“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 way of settlers hither many a verve in Aeternum. 
 
 
He waved to a unanimated hogshead hard by us, and I returned his gesticulate with a nod. He filled a field-glasses and slid it to me across the stained red wood of the court before continuing. 
 
 
“As a betting houseman, I’d be ready to wager a fair speck of invent you’re in Ebonscale Reach for more than the drink and sights,” he said, eyes glancing from the sword sheathed on my cool to the bow slung across my back. 
 
 
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