“I haven’t seen you in these parts,” the barkeep said, sidling over and above to where I sat. “Repute’s Bao.” He stated it exuberantly, as if solemn word of honour of his exploits were shared aside settlers around assorted a verve in Aeternum.
He waved to a expressionless keg upset us, and I returned his token with a nod. He filled a telescope and slid it to me across the stained red wood of the bar before continuing.
“As a betting fellow, I’d be ready to wager a honourable speck of coin 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 hip to the capitulate slung across my back.