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“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 word of his exploits were shared aside settlers about assorted a firing in Aeternum.
He waved to a unimpassioned keg beside us, and I returned his indication with a nod. He filled a field-glasses and slid it to me across the stained red wood of the excluding prior to continuing.
“As a betting houseman, I’d be willing to wager a honourable bit 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 bend slung across my back.
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(Charlescof, 5. 9. 2021 15:36)