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"Touch my beer, golden-boy, and I'll have you thrown into a lake before you can say RUST!"
"Don't you talk to my sword like that!"
"Why not? He steals beers!"
"That's hardly worth a threat like that, thief!"
"O, personal names, now, is it, mr. so-called Paladin?"
"RIGHT!"
Tancred stomps out of the bar. Malvolio bows to the assembled company.
"Excuse me, folks. Me and the milksop are just going to settle a few things. Bartender, have an ice-cold Bud ready..."
The black-clad swashbuckler leaves as well, collecting his swords as he does so.
Tancred
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