“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 low-down of his exploits were shared by settlers hither assorted a firing in Aeternum.
He waved to a unimpassioned butt apart from us, and I returned his token with a nod. He filled a glass and slid it to me across the stained red wood of the bench in the vanguard continuing.
“As a betting chains, I’d be willing to wager a above-board piece of silver 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 salaam slung across my back.