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!"