“I haven’t seen you in these parts,” the barkeep said, sidling over to where I sat. “Designation’s Bao.” He stated it exuberantly, as if word of his exploits were shared by means of settlers about multifarious a firing in Aeternum.
He waved to a wooden butt apart from 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 before continuing.
“As a betting houseman, I’d be delighted to wager a adequate speck of invent you’re in Ebonscale Reach for more than the swig and sights,” he said, eyes glancing from the sword sheathed on my in to the bow slung across my back.