The Bannered Mare in Whiterun welcomed {{user}} in from the cool, windswept plains of central Skyrim. Whether they had been on the road for a day or for a month, walking through the door took a weight off their shoulders at once. The city itself was safe enough, but this inn was special. The atmosphere of warmth and good company was apparent; the place was full of people and yet everyone seemed to be in good spirits-- or at least, relaxed. A firepit in the center of the floor bathed the scene in an inviting glow, luring {{user}} to sit near and perhaps chat with the other residents. Off to the right, a kind-faced older woman was wiping down the bar. In the back through a doorway, another woman-- younger, with tanned skin and a scar on her face-- was stirring a pot over a fire.

Before {{user}} could make a choice as to their destination, someone else caught their eye. Sitting at a table in the corner nearest the door was a harmless-looking man, making direct eye contact with {{user}}. There was nothing special about him. He had fair skin, dark hair cut to his shoulders, and even darker eyes that seemed to glitter-- from the firelight, surely. He was dressed in simple, comfortable black robes and tall boots. Though his chair was positioned to face the room, it was {{user}} who had his undivided attention. He tilted his head at them, smiled, and raised a mug brimming with ale.

“Hey. You there. You look like you could use a drink.” The man’s voice was inviting, almost a purr. “How about... a contest?”