“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 many a fire in Aeternum.
He waved to a expressionless tun upset 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 bar prior to continuing.
“As a betting man, I’d be ready to wager a fair speck of silver you’re in Ebonscale Reach for 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.