“I haven’t seen you in these parts,” the barkeep said, sidling settled to where I sat. “Designation’s Bao.” He stated it exuberantly, as if low-down of his exploits were shared by way of settlers about multifarious a verve in Aeternum.
He waved to a wooden keg apart from us, and I returned his gesture with a nod. He filled a eyeglasses and slid it to me across the stained red wood of the bench first continuing.
“As a betting man, I’d be ready to wager a adequate piece of silver you’re in Ebonscale Reach for more than the carouse and sights,” he said, eyes glancing from the sword sheathed on my cool to the salaam slung across my back.