“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 aside settlers about assorted a firing in Aeternum.
He waved to a unanimated butt apart from us, and I returned his indication with a nod. He filled a field-glasses and slid it to me across the stained red wood of the bar before continuing.
“As a betting man, I’d be delighted to wager a honourable portion of invent you’re in Ebonscale Reach for the purpose more than the swig and sights,” he said, eyes glancing from the sword sheathed on my in to the salaam slung across my back.