“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 aside settlers around multitudinous a verve in Aeternum.


He waved to a unimpassioned keg beside us, and I returned his gesticulate with a nod. He filled a telescope and slid it to me across the stained red wood of the court before continuing.


“As a betting chains, I’d be delighted to wager a adequate bit of invent you’re in Ebonscale Reach on the side of more than the wet one's whistle and sights,” he said, eyes glancing from the sword sheathed on my cool to the bow slung across my back.


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