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

[Aarno]

He’d lost his discomfort for the little silences, strangely content as their vicinity remained. Hands holding on ever so lightly, that hint of a smile, gentle ministrations as she fixed his hair. Beyond flinching at this point of the eve, he merely enjoyed it, watching her, of every inch.

How had she not pulled away yet, that they’d say something polite — thought out, scripted, professional — thank each other for the dance, maybe throw in some challenge for a future one, half joking, just in case—

He broke into his filthiest smile yet as she spoke her verdict, his free hand brushing through the side of his hair as he surrendered to her lead again. Well, she had said her dance card was full for the rest of the eve — maybe she’d meant it.

Maybe.

The bar was crowded, but Syr Iramene’s voice was clearly heard despite it. His expression had mellowed out on their way, enough to be the image of subdued enjoyment as he mulled the question over. If only he’d had some thirst that a bar could quench.

What was that ungodly brew Syr Darthinian had carried about that one time— The name escaping him, he elected to make his indecision his company’s problem.

” Say, Syr Lóthlindor — ” He started, releasing her hand and landing his on the small of her back. ” What do you usually have? Anything you recommend, or ought I rely on our good Syr Iramene here in case I’ve contracted indecision and a taste for adventure? ”

From her his look bounced to the man in turn, a bit of daring in it.

Your worst, please.

Farren Lóthlindor Matvi Iramene

 

[Farren Lóthlindor]

"Farren, Aarno," he said idly, a crook of invitation at the corner of his lips. "Anything that might parch your thirst?"

Momentarily distracted by the warmth of Aarno's hand through her dress, Farren almost missed his question as they arrived at the bar. She recovered with a beaming smile at Matvi, "Do you still have that dandelion mead we brought in last spring? I know that that Val Anirian woman who works at the apothecary in Astenvale made it, but I hadn't heard if she gave us another cask or not."

Farren turned to Aarno, realizing just how close they were for the way he had to curl over her to hear her words over the crowded bar. "It's rather strong. So I wouldn't blame you if you ordered something else that you thought you could handle." Quicksilver eyes flashed with playful challenge.

Aarno Matvi Iramene

 

[Rupaka]

Rupaka stirred in what became an unpleasant slumber. Reverie was torn from him, chin jerking up with a gulp of air that sought to beat down a surge of vitality that accosted his throat. A groan mewled from lips dry from their near constant parting.

His frock, still slick with spill and tribbling cold onto his flesh, had caught hold of a peg in the bar, snagging him in an awkward slump; head bowed, shoulders puckered, legs crossed in wild array with a boot half exposing an ankle.

Several blinks were required of him to take stock of his surroundings: the Squire he had upbraided danced around in service of mugs and tankards all. The barkeep, hands raised in a maestro's diction, made amiable motion and easy conversation through the thrum and clangor of the evening's crowd. A number of fellow Knights paid patronage to the bar.

Bracing himself against the puddle he laid in, Rupaka began the meandering process of staggering to his feet. Leaning heavy on the bartop, he stepped in stutters to the other side and fell atop elbows with a tinny clang.

A mug of something sat idle before him. Nothing for it but to steal a swig.

"Oh," he said, tongue flicking over a lick of foam that framed his mustache, "this is excellent indeed. Uh, it is mine, yes?"

 

[Matvi Iramene]

Matvi bowed his head to the happy pair. His raised brows and the smile full of a discrete knowing. "A pair of Veir Thung's, from Vel Anir," he said with an up curl of his lips. "Coming right up,"

He turned, quick, sharp, easy.

Practiced hands grabbed up quick what they wanted. Slapped what they needed, and pulled the right levers that let the sweet syrupy drink flow.

The light head that formed along the rim was managed easy. One stein, then two, he turned and put the cups before them, but his hands went on with their frantic work. Scooped up a curved bottle, let tender tips of his fingers slide across the cork to twist it free with its unctuous pop.

"Your meads, fair Syrs," he said, amidst his motions which hung in the air.

Two small thimbles of copper came next. The bottle snatched up. tilt and set to pour. A thing set to that which it wanted to do. Let go of all it held inside. With measure of course. He winked to the pair. If only for a dance, an eve, or a more, enjoy.

Finished the pour and pushed forward the thimbles of mysterious drink.

"It is said that this bottle was pilfered from a Fae Lord of the Spring courts," he said with a hidden laugh. "By one Syr Sando, and his partner in Dusk, Lefelen," he re-corked the bottle. "And I do assure," he said as he wiped the rim clean. "It is my absolute worst," he winked at Aarno, and smiled at Farren in turn.

A quick nod given to the great Darthinian. And he readied the Belgrathi spirit she fancied so well. Amber as the morning sun against distant stormclouds, and just as strong as the storm itself.

And he would have finished pouring clean, were it not for the Paper Knight's stumbles. A blink blink, and a minor spill saw him jerk back, hiss a curse. "Ruthi!" he called out, as he shook his head left to right. "Can you help with this?" the big squire was quick to move over, his large hands full with a rag.

Matvi looked to Rupaka. "Stop that," he said as he snatched the drink away. Looked at the container of drink. "Fucks sake, this isn't even your cup," he said idly.

Farren Lóthlindor Aarno Petra Darthinian Rupaka

 

[Selene]

There were a number of strange instruments and dried flowers in ornate little boxes scattered about the table where Selene sat. Rhythm steady, she busied herself with them, mixing some sort of herbal remedy in a shallow clay pot. A pinch of this, a spoonful of that. Next to her elbow was a neat stack of papers, so thin that they were gauzy. Beside, a coiling wax candle wrapped upon itself.

"Do you remember the festival at Gwinholm? When the Commander got up on the table and started breathing fire?" she hummed to Bebin, who sat beside her. Dark eyes looked out at the gathering around them, crinkling with the joy that sparked between fellows.

Wait -- was Matvi getting out the fae stuff?

The finger's width of amber liquid was too generous of a pour. She hoped the pair could hold it.

"Call it a presentiment. Tonight might turn out something like that."

Bebin Theros

 

[Petra Darthinian]

Petra clicked her tongue in approval at Matvi's pour. "As always, you are more than generous." The Dawnling went to place payment and tip on the bar, when the bartender snatched away a stein from Rupaka's drunken grasp. A scolding quick to follow from the man's display. Pausing, Petra eyed Matvi with a loaded expression. "Would you like help?" She turned to the knight at the bar whose drink had been unjustly taken. "And Syr Vega, would you like another drink?"

Matvi Iramene Rupaka Castor Vega

 

[Bebin Theros]

Thick fingers worked the sticky herb free from its stems with a gentle twist. Muscles bulged fat with supple strength squeezed into too little pink fabric. 'Not Himbo Enough'stretched wide across broad chest.

Bebin plucked each bud, bit by bit, and laid them out with a rub betwixt the pads of forefinger and thumb.

Right onto a fragrant brown leaf.
A laugh fell from Bebin's mouth as his fingers curled and pressed. "Then we best prepare accordingly, " He said, full of devilish delight.

A lick along the cured leaf. Working and sticking the roll shut around the sweet smelling herb. A slip of the fingers across the roll's length. He let it kiss a nearby candle fire. Brought the embered joint to his lips and pulled gentle breaths into his lungs.

The roll caught fire, and smoke pushed out of his nose in feint streams of grey. A small cough. A chuckle. He turned the blunt in his hand, shielding the flame as he offered it to Selene beside him.

"Captain," he teased.
Selene

 

[Faramund]

'Yes, Syr Cathi-Cathmore, you snooze you lose.' Grinning, Faramund took a moment to measure up. The shirt was a bit loose on her, a bit long, but he figured it suited her better anyway. And if he wanted it back later, well, he supposed he would just have to peel it off her... or take the loss.

Not my colour, he thought, crooking a smile as the barman raced to address the growing crowd. 'Sides, who's really losing out in that equation? Mund wasn't sure.

No offense, Saskia.

Glancing down the length of the bar, Faramund spied Farren and Aarno mixing in. The two looked... close. Faramund found himself smiling wider, right up until someone had to go and spoil the scene. 'Looks like someone's going to have to take the boot to Rupaka again,' he told his compatriots, sighing as Ruthi stepped up to the plate. 'Poor sod. I mean, look at him!' And people call me drink-addled.

'Remember that time you had to slap him back to consciousness, Roe? Fuck me, if I didn't nearly piss myself laughing!'

Monroe Hector Lorinna Astarel

 

[Monroe]

Monroe turned to look at Faramund, pure mischief alight in her golden gaze. "I'd do it again." And for less.

 

[Gunner Valenntyne]

Valenntyne took a cursory look around the Knoll as Caelia spoke of the order, taking it in not with the eyes of a celebratory drunkard, but a man who hadn't a crowd to fit in with for quite some time. She was right, the place was full of diverse, interesting folk of all shapes and sizes. A small smile did break through his momentary melancholy.

"Yeah... I see that. Looks like you lot are doing pretty well for yourselves." There was envy, just a bit of it, behind the words. Gunner did well enough at layering that usual joy that exuded from him to conceal it, though. "That event? Most fun I've had in a long time. I was touched, really, that they invited me to it, even if I was just at the right place at the right time."

Gunner saw the fondness in her eyes for all of these people, he saw her mind register each name, her expression changing ever so slightly as she recalled the memories she'd made with each of them. Even without that old chunk of rock...

Valenntyne knew he'd never escape what he was.

"But I don't really belong here." He muttered, looking off into the distance. I'm no Knight. Not cut out to be one either. Sworn duty, an oath to serve, yadda yadda yadda... Nah." Valenntyne's hair tousled over his face a bit as he shook his head. "I enjoy my freedom too much. I'd be a liability more than anything. More than likely, I'll be moving on in the morning..."

Caelia

 

[Caelia]

"Shame." She smiled in good nature. "Many do find their people amongst the Sworn and Duty bound."

Caelia studied this new acquaintance for a moment, pursing her lips and debating something before opening her mouth to speak. "Your drink is empty." It almost was, but Caelia aimed a smile at her companion. "And the fun does not need to end at just the events from today. Celebrations and good company can last, and perhaps it is time for the Knights to show our guest how we like to celebrate."

Turning to face the bar, the usually quiet and reserved Dawnling cleared her throat and waved a hand as she tried to get the attention of Matvi.

"A round of shots, Syr Iramene!" Caelia scrunched her face delicately, aware she was calling attention upon herself and had not drank enough potent spirits to not care about such a fact.

But bless the souls, for Monroe Cathmore began to catch onto Syr Kerrigan's idea.

"Drinking game!" She grinned wickedly. From somewhere on her person, she produced some charcoal and cleared a table. In the middle of the table, she wrote her name, any other name of those that wished to participate.

Oh, no... this was not the game Caelia was hoping for. Amongst the Knights, it was called Shenanigans, and with several drinks in most of them, it often lead to such activities, but Cael could not deny that each game had been fun to watch.

"Put my name down. "

The game was simple to play, with names of participants written on a surface. A coin was to be flipped, and if it landed on a name, then the bearer of that name was to drink and pass onto to the next person. If the coin landed on a blank space, then a rule was to be written there, and be acted upon if the coin was to land on that particular spot.

---

Roll 1d3 with the results determining your outcome.
1= Name 2= Blank Space 3= Rule
Feel free to NPC some rules being made if you land on a Rule

 

[Aarno]

Rather strong, huh? He rose his brows at the tease, bringing a hand to the root of his neck like he meant to clutch at a string of beads. The image of an appalled noblewoman.

“ Needs be declared you’ve found me out, for I am rather out of practice. “ He said, honest despite his sensational tone. “ But it is a special night — Why not a special drink, something new. You’ll save me should I end up on the floor, no? “ A shrug and a smile, worriless as his eye moored on the bartender. There was something terribly pleasant in watching a man in his element, all practiced movements and deft knowing. A craftsman, absorbed amidst his tools and materials, liquid.

Dandelion mead. And then some.

He didn’t entire know whether it was the wink or the crowning remark, but a strange sensation blew through him regardless, like a shudder, but— pleasant? Warm and cold at once, a nudge within the ribcage where something settled to merely spin softly, restless. Like a thrill.

“ Much obliged. “ He responded, his look half knowing half admiration as it lingered on Syr Iramene therein, even as the man busied ever onwards. There was commotion at the bar of a sudden, louder, a round of shots and a game being announced. Fishing in his pocket absently for coin to pay the barkeep, he moved around Farren to settle into a vacant seat at the bar, sideways that he might yet face her. When he regarded her anew, the view more complete now as they weren’t so immediately close, he did so fondly and shamelessly.

“ You of the mind to join in on the game? “ He jerked his chin at the general direction of it, all pleasant smile, though upon him was but the inclination to settle deeper into place to rest his legs.

Farren Lóthlindor Matvi Iramene