“I haven’t seen you in these parts,” the barkeep said, sidling settled to where I sat. “Designation’s Bao.” He stated it exuberantly, as if word of his exploits were shared by way of settlers about assorted a firing in Aeternum.
He waved to a expressionless hogshead hard by us, and I returned his gesticulate with a nod. He filled a telescope and slid it to me across the stained red wood of the bar prior to continuing.
“As a betting chains, I’d be willing to wager a fair piece of invent 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 in to the salaam slung across my back.