Knights of Anathaeum A Pretty Night for Himbo Knights (After Dark)

[Monroe]

Background Music
"Release Thee As If It Were Molten"
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The Knoll certainly had seen many of them in their not to finest hours, but that was a thought only Monroe would have when all sense of inebriation was gone from her system, and a certain Shadow Knight had been supplying her with wine since the early hours of the morning. By the time dinner was being served at this fine establishment, Monroe was grinning at all she saw.

Six more cups and she would be tossing up bets for the most ridiculous wagers.

"Where is Hector?" Stood on top of a table, cleared and prepared for the dinner service, Monroe lifted a hand over her eyes as if to block the light from hitting those earthen hues, scanning the crowd. She would miss the sight of Saskia hauling in a large hessian sack containing prizes.

For the Runners Up, they would each receive a supply of Magical Medieval's Protein Powder, and a lovely shirt that is embroidered with the words 'Not Himbo Enough.'

The Second Runner Up, Magical Medieval's macro friendly meal service and 90 minutes of any treatment at the Astenvale Spa.

The First Runner Up, to receive Magical Medieval's best-selling product, density dumbells, capable of being altered to whatever weight you wish!

The Grand Prize, well... that was to be revealed once Monroe spotted their Champion.

 

[Hector]

A gulp passed down his throat.

What was. How did.

"Champ- Champion?" He asked Lemock. His head on a swivel as his eyes searched.

He wasn't ready to be a champion of anything!

"Um, yes, Hec-" Lemock cleared his throat, "Syr Hector" Lemock said with a grin, and handed the knight a cool rag. "The judges scored you the highest,"

Hector buried his face in it. Half a laugh mixed with a mild scream as he pat his face. But he was all grins when the towel came away, and he slapped it over his shoulder. "Well," he laughed as the music stirred over the air, and the party goers hooted and hollered, drunk in their merriment. "Can't right argue with that,"

Lemock laughed. "Though I'm sad Gunner fellow didn't place higher,"

Hector grinned, jabbed an elbow into his friend's side. "Is that so?"

Lemock blushed some. "He, he had a certain charm is all!"

Hector nod. "Yes, a charm,"

"Oh shut it," Lemock laughed.

Hector smiled in turn, and looked over the crowd. A few stray glances caught his eye, and the twiddle of dainty fingers, and the titter of laughs caused his cheeks to rose. The half elf cleared his throat, and averted his gaze.

Lemock smirked. "Don't worry, Syr," he teased. "I'm sure Syr Astarell would understand,"

A sharp smile and a twitch of the neck. "Oh shut it, Lemock."

The music banged on. Thumped and bumped as the singers belted their lines with glee.

Lorinna Astarel

 

[Aarno]

“ Shame about the placing — You ran so well, considering— “ He announced to Syr Faramund sidelong, almost genuine in his lamentation. While he hadn’t stopped grinning since they’d finished the race, more for the ridicule of it all than anything else, a part of him was all too competitive to take any defeat in stride.

It was not his defeat exactly, as he’d made the deliberate choice to not attend, but in some twisted way he’d assimilated into Faramund’s corner by just having been made a begrudging part of it for the last task. A meager couple minutes was all it took to make a sore loser out of him, appeared, or to have him cheer for the sole fact they hadn’t fallen over on the trail. Sports, can’t do them and yet no living without. Bastards.

“ Fancy shirt you got out of it, though. “ He gestured at it, bunched up in the man’s grip. “ You should wear it for the night. While the embroidery is a little mean-spirited, who knows— “ In a great shrug, he turned on heel to eye the crowd, neck craned like he meant to really look for someone.

“ Am sure there’s a bounty of people who are into that. “ Baring teeth in a smile, he gave the fellow Sworn a wink.

“ Unless, of course, you’d much rather party with me. “

Faramund

 

[Arbok]

Arbok woke to the sounds of cheering. It was dark and she liked to sleep and more than one joke was made about hibernating in the past.
Still she tore her eyes open to the night sky out the window and stretched out of the cot. Her dark hair was wild and unkempt, covering half of her face. Her arms were bare from the tank top that flowed to her knees and hid the small shorts she used to sleep in.
Slipping into her boots she stomped down to the Knoll.
Cheering and whooping came from inside as she poked her messy bedhead through the doorway.
"Oh wow."
It was follow up from the games. Monroe was giving prizes and announcing victories. Another yawn sent her arms up and over her head. It was nice to see everyone together.
That is until she saw *them* and realised she was underdressed and probably as scruffy looking as she could be without actually turning feral.
"Oh dipsticks!"

 

[Julian Benavide]

Julian could not believe his luck. First runner up?!? Second place?!??! While he would've liked to have been champion, he could settle for second. He still got some pretty awesome prizes, along with the awe-struck gazes of many a knight.

Byanka was still nearby and despite herself, she was smiling. Julian looked over at her, his own smile wide. The celebration after the competition looked to be just as much fun, with just as much alcohol. Julian knew Byanka didn't care for alcohol of any sorts, and it was with this in mind as he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Want to come with me to get a non-alcoholic drink? I'm sure they have tea or lemonade or something else refreshing around here somewhere. We might just have to do a bit of searching,"

Even though the sun was going down and the competition was over, Julian had yet to put a shirt back on. He had a shirt that he had recieved as part of his prizes, but it was perhaps one of the ugliest shirts he had ever seen, and besides, it hid his lovely muscles.

He walked through the crowd with a pep in his step, his hand now by his side. He thought she was likely to push him away if he tried to pull her close so he kept his hands to himself and settled for the occasional bump of their arms as they walked.

 

[Faramund]

'Too well, it seems.' Defeat left a bitter taste in his mouth, but there was plenty of beer to wash it away with. Huffing, the big dawnling looked down at the shirt clutched in his hand. The words were mean-spirited, and yet Faramund found he didn't mind. Failure had its price and the price was evidently cheap, if the quality of the garment was anything to go by.

Besides, "it was for a good cause."

'Let's not get ahead of ourselves, brother.' Turning to face Aarno, Faramund grinned. 'The night is young, the celebrations equally so. Let's see how things proceed before making any... uh, hasty decisions, ey?' It had been pure, dumb luck that had landed Aarno with him during the competition. And it was pure bad luck that the bastard had stuck to him like a fly on shit ever since.

Still, could be worse.

Aarno

 

[Caelia]

She had come away to the Knoll in hopes of some peace and quiet from the festivities of the day, and perhaps even to keep from the display of flesh and muscle. Caelia had books to read, works of fiction that had called to her louder than the books she was meaning to get to.

And when raucous laughter and free spirits poured into the once peaceful Knoll, she reached for a pressed dried poppy and placed it within the pages of her book.

Could it not harm them to put on shirts? Some did not look as grand in the growing dark.

 

[Osuin]

Osuin strode in, still with a slight lump. Well, he could've done better. Might was a quality he held plenty of. Nimbleness, not so much. That last event could have gone much better if Petra hadn't slipped off his shoulder. He hadn't dropped her at least, he had managed to catch hold of her before she slipped entirely off him. It had cost him a sprained ankle, and the subsequent limping had cost him quite a lot of time on the race itself. To his credit, he had finished the race, placing last by a wide margin.

His ankle had survived ice skating with Monroe, only to fall victim to months later during something far more mundane. The healing salve was working well at least.

He received a free shirt commemorating his loss, too! One he wasn't about to put on — and so shirtless he remained as he walked through the growing crowd.

 

[Gunner Valenntyne]

Gunner had already forgotten how he'd placed in the competition. It hadn't been high, but then he'd never shown up with the desire to win big. No, that Saskia girl had simply promised him a good time, food and drink, and a bed to crash in when it was all said and done. What did it matter to him how good he'd done? It was fun, just as he'd been promised!

And now, came the food and drinks. The night was young, and Valenntyne aimed to squeeze as much enjoyment out of the sunless hours as he could manage. The Knoll was far from the largest or most well-stocked place he'd ever had the pleasure of partying in, but it hadn't stopped him.

A table sat in the corner littered with half-empty bottles and full mugs, surrounded by Gunner and a small group of other competitors of lesser accomplishment within the competition as he led them in a raucous if somewhat slurred, song. The dark brown hair that had been tied behind his neck now fell down across his face and down his chest in curtains, the messy flannel shirt that had hung so loosely on his muscular frame now tied around his waist as he locked two of the poor drunken souls next to him in separate headlocks.

"Enough with the song and dance, ay? Let's find us some friends to bother! Just stay away from that Monroe lass. Girl nearly scalpled me with the way she was pullin' my hair, and it wasn't the fun kinda hair pullin'!" He cackled, remembering how Miss Monroe had done just about the exact thing he'd told her not to do, nearly yanking his follicles right from his skull when he'd made a turn just a bit too sharp. It had sent them both down, and hadn't done much towards impressing her.

Snatching a bottle from the table and taking a big swig of whatever spirit was inside, Gunner grinned as bright as the dawn would feel to his hungover eyes in the morning as he split from his raucous group and sought after somebody interesting. His eye caught a quiet one, her eyes focused intensely on the book she was desperately trying to maintain focus on.

Valenntyne couldn't help snickering.

"Looks like you might picked a bad spot for it tonight, lass. Sorry about that, but I'm sure the morning will be dead quiet!"

 

[Matvi Iramene]

There came the hard shake of ice made to steady rattle-rattle-rattle against ribbed glass that frosted over with cold sweat worked up by the rhythmic pulse of fingers gripped tight and smooth pump of arms.

It clacked against the hard wood counter of the Knolls bar, in beat with the drums and lulls of the flutes. He winked to the patrons that gathered around, patiently, gave the mushroom shaped cap of the glass shaker a smooth twist, and a quick release that turned to smooth pour.

One cup filled up, two, three. Up to the brim with a sweet smelling amber liquid. Though the bouquet belied the complex spice and woodiness that lingered just beneath.

A grin, and he capped the glass tool quick. Set it aside. Grabbed up a small ceramic jar, chilled to the touch, he popped the lid open, and with a small silver spoon, scooped and ladled out three deep ruby fruits, coated in a sweet sticky syrup.

"That's three Belgrathis, with our very own Valen Cherries, preserved and sweetened in honey syrup, and bitter almond oil, " he said as the little red orbs drifted down to the bottom of their cups.

The three ladies of the Obanese Women's foundations smiled the wider, and slapped their coins onto the counter.

With a widening of his smile, Matvi swept up the coins with his off hand. Produced a single silver piece and tapped it to his brow. "The Order's thanks," he said through gleeful smile.

They took up their drinks and moseyed on off.

A quick sleight of hand saw the coins cast into an open coffer, stashed bellow the counter.

"Oh shit," he uttered. Darting his gaze away from Monroe, who he had almost made eye contact with. He jut his chin at his squire for the night instead. "Oy, you got the kegs tapped?"

 

[Caelia]

"Looks like you might picked a bad spot for it tonight, lass. Sorry about that, but I'm sure the morning will be dead quiet!"

"Predictable, in fact. Men working hard all day in the sun, and the Knoll has drinks. Besides..." Caelia tucked away her books into a bag that barely contained them. She peered at the one of the many handsome men from the group that strayed closer to her corner and spoke to her.

Ah, he held a shirt in hand.

Caelia snorted. "Syr Kerraelas spent quite some time embroidering each of those shirts. Shame none of you are wearing them to show appreciation."

 

[Lorinna Astarel]

The music banged on. Thumped and bumped as the singers belted their lines with glee.

"Come Syr Hector!"

Lorinna slurred her words as she pushed through the throng to Hector. She had a large flagon of ale in one hand. On such a warm day, one needed plenty of drink.

Lorinna had had plenty to drink through the day.

"We must! Go to...your adoring crowds!"

She knew full well that this was going to be making him uncomfortable. She took his arm with hers - leaving one free of course - and took him for a stroll.

"Proud of you," she said quietly enough that no one else would hear.

 

[Monroe]

And there he was.

"An ear and a half and he still outclassed you all!" Monroe cheered, pointing out Hector in the crowd filtering into the Knoll. Syr Cathmore placed thumb and forefinger to her mouth and whistled loudly over the merriment that played in the interiors. "Oi! Hector! Come claim your winner's prize!"

She stooped to pick up a fashioned cummerbund of sorts, but there in the forefront, etched over the finest piece of gold medallion, were the words written "The First Himbo Festival Champion" and with Hector's name added below at the conclusion of the day's festivities.

Waving it for him to see, the drunken Monroe grinned and gestured for him to make his way over so that she could present him with his hard earned prize.

 

[Byanka Valkas]

Byanka felt as if every single male in attendance was shirtless. Which was ironic, considering the sun had gone down and if they had competed, they received a nicely embroidered shirt as a participation award. Nearly all of them, Julian included, were carrying their shirts instead of wearing them. Byanka thought about making a point to Julian about it but then decided it wasn't worth it.

He was being friendly and kind to her, perhaps overly so, and she knew if she told him to go away and leave her alone he would, but then she would in fact be alone, and she didn't know who else would see her and try to socialize with her. It seemed everyone else had already formed groups (or pairs, even, disappearing into the night for a moment alone), and she really didn't want to look like a fool standing by herself. Besides, Julian was making the effort to spend time with her, and just her; there were plenty of other women he could've been flirting with that likely would've been more responsive than she, especially considering his second place in the competition.

Julian stopped walking a moment, finding them some lemonade and the empty end of a long table. He sat down on the bench seat Byanka sat down beside him, encircling her cool glass with her hands. She raised it to her lips and just after swallowing the cold liquid did she realize just how warm she had been.

She set her glass down and looked over to Julian. "Congrats on second place," she said softly and genuinely. She hadn't congratulated him yet- when she had set her feet on solid ground once more her knees had nearly buckled and then she had had to be taken aside and given a cup of cold water to regain her senses. Julian had miraculously only tripped once or twice, and his grip on her never faltered. She had seen many competitors and their passenger princesses go down, letting others get ahead. She remembered being glad he hadn't dropped her, and then feeling foolish for even thinking he might; he would never take such a blow to his confidence.

 

[Hector]

Squire Lemock smiled, just a tad wider, and adjusted the rim of his spectacles. "Yes, do go on, Syr Hector,"

Hector's brow quirked, and his smile, half caught between genuine joy and a sharp hey, bubbled up true as Lori came all the closer.

Her arm looped through Hector's, sure, and she pulled him on as he tittered. "Woah, hey, you seem to be enjoying yourself," he smiled as they fell into step, and his cheeks felt all the warmer as she whispered her secret. It got another little laugh out of him. "Well, remind me to take up games for charity more often," he leaned in, just the more.

Monroe's voice cut clear across the din of the crowd.

Hector's eyes went wide and whatever idea had him pouting his lips, shot down his spine and stood him straight up. "Prize?"

A shiny belt hung from Monroe's upraised fist.

"My pants are still in tatters," Hector said absently. Looked down at his bare legs, noticed his shirt. His head popped up and scanned about. "And, and, my shirt's still on," he looked to Lori. "Is it supposed to be on?"

Competition over, his brain was beginning to work itself into its usual folds.

Lorinna Astarel Monroe

 

[Gunner Valenntyne]

"Terribly sorry, I suppose I didn't realize the work that went into them." He admitted, unfolding the embroidered shirt and spreading it out. It wasn't really his taste, the color didn't match his hair, and the underside of the embroidery would brush up against his skin, barely but enough for him to feel it. "I'm... not from around here, you know? Not really sure what I'm supposed to do and not do. This just seemed like fun."

With a bit of reluctance, Gunner gripped the shirt by its mouth and pulled it up and over his head, pulling it down over his chest with some effort. The material stretched around his considerable mass, deforming the embroidery and making it obvious the size was a bit small for the big man.

Still, he smiled through the discomfort.

"That better, miss?"

He hadn't caught the young bookworm's name, but then they only people he'd learned the names of here were Saskia, who didn't seem to be in attendance, and Monroe, who'd made her opinion of him very clear. There were plenty of folk to talk to, but while Gunner was great for a party, he was actually rather shite at ice-breakers.

Caelia

 

[Nacht]

Nacht was in disbelief. He had gotten third somehow, and what excited him most was the rumored custom shirt that was to be given to himself and the second and first place winners. Why was this prospect so exciting? In truth, it was for the sake of pride in his new place as a squire, and to lessen the odd sort of impostor syndrome that had harried him thus far. Mission by mission, day by day, it slowly went away and became easier to cope with.

Perhaps that made him shallow, to be someone who had won something, but at this moment he did not quite care. He of course still had his shirt on, unlike most of the people at the knoll, but surely an opportunity to wear his prize would come up! Deciding instead to get a drink, he would mosey up to the bar and separate two silvers from whatever money he had on him, eyes landing on the barkeep ordering around his squire. It was a different person than usual, not the jolly Brew Master but someone slightly…sketchier?

“Hello, Syr, could I bother you to get me some apple cider?” He posited, yelling a little to get over the noise. He had heard of the drink and decided that it would probably be good, like apple juice with cinnamon or something. A knight was raving about it one day he had heard, but in the back of his mind he felt as though there was one key feature he was missing. Likely nothing important or so he thought, and thus the boy waited for his request to be answered, smiling jovially.

Matvi Iramene

 

[Matvi Iramene]

Matvi slung a few drinks down the counter, and a few silver were left in their place. He gave a little salute and scooped up the coin. "Ruthi!" he called out as he "The kegs!"

Something in the back room popped. Splashed. Gluggluglugged. And a pool of amber liquid started puddling out from the door.

"It'll be a minute," came the deep baritone voice of the squire.

Matvi grumbled a low sound in the back of his throat. His eyes coming to a squint.

"Hello, Syr..." came an unfamiliar voice.

Matvi looked over to find the tall gangly mess that was Nacht. "Uh, sure kid," he grabbed up a flagon and made for one of the spouted barrels on the wall behind him. Each had a peculiar mist that hung about them that swirled as he came nearer. He placed the cup and pulled the tab and out poured the drink.

Topped off, and nary a spill, Matvi shut the spout and turned back to the kid. "One silver," he said easily, and clacked the sweet smelling drink down onto the counter top.

Nacht

 

[Petra Darthinian]

"Come on now—" grunt "—no need for tears." Crooned Petra through bared teeth. Her draconic palm clenching around the sweaty hand of Syr Hyntír, their elbows buried into the beer-stained top end of a wine barrel. A small crowd had gathered around them within the Knoll just hours after the Himbo Fest had concluded, cajoling and good-natured jeering were thrown alongside handfuls of coin towards bets around which Knight would win this arm wrestling match. So far Petra was 3-0; and if the single drop of sweat that ran from Hyntír's brow to the cradle of his braided beard meant anything, Petra felt a fourth victory soon to follow.

Where their palms touched, they shook with met force, fighting for dominion over who had the bigger biceps.

And... the better ability to work a crowd.

With a blasé attitude to her competition, Petra swung her other arm out towards the crowd, addressing them with a cocky yell. "Good people, it seems Syr Hyntír is struggling, could we get some cheers for the lad?! His efforts surely deserve at least a few claps!"

 

[Arbok]

As folk began to cheer and clap for Syr Hynter, Arbok made good the distraction and quickly slid into an empty seat at the more obscure end of the hall.
Fortunately all eyes were elsewhere so despite her presence she managed to do so deftly enough and with anyone crying out her name but that was only a temporary solution.
She was still unfit for this, for any occassion really.
"Nice one Arbok!"
Self chastisement was a bad habit she knew but it was a hard to break one so she indulged.
Taking the seat gave her a bit of cover, the table was laden with boxes of water jugs so hunching helped as she furiously tried to pat down the unruly mess that was her hair.
At least if she got that sorted she might not completely embarass herself.

 

[Julian Benavide]

If it had been anyone but Byanka, Julian would have thought her comment was sarcastic, meant to jab at him for not getting first, and then he would make an equally sarcastic comment in response. But it was Byanka, and he knew she meant it.

"Thanks," he grinned, nudging her with his shoulder. "Couldn't have done it without you. You were a lovely passenger."

He was glad to see Byanka smile at his words, though she made a weak attempt to hide it by drinking from her glass of lemonade.

"Next year, I'm trying for first. What do you think the odds would be that I carry you again?" he went on, tapping his chin as he pretended to think hard on the concept.

 

[Byanka Valkas]

Byanka could not help but laugh softly into her glass. She was struck with deja vu and could not pretend she was not glad for it.

"I'd say the odds are pretty low," Byanka replied. "Who says they'll even have the same events next year?"

"That's a good point," Julian conceded, drinking his own lemonade.

Byanka set her glass down, a smile still on her face, when she noticed Arbok sitting by herself in a corner across the mess hall. She would try and make eye contact with the girl before giving a small little wave. If Arbok wanted company she was welcome to come over and sit with Byanka and Julian; but Julian had a strange effect to him.

Byanka was not stupid- she did not miss the jealous looks many girls shot her way and the longing looks they shot Julian's way. She also did not miss the way Julian didn't notice, or at least pretended not to, and rare tiny bit of pride fluttered in her chest.

Arbok

 

[Monroe]

"Let me have that..." Came Saskia's soft voice from beside the table on which Monroe stood on. Tired from her day, Saskia had collected her golden cascade of hair into a braided crown, wearing a jacket Monroe recognised as Alaric's. Getting down from her stage, the drunken Monroe frowned at the Shadow Knight.

"Hector needs to accept his prize before his peers." She raised a brow.

"And he did, at the competition. You just didn't see it happen because you are dru---"

"I am not." Monroe snorted defensively, but handed over the belt to Saskia, who smiled and turned on her feet to give it to Hector and fashion him a pair of shadow breeches until he could repair his own pants. Monroe attempted to follow the young dusker on her way to present the prize to Hector, but the festivity's organiser found two familiar faces that distracted her.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Aarno and the Big Mund." A happy and inebriated Monroe was not uncommon within these walls of the Knoll. The fact that many in the Order have witnessed Cathmore in this state and then watch as her usual grumpiness made it all go away once she was sober used to be a confusing affair, but there were those that chose to embrace the relaxed attitude of the dawnling.

Monroe went to kiss each their cheek, an odd display of pleasantries from the Grumpy Knight, as she embraced them, coming to stand beside Aarno and smirked Faramund 's way. "I thought it would be you that would win. Or Bebin... or Osuin." She blurted. "Don't you think, Syr Aarno?"

 

[Caelia]

Caelia scrutinised his new look, eyes narrowed to show she was serious in her appraisal and hummed in thought. She stood up, walking around him. All the while, her brows furrowed and her lips pursed. "Oh dear." The gasp she let out was dramatised, but mischief made her eyes come alive. Troublesome.

"I can see why you did not place so high, Ser Valenntyne." A name she only knew due to his introduction in the events earlier in the day. It was an old habit to collect names, to match them to faces. Her upbringing before coming to the Valen Wilds had profited well from her excellent recollection of names and faces.

It helped to know who she was tasked with spying upon...

Caelia clicked her tongue, giving the visitor a mournful expression. "You know what? Seeing as you did not win, I will let you buy me a drink. If you order me a drink I would enjoy, then perhaps I will humour you and listen to your story." It was better they did the talking than she did.

Gunner Valenntyne

 

[Aarno]

He kept his pleasant smirk, eyes narrowing a tad as the man made response. All true there, one had to suppose, if a little– uninspired? Here he had been under some impression Syr Faramund had great potential to be a hoot at parties, but perhaps he’d been thinking about someone else.

How many dingdang large bearded dawnlings were there again? Blinking rather dumbly, he visibly rotated a thought within for another moment before speaking.

“ Hasty decisions. Careful with such words, friend, for I’m of the mind to take up on a dare or two tonight. “ He broke into a sneer and clicked his tongue as if urging a horse, glancing about just in time to catch the sight of someone approaching. She greeted them before he had the time, spiriting away all his conjured ill will.

“ Monroe! “ He clapped her on the back and gave her shoulders a little squeeze as she extended her inebriated affections, a bit of laugh in him for how sudden and overt it was. Once she took alongside and made judgement, he scooted a little closer and planted shoulder against hers, settling to eye Faramund in tune like he meant to judge a prize bull.

I suppose–

“ Sure. “ He started, as if admitting defeat, hand tossing. “ But naturally, I’m biased. “ Winking, he looked from the man to the other Dawnling, head tilting as he made from his voice a caricature of a whisper.

“ For am afraid I’ve resulted to becoming a permanent part of his team. “ I get a curse, you get a curse– Despite the lamentation in his voice, he wore his best smile yet.

“ Figure it’s fatal? Tell me fast, Syr Cathmore– “

Encouraging haste, he flapped his hand betwixt them.

" How long would you give me? "

Monroe Faramund