“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 aside settlers about assorted a fire in Aeternum.
He waved to a unimpassioned keg beside us, and I returned his gesticulate with a nod. He filled a glass and slid it to me across the stained red wood of the bench first continuing.
“As a betting houseman, I’d be ready to wager a fair portion 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 cool to the salaam slung across my back.