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

[Darkness Eternal]

It was a silent, gentle, pristine time of day in the Gold Coast, and as the evening sun shone pale through the dews and the plains that hovered around Kraven in the summer birdless quiet, it was like the morn like the sharing of the et'Ada with the breath of creation fresh upon it.

From the rocky sides of Fort Strand, Kraven got a clear and open view of the countryside, including several of the farmhouses that dotted the landscape. He heard the seagulls sing and behind him was the serenity and stillness of Anvil. The gulls would fly about in the sky. Fishermen in boats, far out, would call to each other in hymning voices until all was still. And in that stilness, with a red new world beneath his feet that spread out before his eyes, gorged upon blood and insides, he shivered with the knowledge of mortality.

A young deer lay at his feet, torn asunder by the Tiber's hungry jaws. His pet wolf-dog had chased the fawn out into the open, tackling it down and feasting upon it. Kraven didn't mind that his quarry was saliva-ridden; Tiber deserved a good hunt, and the spoils that came from it. As for Kraven himself, the young man happily sucked on an open orange as he watched his loyal canine eat away. For over an hour he lay there in the grass, taking a nap. After his hound nudged him with his snout, Kraven woke up, packed, and descended the hills onto Anvil.

His uncle had been staying with his mother while his father was away at the docks; Kraven had an argument with them regarding his father's state. She should've left the man when she had the chance yet she clinged to the notion that he could change. Kraven breathed in the fresh air he needed after agressively voicing his opinion.

Uncle was right, he reflected. It is best I take some time off from my duties and go my way.

Anvil was a city ripe for merchants, pirates, sailors and sea-loving folk. With a heavy Redguard presence, Kraven thought it best to visit there to get in touch with his Redguard roots. He said as much to Tiber, who snorted at his comment. Kraven stiffled a chuckle. "Ah, and I heard women here are beautiful, too, this time of year. Lots of em' come for the summer."


After several miles, the young man arrived at the docks. Merchants, sailors, and other folks of the ocean trade scrambled about in their various tasks; selling their fishy wares, carrying crates for the markets, proclaiming their wares in loud voices that announced good luck charms, ill-smelling nostrums, mystic talismans and small carved statues of Divine and Daedra that promised a safe travel at sea.

Kraven bumped into several folks as he made his way to The Flowing Bowl, keeping a smart hand on his knapsack as Tiber followed beside him. Pickpockets are everywhere in Cyrodiil. Anvil attracted dishonest sailors, and in most cases, pirates. While he could go in the city, his hunger and above all, thirst and need to rest pointed him toward the nearest establishment. He entered.

The Flowing Bowl wasn't too large, but had quite then number of patrons. From dark elves, to imperials, to wood elves. The latter was in abundance. The owner of the place was a wood elf named Maenlorn. Kraven knew him from the first few times he's visited Anvil. A short trip, those were. He never overstayed his welcome. He paid no attention to Tiber as he was accustomed to the animal's presence. Tiber never left any gifts while inside.

Kraven walked up the counter, greeted the owner, and ordered a meal for the night. He had enough coin for a bed and some food. I'll get more coin later. Maybe someone is hiring for some work around here. Pay me a few septims to help carry crates to the ships, or sweep something.

After ordering two loaves of bread, cheese-wheel, mutton and cheap wine, Kraven fumbled about in his knapsack for his coin purse . . . only to discover that it was missing!

Damn, what in Oblivion? He checked his pockets, his shirt, even his boots. He had nothing.

He turned to look at Tiber and saw that the beast was nowhere near him. Gazing about the Imperial at last found the wolf-dog, standing on his hind legs and begging at the lap of a petite blue-eyed Bosmer woman whom just had finished eating her slaughterfish. Tiber was sniffing at her satchel. She must of had something he liked.

No, no, no, Kraven thought as he rushed over to the animal. "Tiber, down!" he approached the table, apologizing at once "Sorry. His belly seems to have no end. He just ate not long ago."

He pulled the animal, and as he sought to leave, he turned and went face-to-face with Maenlorn, who smiled at him with a full platter and said, "Here's your food. That'll be seven septims."

Kraven looked at his hound, and made one last desperate attempt to conjure the lost coin he needed to pay for his food. His hands searched pockets he knew were empty. His face flushed a deep red, and he looked at the Bosmer woman for a fleeting moment.

An Imperial ordering food with no coin. How I look the beggar now. Should've ate that deer, and camped out by the fort. Nevermind the dangers.