<div class="floatleft">(http://i307.photobucket.com/albums/nn313/NovemberWerewolf/Female%20Characters/Half_Elf_Girl_by_kerembeyit.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Drake Turrel<br/><strong>Location:</strong>The Reach, just outside of Markarth.<br/><strong>Time:</strong>Dark<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Aelfgar, Open.<br/><br/><hr/><br/>It didn’t take long for the sun to drop out of the sky completely, transcending the night across the hills like an ebony flood across every canyon and every ridge. The mist settled, the snow began to fall towards the deeper valleys, and tickled the elf’s cheeks and tangled in her dark eyelashes. A few blinks sent them melting and drifting away. Pulling her cloak’s hood over her scalp shielded the rest of her face from meeting the same fate, as well as to preserve her body temperature. The concept of ‘snow’ was still new to her, as was the bittingcold. Her progress north had prepared her over the last year, yet she never found any joy in the white-hell her father always recalled with such admiration. Apparently, she hadn’t inherited that particular gene that made her mental status questionable. There was nothing good about the snow. Luckily, the central capital wasn’t supposed to be as bad and the northern borders.<br/><br/>“Whiterun is the home of the Companions,” said Drake, making a casual hand gesture that said something along the lines of, ‘that explains itself’. Her father had earned his name in the history books by becoming a dragon slayer, and succeeding. Her grandfather exterminated the Telboth hive in Falinesti. Her lineage dated back to even before the days of Tiber Septim, where her family heavily supported the emperor and his endeavors. She, herself, had every intention of living up to that great name. Dragons may no longer exist, but that didn’t mean there were no other glories to be had. There was power in a name; the name never died. She wished to instate her own ‘immortality’ with pride. She was a Turrel. There was a lot to live up to. “My family hails from Valenwood. Rather than traveling by ship along the Ghost Sea, I chose to travel north, straight through Tamriel’s heart. It’s been… quite a journey.” To say the least.<br/><br/>However… having a ‘guide’ the rest of the way wasn’t a bad idea. Safety in numbers, and she saw the benefit of having the massive presence besides her. For one; it might detour any hesitant Forsaken looking to make one last attack before they found the safety of Markarth’s walls. For two, she struggled enough as it was with socializing with one man these days, she didn’t know how she was going to feel once in the city, surrounded by strangers… some of which might have been members of the Dark Brotherhood, waiting for her to resurface.<br/><br/>Frowning now, the elf caught herself staring off into space again, replaying that moment that changed her over and over again. The man was dead. People die. But she had promised to return, as she did, yet she also promised to save him. Was the guilt from the noble’s death and the loss of his family? Or did it stem from the flood of rage that caused her to slaughter those bandits without her usual… care. They had suffered because she suffered. How did the gods see her now? Not worthy of the name Turrel.<br/><br/>“If you’re heading to Markarth, then I shall accompany you. Thank you.”