how are things

“I haven’t seen you in these parts,” the barkeep said, sidling over and above to where I sat. “Name’s Bao.” He stated it exuberantly, as if solemn word of honour of his exploits were shared by way of settlers around many a verve in Aeternum.


He waved to a wooden keg upset us, and I returned his gesticulate with a nod. He filled a glass and slid it to me across the stained red wood of the bar before continuing.


“As a betting fellow, I’d be willing to wager a adequate bit of coin 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 capitulate slung across my back.