Peasants and merchants alike tumbled fitfully in their sleep. The evening in the kingdom was shattered by a cacophony of ringing metal and bloodthirsty roars, yet there was hardly a call to arms; at most one or two guardsmen investigated on their own. But bold and hardened adventurers knew what it really was, what the whole chaos heralded, and prepared themselves accordingly.

Casino Night.

Ever since The Flipping Coin opened with a raucous bash, it became a temple drawing in the bold and the loaded from all across city and kingdom. Promises of fun, free drinks and a shot at fortune drew in just as much followers as did salvation and happy afterlives. And with the never-ending party, nobody within really cared if they left with a lighter purse. The burgundy and gold decor lent an air of royal austerity as the clientele carried out their ritual of worship: setting chips, collecting chips, losing chips, praying to the wheel, throwing dice and dealing cards... all within the witness and hopeful praise of their peers.

A dealer at one of the tables gave a good twist to a wheel, flicking in a white marble only moments later. "Round and round it goes, where it lands nobody knows..." The marble spiraled along the inner groove of the wheel, quickening the heartpace of players watching. And then it tumbled into a slot... but not the one anybody wanted. The crowd rolled their eyes with a collective groan.

"SKULLS! Sorry about that ladies and gentlemen, but fortune is always in flux. If any of you wish to test fate's resolve, now's the time to place your bets..." As with any den of gambling there were always people who believed that the next one would be it, and willingly obliged with new wagers. One of the gamers at the table- a figure shrouded in leather secrecy reached out to the felt table with a handful of chips, when another arm reached through the crowd and grabbed the wrist. A cowl turned to face the interceptor. "Stu?" The voice was casual, a hint of sardonic mood in the tone. "I'm on a streak, so you better explain to me in few words as possible."

The owner of the hand released his grasp. "How about... Master. Ian. Conference. Now?" A sigh spilled from the cowled figure, his thin lips pulled taut in annoyance. "Not even time for one more spin?" "Afraid not."