Cards in the Ironclad (Open!)

[Pips]

Ah, The Ironclad. A tavern, fabled for its strong ale and armor-like walls, as if made of shields, bustling with activity that late in the night. Its armor and name weren't only frivolities: the bar stands in the outskirts of Uthlyn, serving both as a place of relief and a makeshift outpost if needed be.

Inside the iron walls, all kinds of people partied. Men, women, some children, even some non-Humans, most drinking, eating or dancing to the minstrel's ballads. On a corner, reserved for the more questionable folk, around a round table, around a poker game six people were sitting. Only two of them still playing, a large amount of coin to whoever won the match.

- YOU MUST BE KIDDING ME! - the big, scarred man yelled, slamming his hands on the table and calling the attention of more people - YOU COULDN'T BE PULLING THAT OFF!

The red-haired woman, used to the violent manners of losers around these parts, rested her face, filled with boredom, on her hand, a sequence of cards denoting a "Straight Flush" on her side of the table. - Oh, please sir, ya not throwing a fit with other people's money. - She got up, looking straight into a barmaids eye, and shouted, in a more cheerful tone than the man: - One more round for everybody on me! And table's clean, who's next? - A bunch of drunkards started chanting their benefactor's name, overjoyed by receiving yet another drink on her: "Agnes! Agnes! Agnes! Agnes!"

[Kingfisher]

The livid patron remained where he stood, glaring red-faced at the woman who took his coin as another large man nudged him aside.  This man was well dressed, clad in a thick green jacket under a stiffened vest of blue-black canvas.  The large man wheeled on the newcomer as if expecting a fight but the swordsman simply raised his free hand to signal peace.

"It's not in your best interest to pick fights here, friend," Michael advised, leaning by to set his own recently filled cup on the table.  "It's only money, after all."  The pale giant let his left hand come to rest on the pommel of his sword, a two-handed device with a long blade.  The apparent threat gave the suddenly impoverished man pause and a reason to step back.

Michael easily slid into his seat as another bout of players shuffled toward the woman's challenge.  He too fished out a handful of coin to stake on the game as he quipped, "It would be a shame to slow a lady's generosity."

[NotSarcastic]

Viserquinn had just finished an especially nasty job involving a manticore. As a creature of habit, he made his was to the nearest tavern to celebrate with his newly earnt coin. Having washed the blood and venom off his armour and scales in a nearby stream, he stepped inside. His heavily muscled, broad frame was enough to make him stand out from the crowd. He almost glowing blue eyes, white scales and tail didn't help.

The tavern was as he could expect. Loud, and smelling strongly of a mix of drinks. It had seemed he'd just walked in on a lost card game. He'd never been one for cards himself. When people lost money and alcohol was involved, things often got violent. His eyes darted to a huge man, but particularly his hand resting on his sword pommel. He became suddenly more aware of the longsword across his back.

In Connloath even taverns could be dangerous. Still on alert, he stroke through the bar, his heavy boots thudding on the wooden boards. "Ale". He uttered to the barkeep, and flicked over a coin. His drink was poured, he took a sip. It wasn't often he had chance to unwind like this. He gulped down his mug of ale and ordered another. It took a lot more alcohol for any effect to be had on a Draconian. Tonight he intended to relax and drink. If fate was good, nothing and no one would interrupt that.

[Pips]

As the man raged, the gunsmith's eyes swept the room, looking for more interesting people to play with. The night was only getting started, and although she was three flagons in, her liver could handle a couple more before she was tipsy, and far beyond that if she wanted to pass out.

She spotted a large, oddily reptilian man entering the tavern, somewhat reminiscent of her mother's description of Adelan dragons. Agnes, being so far from the dragon land and not seeing much of those in Connlaoth, didn't even connect the two concepts - the man and the dragon - to try and be respectful.

- Oy! White, scaly one! Com'ere! I'll pay for your drinks! - she called loudly, as the draconian ordered another drink. Finally noticing Michael, she returned to her normal tone of voice - I'm in a good mood today, and these scrubs keep on giving, so I might as well give back. How's the wind outside? - she started gathering the cards once again, eyes locked on eyes, her usual grin across her face.

That last phrase wasn't as much small talk as it was a code among mercenaries in the Matron's Hallow, one Michael could possibly understand, although she did not know that. Truth is, had the tavern been less crowded, she'd have nothing to do that day, as the demand for her goods was slow this time of the year. Given that, any newcomer is a possible contractor, and any contract would be better than sweeping the floor with drunks and guaranteeing that they had no debt with The Ironclad.

[NotSarcastic]

He jumped as he heard the woman's voice cut through the hubbub of the tavern. While he realised alcohol was running smoothly among the patriots he still did not appreciate the way he was addressed. He couldn't help but let out a growl as he turned his head toward the voice. He wasn't one to refuse free drinks and gestured his thanks. He nodded to the barkeep, and removed his coin from the bar. He couldn't help but wonder why she was being so charitable as his mug was filled with more ale. He considered joining the group for cards. It might be better than drowning in ale at the bar.

Who knew, maybe tonight he could find some companions. He'd been working for a while on his own now, while it made things easier, bigger jobs usually went to larger groups. The cut of potential pay would also be better than what he earnt on his own.

[Kingfisher]

As the woman turned her attention to Michael, he was still shooing the livid looser away so that he might focus on his own drink and game.  The brute left as the mercenary sipped mead, a somewhat unusual drink he had come to favor...

Despite his profession, Michael was only loosely aquanted with the 'dialect' of sell-swords.  Still, the Guard's spies helped to keep him apprised of the goings on thoughout the Grand Duchy and he might guess at her meaning.  Shrugging, he said, "Fast as ever; could turn soon though, coming from the south west?"  He was guessing his reply as well, only hoping to imply the location of the Regiment and what it might do...

The Ash Guard could always do with allies; the muster was still ongoing and the the Colonel's plan's called for much...

[Pips]

Agnes raised an eyebrow, quite surprised at both of her advances - inviting the draconian to the table and asking for work - having a positive response. Her body, once more relaxed and carefree, now inspired more enthusiasm and interest. This was going to be a good night.

- If the wind's like that, we might have to take some fresh air after we're done. - she said, accepting something she had no idea what exactly was. The gunsmith handed over the deck of cards to the man in her right, then reached for her empty flagon and turning it upside down as she raised her arm, signaling to the barmaids she wanted more.

- We're playing the classical Matron's Hold'em, you know the rules. When you have your cards we need your name and occupation, just so everybody is in the same page. First bet is a drink's worth, we raise from there. - the dealer shuffled the deck and started dealing, first to Agnes, then the rest, in clockwise fashion. By the time Viserquinn reached his seat at the table, it would be his turn to receive his cards.

- Agnes Thalle, professional gunsmith and darn good shooter. Hope ya like to lose. - the red-haired poker champion said proudly as she got her hand.

[NotSarcastic]

Viserquinn sat down. He took a moment to look at each of the people at the table and picked up his hand of cards. He wasn't in much luck, but his usual stony expression would hopefully give nothing away. His scales made his expressions far less discernible than those of the humans who would have to work hard to keep their doughy, malleable faces from giving anything away.

'Viserquinn, Monster Hunter and Sellsword' he grunted. He watched the person who's turn it was, for any indication they had a chance of winning.

[Kingfisher]

With the drakonic man taking a place just to his right, Michael glanced down as two cards came to him.  It was only the initial deal so as he peeked at his cards, he found they told him very little.  Almost distractedly, he intoduced himself; "Michael...Wolfram.  Soldier of Fortune."

It seemed of those at the table, only Agnes and Viserquinn were also fighters by trade; the rest seemed to be merchants and craftsmen there for drinks and the game.  The girl would be the first to bet by the blond man fished some silver from his purse in anticipation for his ante...

@Pips

[Pips]

Agnes finally took the time to analyze her cards, and if she needed to give them a review, it would come out as "stinkier than the tavern's walls in the morning". As someone came to fill her cup, her hands went for the pile of coins she had been hoarding through the evening, raising the bets to somewhere around three drinks and a half.

- Ya two fighting men, do ya have anyone to feed? - she said as the person in her left reluctantly matched the bet - Don't want to take from a kid's plate, y'know? - a phrase finished with a gulp of drink, followed by an expression of satisfaction.

The next player folded. Maybe this poker fire in the patrons' hearts would snuff out after a couple more rounds, as pockets emptied and the recurring defeats - in Agnes's hands or otherwise - made them doubt their luck.

[NotSarcastic]

Viserquinn picked up his own cards. Not half bad. He had been to a few taverns in his time which gave him a bit of experience with this game. If he trusted his gut; which he did; he'd wager he had a fairly good chance this time around.

He matched the previous bet and ignored the jibe. He had a feeling this woman would get on his nerves after a while. He didn't think much more of it. He was here to relax and so was she he just hoped she wasn't going to be like this the entire night.

He had to admit this game was getting a little dull. He remembered why he didn't usually play it. Not enough action, too much risk of losing money. He was always astounded at how far humans would go for the potential to win big. It made no sense to him, he knew why he stuck to more solid, sure ways of earning his keep. 

[Kingfisher]

The swordsman's eyes lingered on Viserquinn as the other fighter joined the pot.  "Can't speak for scales, here," Michael admitted, shifting his gaze back to the woman.  "I'm only beholden to myself..."  As the bet came around to him, he slid some coin into the pot to match those before.  "But that just lets me be a bit...reckless."  He fidgetted with his stack of coins, drawing a bit of attention to his wealth as the betting continued.

The next players continued with low bets to simply stay in the game until the dealer threw down three more cards: 4 of Diamonds, King of Swords, and 8 of Clubs.  Michael surveyed the table as he sipped at his ale.  It was a mostly mediocre Flop but it was not impossible that they could have recieved a pair or two in the deal and he wanted to catch any tells.

@Pips

[Pips]

She raised her shoulders as the bets went around. The gunsmith had dealt with many quiet people before, but it wasn't often she met with two capable-looking mercenaries in a table of poker. As the Flop went down, her eyes glistened with joy: before she only had two bad cards, now she had even more chances to lose, as nothing good came along. All good for her, she's always the "oblivious poker player".

- Oh, nice - she "absentmindedly" said as her turn came, looking straight at the table - Am also lacking much reck today. How's monster huntin' like? Is it worth the... - her eyes locking into Viserquinn's, her left hand raising the bet with a stack of coins - risks?

Although provoking, she meant no harm with her words. Meeting a Draconian was rare in itself, but a Monster Hunter... She'd never talked to one! For every drop of challenge there was at least half a cup of genuine interest.

[Vhargul]

     'It was always best to go shopping on a full stomach, rather than an empty one- less chance of getting wrapped up in anything too terribly unecessary.' thought Vhargul, gnawing on his own little nugget of wisdom as a source of restraint. Luckily, the lone farmer outside of town with which he had quenched his thirst had bequeathed a trove of knowledge unto him before his passing. People had grown much more thoughtful through the ages, but their thoughts did tend to revolve around themselves, as they always did. All he did was feed a little; had the pitchfork not been raised, there still might have been a farm with an owner.

The city, perhaps even the country, had something of a 'magic ban,' which was a bit of a dampener on his mood, but it was foretold to have stunning artworks and architecture, as well as a healthy stock of laborers. All the seal fat and whale blubber had become far too rich for him; he could taste it in the people. Hopefully the industrious types had a better flavor.

Amidst his deep thought, he hadn't realized his nose had directed him into a tavern of some sort. The voices were roaring to his attuned ears and the smells were nearly overpowering. Reflexively, his fingers flew to his nose in a momentary squeeze, the silver jewelry on his ears tinkling softly in response. His eyes were milky and he appeared entirely blind, but he didn't move like it. On the contrary, he seemed to know exactly where people were and where they weren't within about a two-meter radius. Sidling to a vacant corner, he leaned into the wood, breathing deeply. A group was gambling. Soft fluxes in body heat and perspiration nearby all but confirmed that. He was wholly interested, but he wasn't about to barge in without first being invited.