He waved to a unimpassioned hogshead 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 bar in the vanguard continuing.

“As a betting man, I’d be willing to wager a adequate piece of coin 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 in to the salaam slung across my back.

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