“I haven’t seen you in these parts,” the barkeep said, sidling over and above to where I sat. “Designation’s Bao.” He stated it exuberantly, as if solemn word of honour of his exploits were shared by way of settlers about many a firing in Aeternum.
He waved to a unimpassioned hogshead beside us, and I returned his gesticulate with a nod. He filled a eyeglasses and slid it to me across the stained red wood of the bench prior to continuing.
“As a betting fellow, I’d be delighted to wager a honourable speck of silver you’re in Ebonscale Reach in search more than the carouse and sights,” he said, eyes glancing from the sword sheathed on my in to the salaam slung across my back.