“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 means of settlers about assorted a fire in Aeternum.
He waved to a wooden keg hard by us, and I returned his gesture with a nod. He filled a field-glasses and slid it to me across the stained red wood of the court first continuing.
“As a betting man, I’d be delighted to wager a honourable piece of silver you’re in Ebonscale Reach on the side of more than the carouse and sights,” he said, eyes glancing from the sword sheathed on my hip to the salaam slung across my back.