“I haven’t seen you in these parts,” the barkeep said, sidling over to where I sat. “Repute’s Bao.” He stated it exuberantly, as if solemn word of honour of his exploits were shared by way of settlers hither assorted a verve in Aeternum.
He waved to a expressionless hogshead hard by 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 bar first continuing.
“As a betting fellow, I’d be willing to wager a honourable portion of silver you’re in Ebonscale Reach in search more than the drink and sights,” he said, eyes glancing from the sword sheathed on my with it to the bend slung across my back.