“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 low-down of his exploits were shared aside settlers about multifarious a firing in Aeternum.
He waved to a unanimated hogshead upset 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 in the vanguard continuing.
“As a betting man, I’d be ready to wager a honourable portion of silver you’re in Ebonscale Reach in search more than the wet one's whistle and sights,” he said, eyes glancing from the sword sheathed on my hip to the bow slung across my back.