“I haven’t seen you in these parts,” the barkeep said, sidling settled to where I sat. “Name’s Bao.” He stated it exuberantly, as if solemn word of honour of his exploits were shared by way of settlers hither assorted a firing in Aeternum.
He waved to a unanimated butt beside us, and I returned his gesticulate with a nod. He filled a eyeglasses and slid it to me across the stained red wood of the bar before continuing.
“As a betting man, I’d be delighted to wager a fair bit of silver you’re in Ebonscale Reach for the purpose more than the swig and sights,” he said, eyes glancing from the sword sheathed on my hip to the bow slung across my back.
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