“I haven’t seen you in these parts,” the barkeep said, sidling over and above to where I sat. “Name’s Bao.” He stated it exuberantly, as if word of his exploits were shared by way of settlers about multitudinous a firing in Aeternum.
He waved to a wooden butt apart from us, and I returned his gesture with a nod. He filled a field-glasses and slid it to me across the stained red wood of the bar prior to continuing.
“As a betting fellow, I’d be willing to wager a fair speck 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 bend slung across my back.