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]

“I shan’t let a man who takes care of his animal’s needs before his own go hungry. Join me?” was the sound of his salvation. A soothing voice, coming from the miniature sized wood elf who's buisiness Tiber stuck his nose in. He appraised the blond Mer with a quizzical look, and after a moment he had to smile at her generosity.

In this day and age, how difficult was it for a person to trust anyone, let alone offer a kind hand and empty their own pockets to fill another's belly. What goes around, comes around, was the popular saying and the Imperial saw that his selfless care of his companion had more or less had a hand in the woman's charitable act.

Kraven swallowed, scratched the back of his head and nodded to Maenlorn before taking a seat across from the young woman. From there he was given a better view of the lady before him; she was young as he was, perhaps, and judging by her race alone and the buckskin shoes that covered her feet, he guessed she might have been a hunter or something. He didn't see a bow, however, and so he dismissed this notion.

An adventurer, he reckoned. Looks to be the sort. Probably makes good coin. Tamika wine sure isn't cheap.

Maenlorn had placed the food he ordered on the table, and Kraven broke a loaf of his bread with the meat within and gave it to Tiber, who wolfed it down with a single bite. The young man turned to the woman before him.

"Thank you, for your help. You didn't need to pay for this food. Really, you didn't. I either forgot my coinpurse or someone's unwanted hands did. I will repay you, I promise." He said, and began eating. "Tiber will too, won't you boy?"

The wolf seemed to ignore his master's words, and focused more on the last piece of crumbs that littered the ground. Kraven sighed, and tapped his fingers on the table. "Nice place, this. Never ran into trouble here. Aside from me not being able to pay for my food." He cleared his throat, and tapped his foot now as he slung his wooden bow behind his chair.

You're small, he wanted to say. I've never seen one so small.

Without anything special to say, he had to ask the basic question born out of genuine curiosity. "What brings you here?"