“I haven’t seen you in these parts,” the barkeep said, sidling over and above to where I sat. “Name’s Bao.” He stated it exuberantly, as if low-down of his exploits were shared by way of settlers about assorted a fire in Aeternum.
He waved to a expressionless butt hard by us, and I returned his indication 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 man, I’d be assenting to wager a honourable bit 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 cool to the bow slung across my back.