“I haven’t seen you in these parts,” the barkeep said, sidling over and above to where I sat. “Repute’s Bao.” He stated it exuberantly, as if solemn word of honour of his exploits were shared by settlers around assorted a firing in Aeternum.
He waved to a wooden tun upset us, and I returned his gesture 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 fellow, I’d be ready to wager a adequate portion of invent 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 with it to the bow slung across my back.