<div class="floatleft">(http://i1221.photobucket.com/albums/dd461/rikk_319/Character%20Images/Viking_Warrior_by_severeene.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Aelfgar<br/><strong>Location:</strong>The Reach, just outside of Markarth<br/><strong>Time:</strong>Early evening, dusk.<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Drake, open<br/><br/>He didn't even bother to look over his hand; he'd told her his family's name, and she had responded with the respect of his grandfather; it was more than sufficient for him to completely trust her motives.  "I thank you," he rumbled.  "I have some skill at removing poison and a little with diseases--they come in handy out here.  For normal wounds..."  He shrugged.  "I carry the blessings of the Lord's Stone.  Pain is to be expected in life, but one's work goes more smoothly when it is lessened.  And perhaps I can smooth out your own journey.  I have been to Markarth several times in my life; I know some of the fur traders there well enough to call them friends.  Not a political sot among them--they are rough, honest men, with no power within the city, and I feel no shame in sharing table with them."  His words hinted at his general view of rulers...those who hid behind walls of stone for most of their lives and failed to seek the true beauty of their land were sadly losing much of what he lived for.<br/><br/>He gazed at the elven woman; she had a blunt, simple way about her that spoke well of her own integrity and honor.  True, too, she was much easy on the eyes, as were all of her kind--he'd bedded a few elves in his time, and found their bodies to be quite exotic and tempting, but tended to be lacking somewhat in the area of stamina.  He was a rough lover, and many a time he'd spent in a distant land, wishing for a simple Nord wench who could match him for both energy and...feistiness.  He'd had offers of marriage from some parents for their daughter's hands, and the daughters were in no wise displeased with the possibility of it--most of them he'd already fucked, anyway, and knew he was from good stock and would make a dependable husband--but nearly all of them expected him to take up smithing full-time, or even a chieftainship.  He'd not told any of them, or any other woman, for that matter, of his curse...he would have no way to settle down, give a wife many strong children, and see a community through what it needed to become a thriving place of life.<br/><br/>He didn't even fully understand his current journey.  He had no idea what he was seeking, other than some way to find more permanent friendships...all of the ways to do that seemed to require sticking somewhere.  And he had no reservations about ever removing his curse--one did not undo what a goddess put in place...and even if it was possible, what retribution would he earn for being so bold as to challenge her power through such an act?  No, he did not waste time wishing for what could not be...he only lived, and lived again the next day, until he had no breath left to take.  Besides, death would undo his curse, and he'd find solace in a mead-hall full of similar warriors in the afterlife, spending their eternities combating one another and honing their fighting skills beyond anything he could dream of in Skyrim, so as to be ready to come to the service of his gods on the appointed day of doom.<em>That </em>was something to look forward to, he knew, and just the thought of it brought his blood to near berserker heat.<br/><br/>"Why do you seek Whiterun, if I may be so bold?  Have you family there?"