<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/>The joy of the hunt was just beginning to envelop him--much different from the bloodlust that took him during a berserker rage, and nothing whatsoever like the dark, burning hunger for blood that identified his were-form.  He looked at the cat, deep appreciation in his eyes for the opportunity to test his mettle against such a grand beast.<br/><br/>That was when the arrow struck his left hand, spattering his clothing near it with a fine red mottling.  He felt the arrow embed in his hammer-haft, and then turned at the angry female voice that spoke next.  Looking up and seeing the cat siding with what appeared to be an elf--and an obviously skilled archer at that--he suddenly realized why such a strange beast could be in the Reach.  Mistakes will be made, he mused, looking at his bleeding hand.<br/><br/>Ignoring the elven woman, he let go of the hammer with his impaled hand and with his right, set it carefully on the ground.  Then he made a tightly knotted fist with his left, and gripped the arrow in his right, snapping it cleanly in two.  He then removed the shaft from his left hand.  Through the entire action he made not a single sound or facial tick of pain.<br/><br/>Tossing the remains of the arrow on the ground, he again looked up at the archer.  "I  assumed your cat's lack of ownership.  I apologize for such.  For a trapper like me, finding any beast of such beauty is a rarity, and worth a combat to win its skin."  He looked at his wounded hand.  "A great shot, and I have deserved it.  Though I do not think I deserve one in my eye...I have not harmed a hair on him, and your warning is well-taken."  He pulled a loose cloth from his belt, meant to be used to clean the blood of a kill from his hands, and his own blood if necessary after a fight, and wrapped his injured hand carefully and well.  "You are far from the land I assume you hail from," he spoke in his booming voice, eyes still on his hand and the wrapping he was engaged in, showing neither fear nor haste, "it is bold of me to ask why you are in my homeland, but I have little excitement out on the hunt, aside from the occasional beast I choose to match my skill with."<br/><br/>He managed to sit on a nearby fallen tree, and place his hands on his knees.  "Here, I am easily at the mercy of your bow, or your friend's fangs and claws.  I prove I am no threat.  Surely you know the power we Nords place in our word?  Come, speak."  His face was calm.  If this elf meant to try to take him anyway, arrows would be a poor tool to bring him down, even without his armor, unless she did pierce a vital area...and if she was to choose to attack, his wolf-form would be much more able to resist injury, and be on par with the cat's speed.