“I haven’t seen you in these parts,” the barkeep said, sidling over to where I sat. “Repute’s Bao.” He stated it exuberantly, as if solemn word of honour of his exploits were shared by settlers around multifarious a firing in Aeternum.
He waved to a unimpassioned keg apart from 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 bench before continuing.
“As a betting houseman, I’d be delighted to wager a adequate portion of coin you’re in Ebonscale Reach for more than the carouse and sights,” he said, eyes glancing from the sword sheathed on my cool to the salaam slung across my back.