Rasereit scoffs out loud. "D'know wha' a shield is? An Orussian shield? Fresh ones, ye are, smack off th' road, eh?" He reaches into one of his may belt pouches and takes out several pieces of silver, engraved with a shield. "'Tain't much, but there ye are. Orussian silver, accepted at yer local axe grinder in towns all across Enworld."
He scoops up five of the silver pieces and places them in a neat stack in front of them, then pushes the stack forward. "Nah! Game goes like so... All o' those playin', we roll once a round, an' if ye hit a seven or an 'leven, ye're out. Last one remainin' gets the pot, split it if there's a tie. Sound fair?"