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

[Uleni Athram]

"The secret's all in the bottom part of your body, lass - most of your punches' power comes from your hips and ass. Like this!"

Rufrius Vinicius executed a left hook and the resulting impact was thunderous, ringing out through the busy halls of the Anvil Fighters Guild and temporarily silencing the establishment's buzz. He had rotated his hips clockwise and his left leg had pivoted over to the side simultaneously as his left fist slashed across. Dilemma noted how different her trainer's hook was from hers - in fact, her hook wasn't even a hook at all, according to Rufrius. Apparently it was more of a classless haymaker that couldn't crack a glassjaw on its worst day.

Whatever a glassjaw was.

Dilemma nodded to the hulking Imperial and took his place before the straw dummy, readying herself in a pugilist's stance. She remembered how the man executed the punch - rotation of the hips, the pivoting of the lead foot, and the slashing motion of the elbow - and pistoned her own hook that, while not as powerful, was a marked improvement over her earlier disaster.

Rufrius guffawed and almost broke her back as he patted her in approval.

"Nice one, kid! You learn fast - but always remember to keep those hands up. You throw your left but you drop your right, and in a fight the winner is the one who keeps his defenses tight."

Dilemma tilted her head to side and looked at him.

"It's an old rhyme of mine - and one that teaches you best in it's simplicity! Now, since you have a nasty left hook and an even nastier right cross, let's teach you the uppercut. After that, we'll have a little sparring session - I'll put you up against Cocesta, she's more your size- and we'll end the day with some defensive drills."

-------

The training today was especially brutal and lasted thrice as usual - when all was said and done, Dilemma's body had taken a severe beating, and all her muscles ached for rest. The sparring with the Redguard Cocesta had been a lesson in humility, but one she took gladly. The Redguard afterwards had given her a single vellum; when she had looked at it, it was full of exercises and drills that she can do on her own. It even had illustrations for the more difficult ones. Dilemma shook Cocesta's hand and bowed her head in gratitude, and would've given her thanks to Rufrius as well were it not for the ringing of the noon bell. With a friendly wave of goodbye, she gathered all her things and sped out of the Fighters Guild, leaving Rufrius and Cocesta to shake their heads at the silent and strange girl who took their free lessons with a passion not seen even in their veterans.


----


When she reached the back of the Count's Arms, she was greeted by the sight of Queen the Dog sleeping on her back to the ground, with King the Imp snoring quite shrilly on the hound's belly. Princess the Cat was nowhere to be seen, though their telepathic bond afforded her a sense of predatory glee from Princess' end, so the damnable cat must be hunting mice somewhere.

Come back soon, she telepathically said. And be careful around the docks. She did not receive any reply, but was unperturbed by this; Princess acted like a snobby variant of her namesake anyway.

Without further ado, she entered the backdoor of the Count's Arms and found herself in a busy kitchen. Her apron hanged from a hook by the backdoor and with deft movements she picked it up and wore it and was immediately washing plates, pouring wine and helping the elderly cook in her duties.

Wilbur came by a moment later, and hailed her.

"Oh, there you are! I'm glad you're here; Sasfiel took a day off, the layabout, and we're short on waitresses today. You're going to have to take her place."

Dilemma nodded in acquiescence but took a moment to lighten the elderly cook's load. When a certain amount of dishes were done and some of the goblets were pre-emptively filled with wine, she went swiftly to the dining area and began taking orders from the various patrons. She worked swiftly and efficiently, keeping her mind in a tunnel vision on her current task.

When she a brought a harsh-looking Dunmer a fairly high quality vintage of wine and a key to his room, Dilemma thought that maybe the kinship they shared as fellow Dunmer would allow him to tip her a few coins. After all, what's a few septims to man such as him?

She stood in mute eagerness, looking at the other elf with an expectant smile.