“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 solemn word of honour of his exploits were shared aside settlers hither assorted a fire in Aeternum.
He waved to a unimpassioned keg apart from us, and I returned his token with a nod. He filled a eyeglasses and slid it to me across the stained red wood of the excluding before continuing.
“As a betting fellow, I’d be willing to wager a fair speck of coin you’re in Ebonscale Reach in search more than the drink and sights,” he said, eyes glancing from the sword sheathed on my in to the bow slung across my back.