Knights of Tezoth

"Of hatred for the despicable vegetable now must I compose a sonnet..." — thought Ambrose, but despite his hatred of pumpkins and the grievance over his horse being struck yet again, he gallantly helped his opponent to her feet.
— What a desperate spirit is hidden in such a fragile body! Behind that comely face, a most dangerous talent.

- I fear I am running dry, my lord... - The loser clutched her side, from which, despite the doctors' efforts, something liquid was seeping. - ... Oh, it's just the chocolate that melted. What a loss.

— Oh, Aconian light... — holding an extremely high opinion of the power of his thrusts and an extremely low one of the chocolate lady's constitution, Ambrose was for a moment even taken in by this jest. — It seems I remain in your debt, for with my fierce thrust I deprived you of your treat and at the same time damaged your elegant attire.