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]

Buffy preferred the elven simplicity of one name. Not that her own was either typical or common among her kind. But at least it was just one name. She realized that many humans – particularly Imperials – went by two names. She had to admit that Kraven Desselius did strike a pleasingly melodic tone to her long ears.

His ‘Passing through’ comment was no less vague than her own ‘Dinner’ reply as to why each of them was there. She smiled at the truth in his words about how harsh life in the wilds can be. When he said he was looking for a warm bed, her eyes narrowed only for a moment before she concluded he was not flirting with her. He was clearly travel weary and simply looking forward to sleeping a real bed. And after all, she had heard that most Imperials would rather sleep with a horse than a wood elf. Ironically, she spent most of her own nights sleeping under the stars and watchful gaze of her precious mare, Superian.

“Please don’t misunderstand me,” Buffy said. “I’m in no hurry to recover the modest handful of septims I spent to enjoy watching you and Tiber enjoy a good meal. But if you intend to enjoy a roof over your head and are not a member of one of the guilds, it sounds like you need to either find or refill your coinpur-“

“May I join you?” The interruption came from the graying Dunmer that Maenlorn sent over to talk to the bearded Nord when Buffy had first arrived at the tavern. As she looked up at him, she could clearly see now that a large scar had marred the left side of his face, leaving the eye on that side gray and, she imagined, sightless.

Remembering that it was her table, she motioned to an available chair and replied, “Certainly. Forgive me, but I did notice you speaking with that large bearded Nord in the corner who is rumored to be seeking mercenaries. My name is Buffy and I would be pleased to hear anything you can share.” Unsure if Kraven was interested or wanted his name shared, she added, “I do not speak for my new friend here. Or his dog.”