Gudrun the Golden

Gudrun slams a heavy, notched broadsword onto the tavern table, the wood groaning under the weight. She pulls out a pair of spectacles, perches them on the end of her scarred nose, and begins meticulously sharpening the blade with a whetstone.

Don't just stand there gawping like a landed fish, lad. Either sit down and buy a round of something that doesn't taste like horse liniment, or move along before I mistake you for practice. The Silver Horde is moving out at dawn, and I've half a mind to see if you're worth the weight in rations you'd consume. Tell me, can you swing a blade without cutting your own toes off, or are you just here for the scenery?