterall...." he looks around to see if he can find anyone else willing to help him before pointing at Miruan "Your the closest in height to me, help me out!"

Aldean nearly staggers at the force of the clap on the back, but laughs anyway in his low baritone. "Be lookin' forward to singin' fer ye an yers," he counters once he's righted himself, and moves to follow with grins for Renfrey and for his fellow haulers. "Think I can do a bit more'n that."

He'll move with a will to move barrels, and is no stranger to heavy work judging by his movements. He's not as showy as Schneider, moving only one at a time, but in the barrels go.

Miruan smiles at Renfrey and his grin. "Sure thing," the cheery monk seems more than happy to help. She's serene, and quietly listening to all the goings on. She's learning SO MUCH after living most of her life under a metaphorical rock (in a building made of actual rock). "Lead on, sir, and I shall assist." She will indeed help the Renfrey (not just any, THE Renfrey).

Yngvild glances around the room to make sure that nothing is immediately going awry. That done she clanks off outside. A wide smile crosses her face as she spies all that ale "Now there is something to warm my heart" she rumbles and picks two barrels up. Not perhaps quite as strong as the small w warriors she still manages the weight as her nerves seem to be settling.

Renfrey grins broadly and helps move barrels with Miruan's assistance, he has a build that can be described as 'wet noodle' at best afterall and is not that strong. However what he lacks in strength he makes up for in enthusiasm "Lets get these settup and we can do my favorite type of lifting, lifting beer mugs to my face!"

"One hundred percent ready-to-be-blessed beer," says the female khazad. She gives one of the oaken barrels a solid thump, before digging into the straps. She has them loosened in short order.

Svarshan waits his turn, and then grabs one--and lifts with a steadiness that says he's going to get this from point a to point b, come hell or highwater. And point b... "Set them before the Warrior'ss table!" he calls out. "Blessingss of Angoron upon the. Ale!" ...and he heads inside, and thumps them before Yngvild's place at the tables.

"Glorry to the. Mountain! Glory to the Champion!"

While people are carrying the booze in, from up the path the sound of marching can be heard. yes, marching. If one looks, they can see....arvek, Giantborn and even an oruch marching up the path, but as they get closer, people can hear.....a marching song.

"BoozeboozeboozeboozeWHERE IS THE BOOZEboozeboozeboozeWHEREISTHEBOOZE" can be heard being repeated by all of them as the march forward....once they get within eyeshot of the kegs for the giantborn...the chant changes.

"THEREISTHEBOOZEboozeboozeboozeTHEREISTHEBOOZEboozebooze"

Once they get to the cart, each of them takes a keg and starts to march them into the monstary....and the chant changes again!

"WE'VEGOTTHEBOOZEboozeboozeboozeWE'VEGOTTHEBOOZEboozeboozebooze." And it repeats....untilt he entire 'company' makes it into the monstary, where they take it to the directed spot and set it all down gently, except for the oruch female.....who cracks hers and pours herself a tankard for herself.....and the chant changes again!

"HEREISTHEBOOZEboozeboozeboozeHEREISTHEBOOZEboozebooze"

And Karuda finally yells. "AHHHHHHSHAT AHP AND DRINK!"

Fortunately, Miruan is the opposite of a wet noodle. More like a PUNCHNOODLE. She's built like she could lead a gang of thugs. She smiles at Renfrey's grin, looking quietly amused. She will make sure he's not going to get hurt while they lift. This is a new, exciting experience. And she does seem to care. "Of course!" She beams. She doesn't really drunk much, but she is quite happy - taking in the atmosphere.

And then there's Kardua and friends and oh- wow. Miruan's eyes widen.

Yngvild's shaggy brows arise at the impromtu marching song, but shaking her head she laughs in a carefree, boisterous and very loud manner. Once all the booze in in place she holds up her hands for silence, her expression assuming a playfull piety "Silence for the blessing of the booze" she booms out with a wide smile. Once there is some measure of silence she holds one hand to her holy symbol amd the other to the sky "Iron Moutain, Coyote and all the gods of light WITNESS!" she booms out, powerful voice echoing around the room "We ask you to grant your blessings to all who partake in your honor"

Aldean follows Svarshan's lead with his own burden, but waits until Yngvild is done with the blessing before adding his own. "Blessins o' the Mountain' on the beer, aye, an' on this lot fer bringin' it," he adds with a flash of a grin that acknowledges the khazad team and their mules who brought it up so far. He sets down his burden and stops short, watching the procession with a bemused look and a grin that is in some measure disbelieving.

This will be a rowdy night indeed.

Seeing, though, that there is plenty of help with the ale, now, he lays a finger to the side of his noise and makes to catch Svarshan's attention, then jerks his head towards the stage in a clear "I'm going to go tune up" before turning to suit actions to intent.

As the Warrior's voice booms over them all, Svarshan straightens--then adds a thump of tail. He keeps time, building with heavier and heavier blows, the slap of tail against stone. "HONOR TO THE. MOUNTAIN!" he roars, a controlled sound that ends with thunder's force. He quiets abruptly, eyes as light as glowing embers. A worry behind them that he refuses to look at--and then sees Aldean. He nods, softskin-style--and thumps his tail again, solidly. Thunder.

Once the beer has been gathered and blessed--the two khazad brewers bow deeply from the doorway, to the light of the interior.

Schneider drinks deeply at each toast and holler and shout, and he's putting down quite a lot, though there's a lot of him to get drunk, so it kind of works out.

Renfrey finds his own mug and raises it in the name of the Coyote as well, drinking deeply and finding more sweet rolls to devour.

Miruan joins in the toast, but she is quieter in doing so. The Elunite is wide-eyed at all of this. She is definitely in awe. "Thank you," She offers quietly. She seems happy, listening.

"THE MOUNTAIN!" Karuda yells at the tops of her lungs....with the rest of the 'company' yelling 'MOUNTAIN!' right after her. Karuda then drinks deeply of her tankard....though, she only drinks half of it. The rest....gets poured out. "To share with the Coyote!"

Acolytes of all stripes jog about. Most look excited. ALL of them look excited. Yngvild is given no few questions, as is Schneider--being a giantborn, they probably figure he has something to do with you know, and Angorite event. They work hard, clearly readying things for a big event.

In his path, Aldean detours by someone with an open keg and fills his own mug, then carries it over to the stage to retrieve the various items he'd left on it. The Tarienite comes up to him as he sets the mug on the stage, and the pair seem to be having a quiet but congenial conversation, with the Tarienite doing the majority of the talking and the bard doing most of the listening.

Schneider bristles a bit at being asked Angorite things, but the beer is free and the party is festive, so he gives nonchallant answers like that Angoron encourages falling over in your own barf and other sophistry. There is devostion to Kor, but there is free beer.

Bennet has arrived.

Yngvild is changing into her surcoat with the aid of one of the junior folks. Not that it is all that fancy mind you, simple linen with Angoron's symbol emboidered on the front. She reaches for her Earthbreaker, bare hands moving down the familiar length of the oaken haft. She takes in a deep breath and looks around, nodding thoughtfully as things start to pick up. Taking up a drinking horn she fills it and starts to make her way to the stage.

The brewers depart not long after. Svarshan stands there near the stage's side. A steady thump of his tail goes along to some invisible rhythm that only he can hear. He looks over to Renfrey, "Good to ssee you he--" he pauses, and looks over at the empty tray. Back Renfrey. Back to the tray. With solemnity, he clasps the man's shoulder a moment. "Good choisse," he says solemnly, then smiles at Miruan.

One of the Angorites, an aged Warrior, hobbles up to Yngvild. "STRENGTH," he says, eyes glittering. Muscle underscores his now-aged frame, solid bones and a hint of the warrior he used to be. He raises his fist in salute, then goes off, striding through the crowd...but not before poking Renfrey in the ribs, "Eat more, boy!"

Miruan smiles back to Svarshan. She looks quietly amused. She looks to Schneider. "Hi! Have we met?" And then there's Yngvild and - well, her head is spinning a bit. The monk is like a puppy in a room full of potted plants after drinking the entire bowl of water. A smile at the fellow poking poor Renfrey in the ribs. Oh dear.

Renfrey nods to Svarshan, mouth full of sweets. However when poked by Yng he nearly chokes and throws one of the buns at him "I am!" he finaly manages after swalling the mouth full. "Can't get too big though, otherwise I would never be able to pull myself up on a roof again!" he says with a grin.

Schneider ehs to Miruan, shakes his head, his long mane shimmering as he does so. "I don't think so," he says cheerfully. "I am called Schneider." He gives a happysmile because, free booze.

Bennet isn't so much for parties, and while he has nothing against the Gods of Light, he serves the Grey. But poking the plans of the Dark? That's a goal he can get behind. So the Absolution has come, his coat clean and his rifle polished, trying to smile at everyone, despite knowing only a handful.

Yngvild nods a respectful thanks to the old warrior, her somewhat nervous smile turning into something approaching her usual boisterous expression "Thank you" she rumbles and steps up to the stage and takes a deep breath.

After getting another tankard, Karuda hefts her own earthbreaker, in the form of a VERY large flanged mace, and raises it while looking directly at Yngvild. Being 7 feet tall....it's hard to miss an Oruch giving a warrior's salute.

As Yngvild approaches the stage, the quiet conversation between bard and stage manager looks up, and steps aside, breaking off to allow the priestess to have her say.

Svarshan reaches over, and grasps another tray--this one filled with a meat pie. He hands it to Renfrey. "If it iss the sshaman's orderss," he begins solemnly. ...then breaks off as Yngvild takes her breath.

The ale and food flow freely through the crowd, as does the buzz of conversation that rises above the heavy beat of the drums. As things start to pick up Yngvild strides forward to the front of the stage. The light shines from her well polished armour as she holds up a drinking horn in one hand and her massive hammer in the other. Not waiting for the sound to die down she relies on the power of her voice and presence to quieten people.

"I see many familiar faces, but for those who do not know me I am Yngvild Bloodmane, proud to be a Warrior of Angoron like my father before me, and his father before him. And I am here to tell you that tonight we gather for the light against the dark!" she booms out, her voice echoing around the room as the drumming continues, rising along with her speech. "Alexandria has a long history of great deeds and heroes, and by standing here tonight with me and in the sight of the gods we honor its legacy! The dark has two figures who seek to become gods--the foul Voidbirthed Heth, and Asumit, the demonic summoner! We stand here, before the Mountain, atop stone! We cannot let this happen. We MUST not let this happen!" she adds, her voice dropping lower as her ice blue gaze sweeps the room.

She pauses in silence for a few moments before lifting her voice again "I invite you all to lift your glasses in a salute the Iron Mountain, the Coyote and all the gods of light" she says as she lifts her drinking horn to the sky above "And for the HEROES OF ALEXANDRIA!" she bellows before downing the contents of the horn in one long swallow.

With a broad smile the Warrior of Angoron wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and throws her arms out wide as if the huge hammer weighed nothing "I now invite you all to share tales of bravery and heroism"

Miruan places one hand against her palm, then bows to Schneider. "Pleased to meet you, I am Miruan Lionbough of the Order of the Thinning Veil." An Elunite snuck in. Sneaksy! She is watching and learning so much. For her part, she will try one of the sweets while she listens, settling silent as Yng commences. Her eyes are wide as plates.

Bennet has no glass to raise, but lifts his gun in salute, the grey steel catching the light as no mundane item ever quite does.

Grinning widely, Aldean raises his own mug and downs half of it in a long swallow at the toast, then, plants a hand on the stage and jumps up on it. "Beggin' yer pardon, Priestress, but I be thinkin' I got a few o' those fer ye." He raises the mug in his hand to Yngvild. "I'll be startin' if ye'll have me." (re for Sandy)

Yngvild jumps down off the stage and makes a motion towards it in answer to Aldean "It is open to all" she rumbles while withdrawing to snag some food and more booze.

Svarshan thumps his tail once, twice as the bard moves to take the stage. Then filches one of the slices of meat pie from Renfrey's tray.

Renfrey happily shares the goodies with Svarshan and anyone else, there is more than enough to get his fill. However when Aldean says something he steps back into the crowd when others are focused elsewhere and finds an out of way wagon to watch from and sip at his mug.

Bennet wanders the crowd a little, nodding politely and smileing a lot, accepting a pastry and a glass to avoid being rude, but sampeling neither. He makes a point to greet BrightBlade DemonChomper with a quiet "Howdy."

As Yngvild cedes the stage, Aldean nods quickly to the stage manager. "Got a few like this, but this one be a true story, o' sommat I came across in me work with the Guild half a year or so back. Here be to the Mountain hearin' us ... an' here be to the Muse fer the voice to sing it with." Grinning, he raises the half-filled mug on high to unseen forces, then turns his attention back to the crowd, with a wide and easy grin, setting the mug aside and instead pulling panpipes. The melody he plays is minor in key, a lonely sound that evokes stillness, waiting, and wind across a sand dune. He seems content with the one instrument, though, lowering it after a brief intro to sing alone.

I am the ancient builder, unparalleled in skill

Mine is the honored way of stone and memories on a hill

Until the day his men sought me and commanded a great tower

That all may know forever his glory and boundless power

But no skill should ever honor greed, nor cruelty nor pride

And too many in the cursed path of this would-be god had died

So in my work I told of all those his hand had slain

A monument to all the real merit of his reign

Now it's a party!

Sandy is here! She's making her way further inside the Monastary with the look of someone that's never been here before.

'Huh," she says after a moment.

"Huh," he repeats. Then a look over her shoulder. "The hell did Myrana get off to? Was she distracted by a god damn robe or something?"

The next verses he sings speak of names ... odd names, all, but each verse speaks of an act of defiance, of bravery, and the price they paid. One spit on the monument; another refused to kneel before the man. All end up dead by the hand of whoever this lord might be, summarily and without mercy, and often in gruesome and painful ways.

So when he beheld the finished mark and knew my treachery

He pauses briefly, as a burr in his throat elicits a cough, then continues,

He bound me deep within my tale, a shining stone of light

And cast it to the deepest reaches of the places beyond sight

It's a strange tale, to be sure, and weirdly unsettling, but there's power behind it. It speaks then of the fate of the Builder himself, bound into his own monument and cast into the ether, never to know the skies or the Harpist's halls where he belongs. Then, though, it shifts keys into a major key, the tune just faintly different. It tells then of the tearing down of the monument and the release of the soul in a complex bridge, then returns to the same melody in that major key for the final verses, a warning to those who crush others beneath their heel.

A strange piece, all told, and one seemingly out of keeping with the good-humored man who tells it, but he closes it with that same panpipe melody, leaving it to linger for a moment ... and when he does, he watches the crowd for a moment, thoughtful.

Bennet keeps quiet, not feeling quite approprate to applaud. He's heard some of the tale, but not the ballad before, and settles for touching forehead, and each shoulder in turn; a solem mark of The Lady's Scales.

As the bard's tail concludes, Svarshan thumps his tail--thrums it against the stones of the temple! "Honor the Mountain!" he roars in return. A solid thump against stone. "Honor all thosse who sstand againsst Darkness!"

Yngvild nods her head respectfully to Aldean for his story, grim though it may be and brings her hands together in applause. Lifting her drinking horn up she salutes the bard then takes a long swallow.

There's a polite smile for those around her, likely near the Schneider and Renfrey. For her part, Miruan beams as Aldean starts his tale. She seems to enjoy bardstories. She learns a lot. She is a quiet, appreciative audience. She will salute when his tale is done.

While Aldean tells his tale, Miruan happens to get an arm resting on top of her head, but no real weight is placed upon her......except for the weight of an arm. When she looks up, she'll find it's the arm of Karuda, with a tankard in hand. "Oops....didn't see you there, Mir."

Schneider has disconnected.

The bard considers the crowd for a few moments, then launches into another tale, this one much rowdier and more rousing than the last. By the time he's done, his glass is empty, but he's told the tale of Grat that made the rounds of the city some weeks ago, as well as an extension of a Khazad ballad about the Golden Home and the fate of its people. The extension tells of an expedition down there and the defense of the place against a terrible dragon-like creature he names in the tale as a linnorn, a lich, and would-be enslavers of the dwarven race from a group termed only Pancea. He seems to be an endless font of stories and tales, some more serious than others, before looking around. "Oy, surely ain't just me as has got tales." He looks around from person to person. "Yer turn to tell, mates, an' mine to drink."

Clapping her hands, Sandy seems pleased with Aldean's tale. She then steps on Svarhsna's tail.

"Oops," she says, innocently.

Svarshan stuffs the last of his pie in his muzzle. He starts to lick it away, then near-chokes as someone steps on his tail. It stops him from applauding. ...there's a sad, sad piece of broken-off tail wriggling beneath Sandy's boot.

He looks at her.

Just looks, as though to say: and that just grew back. You BITCH.

Sandy gives him an innocent look.

"I have a tale," says Sandy, cheerfully, as she picks up the tiny piece of tail and offers it apologetically to Svarshan.

Miruan has never seen a tail do that outside a small lizard. Her mouth falls open. But she soon stuffs a bun in to look innocent. Like a chipmunk, as she listens.

Bennet eyes. BrightBlade Svarshan is about as upright a fella as you could find. And as a person who works directly for Death, Bennet's got no real fear of it. But Sandy... She Who Must Not Be Triffled With... the Absolution takes a swig from his glass and keeps quiet....

Svarshan scowls, and holds out his hand for the sad, sad wriggling piece of tail. "The lasst time thiss happened," he growls under his breath, "I had it. Reattached. And a fanatic chassed me around, accussing me of an undead tail."

"I got one...I think." Karuda yells as Aldean finishes....and steps up to the stage herself.....but her path takes her straight past Sandy, and she runs into her....apparently without noticing. She opens her mouth to begin a tale, but suddenly a loud, deep, rumbling belly belch comes from her mouth that lasts for a good 30 seconds, if not more. When the belch is over, she speaks as if she wasn't interrupted. "and THAT'S how you beat a zombie!"

She then blinks a couple of times. "That wasn't the story. Oh yeah, this was it. Myself and a couple of others made our way to help someone out. Don't rememberthe name." She then makes a face. "What I do remember is that I had a LOAD of fun and actually hit a zombie so hard, it exploded. Or...that's what I remember of it." She then makes a face. "Not much of a story, is it?"

"I have heard better lass, but neither of us are bards" Yngvild replies to Karuda, trying to pitch her voice softly but it carries quite well through the crowds.

Grinning, Aldean's perfectly happy to cede the stage to others, jumping off with pipes in one hand and glass in the other, leaving his small hand drum on the stage with the other drummers. Once down, his steps take him in search of more ale, a meat pie, and a spot of table at which to consume them while the tales proceed. The byplay between Sandy and Svarshan draws a raised eyebrow, but he holds the air of one who intends to Stay Out Of It (tm).

Svarshan holds the precious, precious tail in hand...and shakes it at Sandy for a moment, before tucking it into a pocket, with sad, sad practice. He closes his eyes for a moment, then, "I have a tale," he says. Then bites his teeth against the pun. And jogs, leaping onto the stage before Sandy, the devil, can do anything /else/!

"...you CUT," says Sandy to Svarshan, pointing a finger at him. She looks annoyed. "Fine. You tell your damnable tale. I'll save mine for after." She throws the tail bit over her shoulder. It unerringly flies towards Miruan.

"..." Miruan was stuffing her face with a bun, before she gets a tail to the face and it wraps around. Miruan now has a Svarheadband. She blinks owlishly, the chipmonkcheeked monk with a headband. A slow munch as she finishes chewing. There's a briefly sorrowful look. She will meander towards Svarshan. "Um. I think - I - uh. Have your stylin' tail." Yes.

"... ... ..." as Miruan brings the tail back. Svarshan stares at it. STARES...and looks at the monk numbly for quite some time...before something clicks and he scowls at the sildanyari. Just...

...just...

"I sshall tell a sstory of. Morality," he declares, and jumps upon the stage. And you know, fixes Sandy with a LOOK.

THIS IS A TOTALLY RANDOM TALE.

IT IS NOT AIMED AT ANY ONE PERSON.

Ezriya has partially disconnected.

The reptile, now with the stump-tail, goes quiet for a moment. To gather Words and convince himself that he's really goind to do this thing. This foolish thing. Though it doesn't take MUCH. That's the mood of the evening.

That's the mood of the evening. The mood that Yngvild, the Angorites, the Tarienites--have inspired! "Thiss iss a tale that would be told at Fire. It would be told in--" he looks to Aldean, back, "--chant. But I am no sshaman-casste, nor tale-teller casste. Sso I give you the wordss. Without embellisshment, for I am warrior-casste, and thiss iss how we sshare our tales."

He goes silent, to gather Words. Then, begins the slow thrum of tail against stone. Except, it's a stump!

"I sshare a tale of Old! A tale of People! Of People losst in the wilderness, who knew blood and claw, but in their dessperation they forgot the. Light of the godss. The godss did not forget their children, but their children forgot them. They warred, ass life wass hard. They fought, and there wass no peasse.

"Two tribess, ruled one by a brother, one by a ssister, came to blood over land. They ssaw good prey on thisss land, and wanted it that each tribe may live. They had to ssurvive--And sso, brother and ssister raissed claw--and sslaked the land in. Blood.

"The young died. The old. The river beteen them ran with corpsses. And sstill, the war did not sstop. The eyess of the tribess filled with dessperation, but the godss were losst!

"The tribess would have been losst, if not for a hero! A hero unafraid to sspeak! Ass the warrior in front of her fell, a young sshaman felt a sswelling in her heart. Her Blood ssang to her! Sshe took her wissdom before the other sshamans and sshe argued with resspect, but with passion! Sshe sspoke with the sspirit of Light! The godss had not forgotten, even if her people had!

"Young...sshe sstrode forward. And the sshamanss sstode forward with. Her. The limbss of treess and viness bowed before them, and carried them over the water. When sshe sspoke, her voisse wass the voisse of Thunder and Roar! "My People!" sshe yelled, "Where iss your future!" And sshe held up their future--the broken eggsshells of their children. "Where iss your wissdom!" and sshe pointed with her sspear to the broken bodiess of their elders.

"And becausse of the Thunder, the tribess lisstened. Becausse Light did not forget, the tribess listened. And the message carried--becausse of one voisse. And then many voisses, who sspoke and reminded uss all that there musst be jusstise. That there musst be a future! And there musst be wissdom!

"Ssometimess. It sstartss with. One voisse--but the one voisse musst sspeak. Unaffraid!" he hits the floor again, hard. LOUD. "Sspeak with sstrength tonight! With COURAGE! With courage, we sstand againsst what the Dark hass wrought! Ourss iss an age-old sstruggle, and we will WIN thiss sstruggle."

Pause. LOOKING AT SANDY. "Sso long ass we do not abide by moral. Corruption," he finishes. Most solemnly. "Ssandy, you are on notisse for unlawful sstepping on tail. Esspect paperss delivered to your doorway. Tomorrow."

Yngvild booms a laugh at the interplay between Sandy and Svarshan, but falls silent for the telling of the tale. She nods and toasts the Sunblade "Well told" she calls out over the sounds of the crowd.

Miruan's eyes widen and she looks apologetic. "sorry," She offers quietly. Poor Svr. "I'll hold onto it till later," She promises. Mir will watch over poor Svar's tail if he doesn't take it back. And then she settles quiet to listen to the story. Her eyes widen. Wow! She is hearing a real Svarstory. The monk is just - happily listening in.

"..unlawful stepping on tail," says Sandy, "How about stepping on MY tale, huh? I was going to tell a story!" She picks up a bowl of soup from the food table and HURLS IT AT SVARSHAN. This was an excellent idea that seemingly came to her out of the blue. All the same, though, after this is done she moves towards the stage. "My turn, you bloody lizard. I've a story to tell."

Along with the spit roasts, sweets and baked vegetables there are several large cauldrons of hearty thick soup simmering away.

Hiss Svarshan's tale comes to a close, Aldean pounds on the table in front of him with the fist that isn't holding a glass, in clear approval. His food is about half-finished before him, and he doesn't appear to be in a real hurry.

Svarshan starts to thump his ta-- ...

...he looks sadly at it, and his shoulders slump some. It is upon this image of True Sadness, that soup lands in his face.

...and then drips to the floor.

To the side, an aged Warrior makes the Sign of Strength, then a toast to Tarien.

"..." Miruan has the tail safely at least. And the monk pulls a bit of fabric from what looks like a torn robe (it lost a fight to beholderkin BEAMZ) and offers it to poor Svar. "I think I am going to get some baked veggies and roast. Did you want some, too?" A polite smile to the aged Warrior, too. She seems duly respectful, even if her ferocity is more quiet, flowing like a river PUNCHING ROCKS.

Yngvild folds her arms across her chest with a clatter of metal on metal. She turns her suddenly rather stern gaze around the room, the usual affable Aesir looking rather scary "Next person to throw food will get my earthbreaker in a most uncomfrtable place" she warns, then looks up for the next storyteller.

You paged Aldean with 'Go for it, freeform RP here :)'

"This is a tale from Alexandria," says Sandy, putting her hands on her hips, "but, really, it's an old ale. A tale of pride that nearly destroyed the world. The tale of a man named Saluven."

She speaks more firmly. "Saluven was the last of his kind, the last High Artificer in this world. Out of a desire to bring back ways of old, he built the Illuminated Order in secret, lacing himself in Alexandria's government under the pseudonym of Lucien Shrike. There, he secretly built his strength. He did not know that his every action had weakened the seal on the Void. Indeed, the truth was far worse... unbeknownst to Saluevn, he had been possessed by a powerful demon of the Void and his every action with which he thought he would restore the great Kulthian empire, he was secretly preparing to hurtle the world into the Void itself."

She lets out a breath. "The day came that he declared open war on our fair city, but heroes rose up to stop him and toss the Illuminated Order to the ground. Merkabah, his flying citadel, came crashing to the earth and Saluven himself was slain. There, the three great powers of Daeus, Animus, and Maugrim reached out to reseal the Void with their combined might, having been called to the task by heroes and by the efforts of Highfather Samuel and so many other heroes. The world was safe once more, but this effort was birthed only through the sacrifice of many men of valor."

At length, Aldean picks up the remainder of his meat pie, stuffs it into his mouth, and stands from the table for a refill on the beer. Libations so acquired, he glances at the stage speculatively, then over at Yngvild ... and back to the stage ... and to Yngvild. He pauses, though, as Sandy's tale begins ... just listening. This isn't one he's heard before.

Svarshan grimaces, as though there's a bad taste on his tongue. He wipes at the soup, and stomps over towards the refreshments. Beer? Yes. Thank you.

"The High Father is a hero to us all!" says the aged Warrior, who indeed looks old enough to have seen it come to pass. He hobbles up towards the stage, tankard in hand.

Yngvild for her part listens carefully to the story. She considers it and with a nod and a smile lifts her horn to toast the True Face of Evil. Her smile turns into a frown as she notices it empty and she clanks over to the barrels, letting the sunblade in ahead of her.

Miruan looks to the aged Warrior, quietly in awe. She smiles at Aldean. And soon Miruan is joining the meat pie crew. There's a sympathetic look for poor Svarshan. For her part, Miruan is digging the stories.

Ezriya arrives to the party fashionably late, as per the usual. She'd been around the various food tables and gotten her share of the offerings, finding a table full of semi-familiar people amongst the many that were present. She pulls up a seat and passes over wave to both Miruan and Sandy, twirling a fork to dig into her meal.

Aldean returns the smile from Miruan with a flash of a grin of his own and a nod to the stage. Seeing Yngvild move to fill her drinking horn, though, he raises a glass to the monk and begins to amble in the priestess' direction.

Now Sandy steps off the stage, such as it is, and makes her wray towards the feast table. She casually picks up a bowl of soup and... does not throw it. She sits down instead.

"...I will tell a tale. A tale of a grandchild...you see, I had a young grandchild. Shouldn't anyone, at my age?" The voice belongs the earlier, wizened Warrior who now steps forward onto the stage.

Aged skin belies broad shoulders, and the Warrior shakes his finger at the story he's about to tell. "He knew Angoron, but he forgot! He was a young man--a strong young man, and let the drums of war--" the sound of the drums in the room picks up, adding vibrance to the tale. This was pre-arranged, somehow, "--guide him too strongly. He listened to the WORMS in his ear! So as we tell these tales, this is for that grandchild! And any child, of any mother or father, who has gone away and misplaced the Hero from their heart!" He pauses.

And mutters, "Even warlords!" ...the aged Warrior adds fiercely, with thunder-drum eyes, before raising his fist to the crowd. "We speak of Heroes tonight! Around us, the Dark grows stronger! When it does, strike it at with raised fist! Let the tales be spread, let hearts be uplifted in this time! We stand against the Dark!"

Fayde is escorted in, his new fancy quarterstaff leaned against his shoulder. He blinks at the mention of worms in ears, feeling mildly concerned until the speech continues...

"ANGORON" booms Yngvild as she lifts her now filled drinking horn in a toast to her fellow Warrior. She nods to Aldean in passing as she makes her own way up to the stage, pausing for a bracing swallow of mead.

Svarshan thumps his...starts to thump his tail. He scowls at the stump of it, then looks towards the stage. As Yngvild approaches, he reaches over and thumps the table instead, beginning a steady rhythm, and with a gesture, encourages the drums to pick up.

Thrum, thrum. THRUM!

"ANGORON!" someone shouts.

Miruan lifts her drink in a polite toast. Her enthusiasm is quiet, but she seems into things. It's just a bit overwhelming. There's a wave back to Ezriya. She is digging into a met pie, smiling back to Aldean.

"Well as anyone who has heard me sing will testify, I ain't no bard. But this story comes to me from my grandmother" Yngvild begins, her voice a little softer than during her booming speech "And was told to her by her grandmother from the days when we Aesir were better known as pirates and raiders"

From somewhere up the back comes a loud voice with a thick Stormgarde accent "You mean the good old days Warrior?" the voice booms.

Several of the Aesir present laugh at that. Yngvild is a little too diplomatic, but her smile turns wolfish for a moment until the laughter dies down. "It is a short story but something to think of in these times. For the dark comes in many guises" she pauses to let that sink in a moment "Her son was a great pir...ah...captain" she says with a flash of that wolfish smile "He was strong, he was skilled and proud to battle for the glory of Angoron. The poor and needy were not touched, nor were the innocent, the young or the old. But for the rich and greedy...." again a wolfish smile touches her lips for a moment, but fades soon as her expression grows grave "But sometimes even the stoutest of hearts can be lead astray..." she adds as her voice becomes grave "...the dark loves little more than to corrupt heroes, so they sent someone in the guise of a childhood friend, who began to whisper poison in his ear" another pause as her powerful voice becomes sorrowful

"Small steps at first, he was convinced that if people raised arms to him he should not accept their surrender, and so on. Pride and lack of wisdom lead him deeper into the dark. But for great heroes there can come redemption" she adds as her voice becomes a bit more cheerful "This time in the shape of his mother. As a Warrior of Angoron she was more used to battling the forces of the dark in no matter what form they came. And hearing tales of how her son had changed she went to visit him and soon recognised the evil whispering in his ear. But her son would not listen to her, and barred her from his boat...much to the amusement of the false friend"

Another pause to let that sink in then she straightens "She knew the friend was false, in fact as she searched she found the real friend had died some years ago. But barred from her sons sight how could she convince him? So she prayed to the Iron Mountain day and night and joined by others they managed to convince him to return the friend to life, so together they could confront her son and the false one. Their confrontation forces the dark creature to reveal his true self, to the shock and dismay of the Son and in his righteous anger he struck down the false friend and fell weeping into his mother's arms, swearing to return to the light" with that the boisterous boom is back in her voice and a smile returns to her face "Two lessons we can learn. Always be careful of the dark as it can come in any guise. And..." she says with a almost girlish grin "...always listen to your mother"

Svarshan brings his hand down hard against the table. There's a crash, and he lifts the bowl, carefully...before continuing, thrum, thrum, thrum! against the wall! It's an Angorite party. THINGS WILL BREAK.

With a hand lifted in Ezriya's direction, Sandy greets her to the party. "Glad you could make it. We're swapping stories. Think you can tell one?" She asks her outright. "Don't think many of us here have heard from the aerie."

As Yngvild acknowledges Aldean, the bard is about to speak when the impromptu drum on the table goes up. Instead, seizing the moment seems like a good idea, and he'll never be heard anyway. He makes his way quickly back to the nearest empty spot and sets down his mug, bringing both fists down onto the table to join the rhythm. Encourage it. Feed it.

More Angorites are arriving, believe it or not.

A handful of them. And with them walks in a halfling with... a rock. He's tossing it back and forth in his hands. No, it's not Jibbom.

Ezriya pulls her mug up from the table to avoid the passing of a nearby high velocity plate somewhat casually and looks around towards the stories that are being told and snorts a little bit. When Sandy makes her presence known she offers her a small nod in greeting. "Mayhaps, but I think a better story is how you stick your fingers into so many social pies. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were some sort of spider of sorts, no?"

Svarshan looks over to the lucht, and raises his arm in an Angorite salute, before looking back to the stage. Around, acolytes hurry with drink and food. A lot of food, to be sure--hearty, warrior's fare!

(Though the halfer has some family resemblance to Jibbom, actually.)

It's dark, and foggy, and in that fog light moves--torchlight, getting brighter. Eventually, under the light, a Jotun appears to coalesse out of the fog, though it is simply a matter of him walking closer to the festivities, his path lit by the lucht-sized everburning torches woven into his messy topknot-like hair.

As he gets closer to the crowd, he steps carefully, not wanting to bump into anyone or cause any damage.

All this paying attention to people means he isn't looking up and therefore walks into the bunting set up along the edge of the tables, bringing down a pole and getting partly entangled in it before coming to a halt.

With a sigh and an apology, he untangles himself, plants the pole firmly back into the ground with one hand and makes his way along the edge, picking up the drumming rhythm with thunderous claps as he wanders around, taking it all in.

The atmosphere is contageous. The Angorites are so enthusiastic, it's hard not to smile and lift her drink and food. A cheerful beam to passing acolytes. Miruan waves to Kaj, the arriving Jotun. "Want to sit here?" She offers. Miruan is near the tables, noshing a meat pie and just - enjoying things. She's taking it all in, remembering it. She is loving her trip out into the world, it seems.

As she heads down from the stage and towards Aldean Yngvild pauses to glance at the newly arrived Jotun. She offers him a nod and a welcoming smile, lifting one hand up "Welcome and well met" she booms out, face a little flushed with drinking and emotion "We are sharing tales to honor the Iron Mountain and the gods of light. All are welcome"

Karuda has reconnected.

Svarshan lifts the tankard and begins to drink--and lowers it. Slowly. He looks to Yngvild, directly to her and holds the Warrior's gaze a moment before taking off a jog towards the pole.

Fayde looks around and tries to get in the spirit. This is novel to him, clearly. He stamps the butt of his staff to the rhythm of the clapping after getting himself a mug of his own. It isn't a hard accomplishment, he discovers.

Stjepan strides in, only just a little while late. Not bad, not bad. And there's a party!

Miruan smiles, spotting Stjepan. She waves. She does look a little odd out here, but she is genuinely happy at the atmosphere. It's a new, enlightening experience. And she's hearing so many stories.

The sith stops in front of the jotun, and clasps him on the shoulder. He looks over to Yngvild, "One more. Sstory!" he calls out. Then looks to the man, "Welcome to Angoron'ss Temple. You are among honor. Among warriorss."

Booze, food, and tales. Aldean's very much in his happy place, grinning at Miruan and anyone else with whom he happens to interact. His own face is flushed with drink -- how many people can this monastery put up for the night, anyway?

"Hey, it was a party and I was invited," says Sandy, gesturing at Svarshan. "It's the lizard's fault," she adds, cheerfulyl, as she settles back down into her seat. "Svarshan, don't make me throw soup at you again," she adds.

Making his way towards Yngvild, the halfling says, "Quite a party you've got going here!" He combs his fingers through his hair and hands the rock to her.

"This is for you," he adds.

Yngvild looks down at the Lucht and the rock with a faint trace of surprise. Meanwhile a Aesir bard is telling an old tale about a brave Shepherd boy saving his flock from a pack of wolves. A timeworn tale but she does a good job of retelling it. Meanwhile Yngvild reaches out to take the rock "Thank you Master...?"

Stjepan waves towards Miruan, clapping along to whatever rhythm is loudest -- because something is loudest.

"A story. ...I could talk about my grandson again!" shouts the aged Warrior.

There are a few coughs from the sides.

"It's a good story! About a friend who betrayed him because he wouldn't listen!" huffs the old man.

"It wasn't a friend! He was killed because someone didn't like who he loved!" corrects his collegue. Another Warrior, who lounges--tensely, it must be said--against one of the tables.

"...people can be picky about details..."

"And then to tie it all up, someone took his place--using magic! And led his best friend astray! Tell it right, Warrior!"

"That's a wilder version of the story," says the aged Warrior, mildly. "A wild one. Are you sure you've the right of it? In /my/ version, the young man stood up! And he thanked Angoron for his gift--and made himself a hero! With courage, Angoron rights old wrongs. Because it's the right thing to do! What happened in your story, I wonder?"

He looks pointedly at the jotun, and hoists his tankard in aged hands. "TO STRENGTH!" he says, then pauses. "Well, come on!"

Silence. Then, "TO ANGORON!!!" from several acolytes, priests and warriors at once!

"Tonight, we honor ANGORON! Tonight, share your tales, and lift your tankards!"

Karuda has partially disconnected.

"Mr. No One Important. I was told you needed someone capable of comitting certain acts. You will be, for a day, anyway. For one act. You'll know what to do when the time is right." He goes to close Yngvild' fist over the stone.

Ezriya rests her eating utensils on the plate before pushing it away, signifying that she was quite done with it. "The food was at least quite good and..." She goes quiet for moment while the cheering goes on, only speaking up when the local decible levels fade back down to something that resembles somewhat casual conversation.

"...and I've avoided any flying food. As for a story? Nnnth. Doubtful. The few good stories I have will likely not play to this crowd of soldiers and warriors. "

Fayde raises his mug for the toast,"To Angoron!" He then starts chugging.

"OH! I love to go swimming with bowlegged women and swim between their legs!" A loud deep voice sings badly as he comes walking in through the gateway with not one, but two large barrels on his shoulders. Kalkorth gives a smile as his cheeks are rosey red, "Sorry about being late. I had to test one of the barrels to make sure this mead was good, don't worry I still got two full barrels." He laughs loud and deep as he looks around for where to put the barrels as he starts to sing again, "And swim between their legs...and swim between their legs."

Yngvild is somewhat distracted by the rock, and as her fist is closed around it her ice blues suddenly widen and literaly glow a bright blue for a flash. Instinctively her hand opens up and she looks in awe at the Lucht "My thanks" she breathes out as a smile slowly crosses her face. She offers him a respectful nod, as one warrior to another more senior. Then looking up to the Jotun who entered soon after she offers the same. Respectful but not subservient.

Stjepan echoes: "ANGORON!!" Fist in the air! He drinks, good and deep.

Svarshan looks from the jotun over to the stone. Embers burn, and he raises his fist in silent salute.

Miruan beams at Aldean and pauses. "... how would he fit? Wouldn't he get kicked?" Miruan asks the nearest person about Kalkorth's song. But she does remember the tall fellow from SNAKES ON AN AIRSHIP. She is quietly warmed by the crowd, the Elunite a stark contrast to the more enthused Agoronites. She grins at Stjepan, happy for him. She's drinking more slowly, it seems. But drunken monks are dangerous. She remembers the story of a dwarf who became a monk after getting defenestrated.

"I think you'd be surprised," says Sandy, before she offers up a cry of 'Angoron!' herself. "They always shout it, Ezriya. You could probably tell a story about someone falling down a flight of stairs and they'd STILL shout 'ANGORON!'. She takes a drink from her mug. "Really, are you saying you don't know ANY stories about an eaglerin her?"

One of the Warriors leans forward, as though she'd whisper something in Kalkorth's ear. ...then punches him solidly in it. "Behave, boy. This is sacred times," she says. Then, because it's the kind of temple this is, "Now go get drunk."

Smiling at Miruan's kind greeting, Kaj still manages to realize Yngvild spoke to him, offering her a nod accompanied by a palm-to-heart gesture of respect. "Well met and than you!" he booms over the drumming and chanting.

He gives Miruan a squeeze of the shoulder with his thumb and forefinger, "I won't be sitting just yet," he says, with a wink, though he does swipe a jug of ale which he turns into his tankard as he begins to wander around, listening and drumming against his chest to the beat (between drinks, of course!).

Drumming. Chanting. Booze. It could be for Chalsky the Green Navel Lint and Aldean would still be up for it. Seeing that Yngvild id occupied, he wanders towards the stage, to take up one of the extra drums, joining into the drumming with a will and adding a complex subrhythm to it as he goes, one booted foot tapping on the earth, the bells wrapped around the boot chiming almost inaudibly in the din.

Kalkorth shakes his head as he's hit in the ear and he gives a smile and a wink to the warrior. "Wanna go swimming later." He laughs a bit as he goes to set down his barrels and he grabs a spigot to tap the barrel. He holds it steady and then hits it with his fist to drive it in. He sets it down and opens up the tap to fill up his own gaintborn sized mug. He stops his feet in time with the drumming as he takes a large draw of the mead.

A smile at Kaj. She grins at the shoulder squeeze. "Fair enough," She nods. "It's a very active and vibrant event," Miruan is a little overwhelmed but enjoying herself. It's a new and educational experience, her dark blue eyes bright and thoughtful. Stjepan's enthusiasm makes her smile.

Ezriya brings a hand up to her beak and taps at it for a moment before nodding once. "Well...I suppose there is one I know, since we're all in the habit of sharing and the like. But...eh. I suppose it couldn't hurt. Wouldn't be a first time I've literally broken a leg on stage. Who do I talk to in order to possess the floor, so to speak?"

"Stage is free to anyone with a story to tell" replies a younger Angorite to Ezriya as he bustles about on one errand or another, offering the Egalrin a brief smile as he does.

Mikilos isn't often for loud parties, but he does show up now and again. Sometimes with flare, and sometimes, well, not so sure just when he showed up. would think someone that big would stand out more. Raising a glass to Ezriya, he offers "Just talk louder than the drums."

"Go ask Yngvild over there, then just get on stage," says Sandy,gesturing to the priestess. She then steps awa yfrom Ezriya and...

FRRRRRRRRRRRRRT.

Now, Sandy stops and looks confused for a moment. That sounded close. She looks around slowly, then takes another step.

FRRRRRRRRT.

And then another.

FRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRT!

"...OKAY SOMEONE IS GETTING PUNCHED!" She whirls on Svarshan and hurls her soup at him. "VERY FUNNY." A pause, then she grabs another bowl and turns and HURLS IT ALDEAN. Her reflex to blame Svarshan got her first, but then she realized who was actually behind the farting sounds.

Svarshan looks over to Sandy, then Aldean. He pauses...then gives the man a solemn nod, an almost: Daeus bless you, before looking to Ezriya, "Sstep up!" he calls, and it gets echoed by several others in the crowd!

Stjepan gets in on the drumming, 'contributing' his enthusiasm and that's about it.

Several of the other drummers yell in protest as the bowl of soup comes sailing their way, splattering over the drums. The bowl itself goes bouncing off of Aldean's head and clatters against the stage before landing somewhere in shadow. "Augh!" Still, Aldean's chuckling evilly even as he slowly ... shakes ... the soup ... off ... of himself. He doesn't even catch Svarshan's look, instead whistling, much more openly, a children's tune and waving a dripping hand at the drums. The instruments get cleaned off first.

"Ye do a thing, lass, don't be bent up when ye get it back," he remarks. There's a piece of beef clinging to his hair.

Mikilos stands quietly, glad no soup is headed his way. Pondering a little, the elf heads for the stage, slowly, to let others finish their own tales.

Kalkorth hoists his mug of mead, "Step up!" He echoes the others as he takes another drink. He laughs as he sees the soup go flying and he shakes his head. "Waste of good soup." He does wander over to get himself some food preferably something meaty.

Kaj is closing in on the stage from the other side, and as he strides there, he points at Stjepan with one hand and then at Kalkorth with the other. Then, with both hands motions toward the stage before resuming a slightly faster gait.

Miruan is listening, smiling brightly. She beams at Stjepan, genuinely happy he's enjoying himself. She looks to Kaj, and watches the Kaj, Kalkoroth and Stjepan. "Hello! Stew and roast are there," She beams.

Kalkort smiles at Miruan, "Hello Monk with the snake nunchucks. How are you enjoying our celebration have you had any mead yet?" He asks as he grabs a leg of something and tears it off to start to eat it. "Very good." He spots Kaj's wave and he hmms as he thrusts his giantsized mug at Miruan, "Here hold me mug for me." He says before he goes to see what Kaj wants.

Stjepan grins at Miruan, and beams back. "I'll eat when we're done." Then he trots over to join Kaj and Kalkorth on the stage. I really, really hope the stage is well-made.

You paged Aldean with 'No worries, I won't be on much tomorrow but will be around next day :)'

You paged Sandy with 'Thank you. Svar had a lot to do with it too, and thank you for letting us both run with it.'

Ezriya blinks when the mere MENTION of a possible story seems to spread amongst those gathered, and not seeing much of a way out of it, she follows social obligation and heads up to the stage. She clicks her beak to gather the attention of the party before recanting in a voice that seems almost fit to be in some sort of play or theatre setting.

"We Egalrin have many warriors and quite a few that deserve legends of their own. Our Sky-warriors are known for their agility, their grace, and occaisionally their brutality as they can fight almost uncontested on the mountains and slopes we call home. Our foes have been found filled with the arrows of our archers, slain by the claw or the sword, or even bashed amongst the ground from being cast out of our home."

She takes a few dramatic steps forward, bringing a fist up slowly as she talks with passion. "But today, I speak of one warrior, who no one suspected would go far. One warrior, who stared death in the face and spit in it's eye like the toddler of considerable rudeness. One warrior who inspires our bards and redefines what it means to be one with the blade."

She steps back across the stage, still keeping her voice level to have it carry across the party at wide. "When she was younger, she was strong of mind, but weak in body, so she trained. All day, all night, week in, week out. Her equals at the monastery thought she would collapse, but she did not. She got knocked down thousands of times in her training, but she got back up, a thousand and one times. Finally, when she was pronounced a master, she left to further her training, proclaiming that there is no such thing as a master when one has such a small mountain to rest upon."

More walking and talking, with the egalrin occaisionally doing an emotive gesture to help 'sell' the tale. "What happened after that is legend. She became an adventurer, working for hire at the beck and call of the people. There are tales of her taking several blades in the stomach and laughing at the fools who tried it. Tales of her body slamming a dragon into the earth so hard that the ground split in two and the dragon did NOT DARE to move again under her watch. Scores of undead that were seared so finely that one could not tell it from the ground they once walked on. Tales have been told that she has kicked a man so hard in the face that every single one of the sections in his back have been broken in new angles. There are battles in which she'd start empty handed and disarm nearly every opponent who had the audacity to draw a blade in her presence. She'd defeat them all and then toss all of their weapons in a pile, if they weren't already dead. Punches that could shatter stone, metal and bone as easily as one breaks the crust of a particularly poor bread. Kicks that bring a tear to the eye of anyone who has trained in the styles of the fist and forms of martial arts so fine that nearly any master of the art is aroused by the perfection.

The egalrin woman pauses for a moment before continuing. "That woman is...also my mother. Elmira of the Winds. And I can tell you, as one of her 13 children, of which I am number seven, that all of those terrifying characteristics makes a mother that you WISH you could sneak by. Let her story inspire all of you to find your personal glory, whether that be at the end of a good meal, or in the fights that one day may end up as legend in a bard's tale. For ANGORON!"

Yngvild alternates between staring at the rock in her open palm and the nameless Lucht and Jotun who joined the party. Still as another tale is told she looks up and joins in the call "IRON MOUNTAIN!" she booms, raising her horn up high.

Miruan smiles, and lifts her drink up as Ezriya finishes her tale. She is smiling, eyes wide.

"For Elmira of the Winds!!!" cheers Kaj, holding up his brick of a fist before offering his hands to help Ezriya--who needs no help--off the stage, clearly not daring to add the weight of he, Stjepan and Kalkorth before everyone who is going to get off has done so.

Aldean hasn't quite had the chance to clean himself up yet, but raises his own drink to the tale before turning away and doing just that.

Kalkorth raises his fist as he cheers with the others. He has seen how those monks can move and knows how deadly they can be when they want to. He has great respect for them. He gets over to Kaj and leans in close to see what he would like.

Once he has spoken to Kalkorth and Stjepan, and once it appears that people are listening, Kaj will climb to the stage with them and begin.

"Little Sisters! Little Brothers! Hear us now we Jotun cousins, as we honour Angoron, Tierian and YOU with a tale from one of the First Songs. This is the tale of Lina and Ogo, siblings and twins! Lina, mighty and kind, Ogo, mightier and a downright bastard!" begins Kaj, with a grin and between glances to his 'cousins' from the north.

"This is a story not of the past but of what will be!"

Once again he looks left to Kalkorth and then right to Stjepan, seeing that they are in place, and so he begins, together with them stomping rhythmically and powerfully with one leg, setting up the cadence on which the story will hang.

"It is foretold that when the ice walls crawl south, farther than they've ver been, it will be the work of the Dark! The ice will push all before it, bringing people into lands that others call home, forcing them to abandon their ancestors, forcing them into conflict and diminishing their Songs."

He then points up at the sky, "But the Swords of Heaven will appear in the skies, and that will be the sign that somewhere, Lina and Ogo have been born!"

Mikilos quirks a brow. Prophesy? Well, odder tales have been told. He listens quietly.

The aged warrior sits up in his seat. His form begin to lose some of its aged ness.

The halfling stretches out. Wings expand from his back. They glow with the divine light of celestial grace.

Mikilos quirks the other brow, less surprised than perhaps he might be, but still, not quite what he was expecting.

Miruan is easy going. She listens, eyes widening. And then there's a fellow with glowing wings!?

There is indeed.

He's now standing by the aged warrior.

"Don't mind us."

"Do continue."

"Hell of a party."

The two clink their mugs together.

Ezriya quickly gets off the stage as someone else likely takes her place, and turns to offer Miruan a polite smile as she does so. She soon returns to her spot at the table and pulls herself up a seat. "And that's the short-version of my mother, the cultural hero. Dinner times could be quite entertaining at times, as she has so many stories that I've easily lost count of them all."

And because she hit the wrong cosmic note, Miruan is looking after drinks and plates left behind by those doing their thing.

Yngvild offers a heartfelt salute as the two beings reveal their celestial nature "My thanks" she says, voice loud but reverent "Honor to you both" she adds and. At their words she throws her head back in a loud laugh that echoes around "COYOTE AND IRON MOUNTAIN" she says, lifting her horn to them and draining the contents in one long swallow.

GAME: Yngvild rolls knowledge/religion: (17)+11: 28

GAME: Mikilos rolls knowledge/religion: (5)+12: 17

GAME: Miruan rolls Knowledge/Religion: (6)+5: 11

Kalkorth intones, "It has been foretold! So it shall be!" He starts up the next part of the story. "Lina and Ogo shall grow up to be the best of friends and the fiercest of rivals, challenge each other in everything. No contest shall decide which one is better. Even though they walk separate paths they will always be bonded, connected. It's this connection that shall always bring them together and in the end it will redeem them both. Together they shall be great heroes that will be like bonfires against the darkness. So it has been foretold! So it shall be!"

"So it is foretold, so it shall be!" echoes Kaj. "Remember that two are always stronger than one! IRON MOUNTAIN!" he shouts, fist-pumping with one hand, wrist-clasping Kalkorth's with the other.

Mikilos applauds quietly, and steps up onto the stage, unconcerned with the weight. If it breaks, he'll fix it, stronger than before. It's what he does. Stepping forward, he waits for the din to settle down again. Well, as much as it will at a party like this.

The two divine spectators, Celestials both with their glowing forms, fist bump. Really.

They're /bros/.

Suddenly, from one of the ale bottles, erupts a veritable /geyser/ of ale. It isn't stopping, either. It's /showering/ ale.

Miruan beams at Kalk's story. She enjoyed it. And she cheers with the others, even if hers is less - well, loud. She does applaud. THe monk seems quietly happy, smiling at Ezriya in passing. She's guarding and watching the beverages, eyes widening as she's suddenly ALE SOAKED MONK. "... I have choosen my seat either awesomely or poorly."

Kaj backslaps Kalkorth's pec and points at the ale geyser. "Our life is complete! Come!" he says, grinning and heads over toward the Ale Spring of Geysering Jotun Joymaking.

Yngvild laughs again at the shower of ale. Even though it will probably necessitate armor and hair cleaning tomorrow for this joyous evening she steps gladly into it and holds up her horn to be filled.

Mikilos says, "Long ago, before the age of men, all the gods worked upon their tasks. Tasks both great and small, and all held honor, for all were needed. But some craved power, and fell from their assigned tasks, and went into the Darkness. Others rose to fight them, bring them back to their tasks, to bring Light to the Darkness. Yet others held true, keeping firm to their duties, leaving neither for power, nor battle, but holding true, that there might remain something left when the fighting ended.

None deny the Gods of Light were strong, but the Dark held power and trickery, and brought forth demons and foul minions to fight by their side. The Gods of Light called for aid, and many came to the call. Amoung them, elven warriors, clad in holy mithrill. Their silvery blades cleft though the evil horde, and they strode beside the Gods of Light, turning back the fell tide. Never was the world quite the same, but the balance was restored. Life continued.

As time past, the world change. New races rose, and fell, and rose again. Ledgends were born, and lived, had glasses raised in their honor, tales sung for their glory. And the glasses were emptied, and the voices fell, and the legends grew dim and dusty. But not forgotten.

Raise now your mug, to those who came before. To those who fought, and bled, and died, that we here might live to fight on. To those called the Silver Blades, to the Mithril Elves." Mikilos raises his own glass, and takes a drink. "To ancient kin."

"ANCIENT and FUTURE KIN!" echoes and riffs the Jotun, fist once again held high--a brief pause on his way to the ale geyser.

Kalkorth claps Kaj's hand and he chuckles, "Your's might be." He says as he goes over to Miruan not minding the ale and he wipes it from his face. "Thank you for holding onto my mead. Did you try some?" He asks as he cheers, "Ancient and future kin!"

"Ancient kin!" Yngvild intones with the others, than as Kalkorth adds to it she raises her horn towards him as well, as the alestorm plasterns her blood red hair to her scalp. Makes it easier to fill her horn and drink to the latest toast at least.

Miruan smiles at Kalkorth. "I have my own glass, yes. It is magnificent." She grins. She is a bit soggy, but such is life. "Ancient and future kin," She seems quieter, subdued. It seems to be a sad subject for her, but she's joining in the cheer nevertheless. Still, a bit of ale runs down in a rivulet down dark hair. She hands Kalkorth his beverage back. "You are most welcome." Beam.

Kaj ambles towards the Ale Geyser and is obviously trying to figure out the best angle of attack to capture such a prize...

Mikilos isn't really much of one for ale.... but divine conjured ale? This is worth sampeling.

Kalkorth nods as he leans back to finish the mug of mead and he smiles, "Yes it is, but I'm going to try some of that ale fresh from the source." He says as he goes to fill up his large mug.

Miruan smiles. "Sounds good. I may finish this and follow suit," She takes a long sip, before following Korkoth. At least no armor is easy to clean.

And with that the party continued well into the night, for those with the stamina at least.