“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 by means of settlers about multitudinous a fire in Aeternum.
He waved to a unanimated tun apart from us, and I returned his gesture with a nod. He filled a field-glasses and slid it to me across the stained red wood of the bar in the vanguard continuing.
“As a betting man, I’d be assenting to wager a honourable bit of invent you’re in Ebonscale Reach for the purpose more than the drink and sights,” he said, eyes glancing from the sword sheathed on my hip to the bow slung across my back.
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