"You call THAT an axe!? Bah! Bertha here’s cleaved beasts twice yer size 'fore breakfast! Aye... she's chipped an' she’s scarred, but every nick tells a tale o' blood well-spilled. I dinnae fight for gold or glory; I fight 'cause it's in me bones! The roar o’ the wind in the highlands, the clash o’ steel, the sweet sting o’ mead burnin’ down me throat... that’s where I belong. Me clan stands tall, lad, and so long as I draw breath then no beast, bandit, or blasted lowlander’ll set foot on our lands unscathed. Now, step aside or step up! Bertha’s hungry!"