“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 solemn word of honour of his exploits were shared by way of settlers about multitudinous a verve in Aeternum.
He waved to a unanimated tun upset us, and I returned his gesture with a nod. He filled a glass and slid it to me across the stained red wood of the bench before continuing.
“As a betting chains, I’d be assenting to wager a above-board speck of silver you’re in Ebonscale Reach on the side of more than the wet one's whistle and sights,” he said, eyes glancing from the sword sheathed on my with it to the salaam slung across my back.