“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 aside settlers about many a fire in Aeternum. 
 
 
He waved to a unimpassioned tun apart from 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 before continuing. 
 
 
“As a betting man, I’d be willing to wager a fair speck of silver you’re in Ebonscale Reach in search more than the carouse and sights,” he said, eyes glancing from the sword sheathed on my cool to the bow slung across my back. 
 
 
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