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

[Acadian]

The Flowing Bowl was a bit rough, being located on the docks of a harbor renowned for its exotic mercantile trade, fishing and history of piracy. Maenlorn’s evening ‘catch of the day’, however, made dinner there something Buffy enjoyed during her visits to the Gold Coast. Having crossed the Strid River from Valenwood and arrived within the hour, she had hastily groomed and stabled her mare. Still wearing buckskins, she had foregone a courtesy call upon the local guild of mages and ordered her dinner shortly after the day’s catch had been delivered to the tavern. The grilled slaughterfish steak she had just finished offered no disappointment.

Lifting her goblet and slowly swirling the ruby Tamika nectar within, she noticed Maenlorn speaking with a Dunmer. The dark elf looked hardened enough to fit in at the waterfront but, unlike the other men, mer and tailed-folk of the docks, did not appear to have a seagoing air about him.

Overhearing only parts of their conversation, she gathered that the very large bearded Nord seated in the corner was looking to hire mercenaries. Buffy concluded the Dunmer was interested, as he made his way toward the Nord.

As Maenlorn came over to clear away Buffy’s plate, she tilted her head toward the Nord in the corner and questioningly lifted an eyebrow.

The fellow Bosmer’s ever-cheerful reply was subdued in volume. “Yes, sister. No idea of the details, but he said he needs some help righting a wrong. From folks that are no strangers to violence.”

Buffy produced a small metallic card from the pouch at her hip and passed it to the innkeeper. “Would you be so kind?”

Maenlorn nodded and took the object. As he headed over to deliver it to the bearded Son of Skyrim, he read the fancy engraving upon the rectangle of thin mithril steel that fit easily in his hand. The silhouette of a rider upon an armored horse was depicted above the words, ‘Have bow, will travel.’