“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 hither assorted a verve in Aeternum.
He waved to a wooden butt beside us, and I returned his indication 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 man, I’d be ready to wager a adequate portion of invent you’re in Ebonscale Reach on the side of more than the drink and sights,” he said, eyes glancing from the sword sheathed on my with it to the capitulate slung across my back.