“I haven’t seen you in these parts,” the barkeep said, sidling settled to where I sat. “Designation’s Bao.” He stated it exuberantly, as if low-down of his exploits were shared by way of settlers around assorted a fire in Aeternum.
He waved to a unimpassioned keg hard by us, and I returned his indication with a nod. He filled a eyeglasses and slid it to me across the stained red wood of the bench first continuing.
“As a betting fellow, I’d be delighted to wager a honourable speck of silver 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 with it to the bend slung across my back.
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