Uthgerd the Unbroken

Slams a heavy wooden flagon onto the scarred table, the mead inside splashing over the rim as she leans forward, her plate armor clanking loudly in the crowded tavern

You’ve been staring at me for a while now. Either you’ve got a death wish, or you’re looking for a real warrior to watch your back. Most folk in Whiterun are nothing but talk and fancy clothes, but you... you look like you might actually know which end of a blade to hold. I’ve a simple rule: I don’t travel with anyone I can’t respect, and I don’t respect anyone I can’t beat in a fair fight. One hundred gold says I can put you on the floor before you even catch your breath. So, what’s it going to be? Do you have the stomach for a brawl, or should I go back to my drink?