Margaret
*The evening in the mountains was frigid, a bitter chill in the air that clamped its jaws down hard with each stiff breeze, and Rodric had the sense to shroud himself against the frost- indeed, from head to toe he was draped in layers of thick furs from a variety of animals, from wolves to deer and foxes to sabre cats, all stitched together in a simple but effective manner and bound with rawhide laces. Crude but effective was one way to describe his clothing, and perhaps himself if the speaker were ignorant to his cunning, for a fool doesn't survive long in the wild.* 

*In either case, he had little luck in finding fresh meat in the Reach, the Forsworn having gotten to the kills before he did. They knew his presence and his strength well enough to avoid him, but he knew their presence equally well- hiding away in the ruins and old barrows, performing profane rituals and attacking unfortunate travelers whose only crime was bad luck, a crime that he often thought about repaying in violence, only to decide against it for the sake of "Peace." It was their constant competition that drove him to move a bit further north, towards the lands of Hjaalmarch, with hope and confidence that he would find enough wild game to sate his colossal hunger.*

*He could still pick up the unmistakable smell of elk herds, wandering through the forests, just as obvious to him as they were when he first picked up the scent. Rodric had been following them for an hour or so, on his feet- or rather, hooves- through the biting cold and the deep snow (a task made easier by his immense size), in search of his quarry.*
Antonio
The unmistakeable scent of a lycan could be smelled in the wind, reeking of blood, fish, and swamp water. The scent coming from a nearby river, the creature barely visible except for the top of it's head, ducking quickly with a splash, head poking back up holding a fish in its mouth. Exiting the water it's clear that the creature is an Argonian, most of it obscured by bushes as it goes behind a tree
Margaret
*The odor of Hircine's touch fell swift upon Rodric's snout, and he recognized it for what it was. He watched from afar behind the cover of trees, as best as they could shield his massive body. 'How curious,' he thought to himself, 'another of those with a beast in their soul, just like me.' Were they hostile? Even if they too were a lycanthrope, they had no reason to trust another, especially not a minotaur. They might have picked up his odor in turn, and were simply biding their time, paying close mind to him for he may be a threat. But perhaps not, perhaps they were merely minding their own, and had no interest in conflict.* 
*He thought it unlikely that his presence would be hidden for long, with the smell of his kind strong and his stature gigantic, he stood out like a gleaming steel sword among common iron cutlery. Of course he had his axe, the sharp thing hanging on his back for when needed, but he had no interest in a battle either. So, he resigned himself to simply observe, feeling comfortable in his own strength should the situation turn dire. At the least, there may be plenty of fish teeming in the river for both of them, in spite of his size-befitting appetite.*
Elizabeth
The Argonian pipes up, "You can come closer, I won't bite. Could feel your presence for a while." He says, striking stones together to light a campfire, "Gonna be cooking up some fish, if you're interested, lots of salmon come through this river." The Argonian can't see the figure he's speaking to, but he knows they're there nonetheless, "You're big, and not anything I've seen before, come closer would you, wanna get a good look at you."
Margaret
*His ears perking up at the Argonian's apparent speech, Rodric began moving through the trees towards the campsite, shaking the nearby trees a bit with his steps. Large swathes of brush were moved aside as the silhouette in the trees became clearer, and at last had entered full view. A towering humanoid creature with the body of a man and the head of a bull, dressed in furs and carrying hide bags at his sides, with an axe the size of a small tree hanging on his back. A minotaur, yet with the scent of lycanthropy practically visible on his body, towering over the Argonian. Despite his imposing size, he seemed relaxed and at ease, his eyes giving no hint towards aggression. This fact was next reaffirmed by his tone of voice, calm and collected.*

"That is to be expected, for my kind is not commonly seen here. You will not find one like me beyond Cyrodiil very often. Ah, and thank you for the offer."
Elizabeth
"That didn't make it any more obvious as to what you are," He says, in awe at the size and stature of the Minotaur, though he also had never *Heard* Of a minotaur, let alone seen one, "What... Are you exactly?" He says, dumbfounded, "Never seen anything like that... Heh for a second I thought you looked a bit like Tel Naga, from a distance that massive mushroom looks humanoid", he says with an awkward chuckle
Margaret
"I can't hold it against you for not knowing, I suppose. Well, I am a minotaur, seen as bull-headed men by some folks, and generally considered nothing more than a senseless, burly beast. If I were to walk into that town way over there," *Rodric said, pointing one of his fingers towards the northeast- towards Morthal,* "I would likely be attacked on sight, whether they knew what I was or not. I can't hold it against them either, given my size. I understand that it can easily come off as intimidating at best, and horrifying at worst."

*As Rodric began to explain himself to the Argonian, he found himself taking a seat by the campsite, crossing his legs and taking a moment to unwind. He'd been traveling for a little while, and with the abundance of fish it seemed that he could afford to let off chasing the elk. That and now it seemed he had some good company, a rare thing for someone used to being met with cries of fear or the whistling of arrows, and he intended to enjoy the moment.*
Elizabeth
"Ah, a Minotaur... I think I've heard about them. You're from... Cyrodiil, then?" He asks, "Morthal's a good place, and the Nords are am honest people, but I can't blame them for being fearful of you. I'd be fearful, too, if I wasn't what I am. So what are you doing in Skyrim, then, can't imagine the weather is very welcoming."
Margaret
"That is a bit of an intriguing story, but first I think I should introduce myself- I am Rodric Heavy-Hand, and you are?"

*For being a minotaur, Rodric certainly had an unusual name, different from what anyone familiar with minotaurs would expect. If anything, it sounded like a name you'd hear in Skyrim.*
Elizabeth
"That's an awfuly Nordic name. I'm Xal-Ei (Pronounced Zal-Eye, in case you're wondering)." He says with a smile, "Nice to meet you, Rodric." He smiles, taking the drinking gourd from his side and taking a sip, "So, let's hear that story, I rarely get the chance to learn about other people." He says, somewhat excited