The Quest to Njaal's lost brewery. RP thread., The RP thread. Options

[Tellie]

Authors note: This first post will be an intro written by me for our 'NPC' Njaal, and will effectively be the start of our RP, read it well as all the information we need is right here (for the most part).

City of Anvil, Year 425 Third Era, The Flowing Bowl.

Njaal Mead-Brewer was a man on a mission, WAS being the keyword here as he was at this very moment quite unconsolable and perhaps more than intoxicated than your average drunkard in a Tavern. He had travelled all across Cyrodiil in search of a few lucky men or women to help him (and coincidentally earn a good bit of gold doing so) but none were willing "Payment up front" they all said.

You see Njaal was a (perhaps not famous yet) mead brewer. His mead so good that it would rival even the Black Briar's own mead, had the blasted Black Briars not hired mercenaries to raid his brewery and stolen the dwemer plates upon which he had carved the recipie in coded language.

He knew the sellswords were still in Cyrodiil as due to growing discontent in the province the borders were all tightly controlled and descriptions of the mercenaries had already been given to the guards. He only hoped that perhaps here in Anvil he might find someone to track down the plates, he had already given the innkeeper a handsome tip to 'refer' anyone who might be on the lookout for quick (and dangerous) credits, so now he just had to wait.

This post has been edited by Tellie: Mar 16 2016, 10:05 PM

[Callidus Thorn]

Edril all but collapsed into the rich upholstery of one of the chairs at The Count's Arms, relishing the comfort after days of sleeping rough and traveling. The sensation was even powerful enough to counter the mild unease caused by the absence of his armour. Over the decades he'd grown accustomed to wearing it even when he wasn't expecting any danger, having heard that Divayth Fyr was rumoured to do the same. But his recent misadventure had resulted in some close-quarters combat, resulting in the armour requiring the ministrations of Morvayn, who had assured Edril it would be ready by the morning.

With an imperious gesture, Edril summoned the proprietor. Wilbur had gotten used to Edril's habits, the expense and the promptness of payment more than making up for the arrogance, and Edril always stopped short of actually being rude, even if only just. "The usual, Wilbur." He said to the balding Redguard. "And I'll be needing a room for the next day or two."

"I thought you'd intended to stay longer? Did the expedition go badly?"

"About as badly as it could have gone. Not only had Garlas Agea been plundered of anything Ayleid of significance, but it had become the lair of a Necromancer coven. I was forced to slay them and their creations, and the proceeds from selling what I could salvage of their possessions won't even cover the cost of repairing the damage to my armour. Anvil is bleeding me dry, and I must head west while I still have the coin to do so."

Wilbur glanced around, failing to be casual in Edril's eyes, though the effort probably fooled the other patrons. "I keep an ear open on my customers' behalf from time to time, and I've heard something that might interest you. While you were out of the city, a Nord arrived, a portly fellow, with long brown hair and too much beard. He's set himself up at the Flowing Bowl and has asked the brothers to put the word out that he's looking for some skilled help. The sort that can look after themselves, for a job that promises to pay well, for those that can survive it."

Edril grimaced, the burn on his cheek pulling the corner of his mouth into an even more distinguished sneer. "I'm not sure which sounds the less appealing prospect; entering The Flowing Bowl, or trusting to rumour."

Wilbur shook his head. "No rumour this. Azzan was in here yesterday, collecting a new shipment of wine for his Guild. He mentioned that this fellow had approached him, but that the Guild had had to turn it down. Nothing illegal, you understand, I think the fellow was just a little too vague for the Guild."

Edril stroked his goatee, eyes gazing through the opposite wall for a moment, before he reached a decision. "Wilbur, fetch me a better vintage for tonight, will you? If I'm to head to The Flowing Bowl I'll need to properly prepare myself."

This post has been edited by Callidus Thorn: Mar 18 2016, 10:58 PM