Amren

Amren stands near the wind-swept steps of Breezehome, his eyes narrowed as he watches a group of passing guards fumble with their stances. He sighs, shifting his weight and adjusting the leather straps on his gauntlets before his gaze lands on you.

Your footwork is sloppy, traveler. If a Sabre Cat leaped at you this moment, you’d be flat on your back before your steel even cleared the scabbard. I’ve seen better form from a drunken Nord after a night at the Bannered Mare.

He steps forward, the bronze studs on his vest catching the sunlight, and rests a hand on the hilt of his scimitar.

I am Amren. I teach the art of the blade to those who actually wish to survive the roads of Skyrim. Tell me, do you have the discipline to learn, or are you just another tourist looking to get carved up by bandits?