<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/>He smiled genially at her suggestion of better trapping elsewhere.  "I'm heading to Markarth, and merely sought to pick up some additional pelts to trade while there.  And yes, the Snow Wolves do indeed have fine pelts, but I regard them as...brothers.  We have much in common, they and I, prowling the lands for our needs."<em>Much more in common than she could ever imagine.</em><br/><br/>Her offer to heal the wound she inflicted was noted with a nod.  Such offers were normal for the Nords...keeping oaths, satisfying spirits of the ancestral dead through great deeds, these were the norm in his society.  Even transgressions such as taking a god's name in vain could be made up by valor in one's next battle.  Such was the weave of his culture's tapestry.  "I accept," came the simple response, as well as the pointed, honest eye-contact.  He held his great hand forth; the cloth was now bright with his blood, although it seemed to have slowed.  "I am Aelfgar, son of Chieftain Torvald, berserker of the vanguard of the King and Herdrya, daughter of Hrolfgar the Black, smith of renown."  He recited his family with pride, though spoke nothing in particular of himself--his deeds would speak for themselves.<br/><br/>The Nord heard the sounds of bear and human, and looked off into the growing dark.  "Oft it is that the wilderness claims us back.  It is only fair.  What we claim from the wilderness must be repayed, at the least with honor and prayers."  He said it matter-of-factly, and gave the aura of someone quite prepared for his day of death...perhaps even, in some deep, distant way, welcoming that moment when it came, and the freedom he would finally have from his life-long curse.<br/><br/><br/><br/>