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

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Monroe

mean-roe, at your service
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Background Music
"Release Thee As If It Were Molten"



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.
 
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!

1720937904354.png"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
 
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“ 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
 
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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 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.
 
'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
 
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.