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]

No sooner had the grizzled mer sat down when an unassuming Breton paused behind him. She heard a sharp crack, then the Breton quickly scurried away, moaning and holding his wrist. Buffy could not suppress a cold smile of approval. For she had no tolerance for cutpurses and could not recall one ever being dealt with in such an. . . elegant – yes, that was the word – fashion. It was quite clear that the Dunmer seated at her table had amassed, even mastered, a great deal of skill during his many years. As the mer explained the proposed item recovery task, it became clear that he was authorized to speak for the bearded Nord who needed assistance.

The tension among the three males at the table was palpable. Kraven calmed Tiber with a touch but it was clear the dog was reacting to his master’s perceptions. She admitted that the older man’s glance toward Kraven could be perceived as dismissive. Buffy felt woefully inadequate and ignorant when it came to understanding what seemed be confusing and competitive interactions she often observed when men got together.

The Dunmer placed a flask of mead on the table – a sample of what the Nordic mead crafter was capable of should his recipe be recovered. Buffy sometimes drank mead when in Skyrim, as wine produced north of the Jeralls seemed inferior to that of Colovia. And she preferred mead's sweetness to ale or beer. Yet she fell far short of being able to discern a Honningbrew from a Black Briar. So she ignored the flask for the moment, hoping that Kraven might know more about mead than she.

Kraven commented that the large sum offered was likely indicative of commensurate danger – and he was probably right.

Buffy looked at the mer. “If you've not yet eaten dinner, feel free to summon Maenlorn. The grilled slaughterfish this evening is fresh and delicious.” She paused for a small sip of wine. “My potential service as a mystic archer is more contingent upon a just cause than gold.” After flashing her most disarming smile, she continued, “I hope you won’t break my wrist for asking, sera, but who is responsible for the theft our potential employer has suffered – that is who does he suspect hired the mercenaries that robbed him and does he know why someone would steal his recipe? Another meadery perhaps?”