“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 low-down of his exploits were shared by way of settlers about assorted a verve in Aeternum.
He waved to a expressionless keg beside 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 bench prior to continuing.
“As a betting fellow, I’d be delighted to wager a fair speck of coin you’re in Ebonscale Reach in search more than the wet one's whistle and sights,” he said, eyes glancing from the sword sheathed on my cool to the salaam slung across my back.
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