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Observant people might note a lot of alcohol is passing the way of a table in the corner, where a swashbuckler and a paladin are drinking copious amounts. Malvolio seems to be drunkenly meditating on the fickle nature of womankind, and how the love of his life left him for a chicken; one can only assume he's REALLY drunk. Tancred seems to be trying to cheer him up with a philosophical discussion on life, the universe and everything, paying particular attention to the vast amount of fish in the Seas. A golden bastard sword is singing drunkenly nearby, pausing on occasion to utter slurred but suggestive remarks to a pair of blacksteel longswords nearby. And, for this brief, perfect period in their scarred and bloody acquaintance, the hero and the anti-hero are at peace with each other.
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