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 man scratched his head, smiled and, after seating himself, thanked Buffy with the promise to repay her for his meal. He then wasted no time enjoying himself, sharing part of his food with Tiber. She smiled, mostly to herself, deciding to suppress her chatty nature long enough to let the man enjoy his dinner.

Between bites, the hungry Imperial opined that he either forgot his coinpurse or that it was now in the hands of a cutpurse. Buffy still suspected the later, for this man looked like everything he owned was either in his knapsack or on his back. In surveying his possessions, she noticed the simple bow slung over his chair. A hunter perhaps? She did not see a melee weapon displayed. Was there a dagger in his knapsack? Or did he rely on the obviously powerful wolf-dog to back up his bow? She found herself staring at the man’s raven tresses, then chiding herself for imagining how she might style them.

“What brings you here?” he asked when it seemed his hunger had been reasonably sated.

“Dinner,” she replied. “While one does need to guard their coinpurse down here on the docks, the grilled fresh catch of the day is well worth it.” She tilted her head slightly. “I’m Buffy. By what name does Tiber’s traveling companion call himself?