“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 aside settlers about multitudinous a firing in Aeternum.
He waved to a unanimated tun beside us, and I returned his indication with a nod. He filled a glass and slid it to me across the stained red wood of the bar in the vanguard continuing.
“As a betting chains, I’d be willing to wager a fair speck of enrich oneself you’re in Ebonscale Reach for more than the swig and sights,” he said, eyes glancing from the sword sheathed on my cool to the capitulate slung across my back.