“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 solemn word of honour of his exploits were shared aside settlers about assorted a firing in Aeternum.
 
 
He waved to a unanimated hogshead hard by us, and I returned his token with a nod. He filled a glass and slid it to me across the stained red wood of the bar prior to continuing.
 
 
“As a betting chains, I’d be delighted to wager a honourable piece of silver you’re in Ebonscale Reach for the purpose more than the wet one's whistle and sights,” he said, eyes glancing from the sword sheathed on my with it to the bend slung across my back.
 
 
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