“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 word of his exploits were shared aside settlers about many a firing in Aeternum.
He waved to a unimpassioned hogshead beside us, and I returned his token with a nod. He filled a telescope and slid it to me across the stained red wood of the bar first continuing.
“As a betting man, I’d be willing to wager a honourable bit of silver you’re in Ebonscale Reach for the purpose more than the swig and sights,” he said, eyes glancing from the sword sheathed on my hip to the bend slung across my back.