“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 low-down of his exploits were shared by settlers hither many a firing in Aeternum.
He waved to a wooden keg upset us, and I returned his gesture with a nod. He filled a glass and slid it to me across the stained red wood of the bench prior to continuing.
“As a betting fellow, I’d be willing to wager a honourable bit of coin you’re in Ebonscale Reach on the side of more than the carouse and sights,” he said, eyes glancing from the sword sheathed on my in to the salaam slung across my back.