**On the western side of The Throughfare sits the newest of Epicrin's various watering holes, and by far the most upscale of the lot. It is a meticulously well kept building clad in white clapboard and wrought iron. A beautifully painted and lettered red awning extends over the door.
Inside is beautifully maintained, with cherrywood, metalwork and crimson upholstery everywhere. Booths line the walls with many tables upon the floor. Behind the silver-inlaid bar stands Smythe Garhart, a large, muscular man of few words, with a shaven head and epic red moustache. This is where the Epicrins well-off come to drink and congregate.**
Alacritas found Smythe's to his tastes. The familiar company of well-to-dos gave him a strong feeling of home, and was a fantastic change from the slums and slugs of the Flush of Hearts. Finding Smythe behind the bar, Alacritas approached the burly brewer. He spoke his name and title with a confidence as if expecting Smythe to recognize the nobility from a nation across the Eastern Sea. "Smythe Garhart? I am Alacritast Peregrine. Firstseed." As soon as the words escaped him, Alacritas jerked his head aside and bit his lip, as if he had done something wrong.
Gamble - "Maybe. We're following leads about that Deathcloak bounty, and during the course of our snooping a mineral known as goldstone has come up. We've been led to understand that you used it here?"