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]

Well.

That went right.

Dilemma's eager smile slowly eroded to a blank expression of contempt and she would've given the other elf the Bravil salute were she not hailed by a customer who wanted another helping of beer. With a shake of her head, she marched away from the older Dunmer imperiously and put his sour expression out of her mind, quenching the urge to give his cutboard-looking face the hook she just learned a few minutes ago. In fact, so focused was she on squashing her anger and indignancy that she did not notice that the patron who had called for her was none other than Ylenno himself with a bunch of his fellow gangsters! A jolt of happy surprise coursed through Dilemma as she grinned widely and punched the tattooed Bosmer's shoulder with all her might.

"...and I said to the guy, 'look pal, unless you want to go sleep by your papa Luca with the slaughterfishes I suggest yo- OW! Kinky Alessia, do you know who the fu-"

Ylenno stopped midway when he finally realized who it was that punched him. With a grin that equaled her own, Ylenno reached out and pulled Dilemma in a massive hug.

"Twiggy! It's you!"

The tattooed thug, even after all these years, still smelled of violence, sex and a touch of inner oblivion. He smelled like his home. He smelled like Bravil. The familiarity of it, alongside his embrace, comforted her. She hugged him back.

"Let me take a good look at you," he said then, and held her a little at arm's length. His ever-smiling eyes went up and down in the fashion of a big brother inspecting a sibling, and what he saw apparently he approved of.

"You're putting quite the muscle on yourself, Twiggy - pretty soon I won't have to call you that anymore. How about Scrappy? Scrappy Dilemma?"

A brunette Nord wearing copious amounts of make up and a shining set of armor snorted disdainfully. This Nord was Genericus Bloccus and the sister-figure that taught Dilemma how to use her feminine wiles expertly, even though Ginny, as the Nord was called by his friends, was a man.

"Idiot, she doesn't need anymore of your tasteless nicknames," Genericus said, laying down the mirror he was currently worshiping to give a catty look of fondness at Dilemma. "Her name's fitting enough; because you're a dilemma everywhere you go, aren't you, girly?"

Genericus winked beautifully at her and Dilemma mimed laughter, but Ylenno placed a hand on his heart, an expression of mock-hurt rending his debonair features.

"Oh, but I thought you liked my nicknames, Ginny! Didn't you like the one I gave you? 'Ginny Blow, Best Hand in Bravil for only Five Septims!'"

Dilemma crinkled her nose and closed her eyes in scandalous delight, remembering how Ylenno's childish nature always brought her a smile. Genericus was having none of it though.

"Up yours, buddy," the Nord said in retaliation, a sneer poisoning his androgynous face.

"You've been saying that ever since we left Kvatch. I'm starting to think you're a little too interested at that deed. Should I be worried? Should I keep my back to the wall when you're around? Keep myself locked up in a room to prevent you from 'forcibly entering'?"

The righteous fury that Genericus showed was astounding and terrifying at the same time. It didn't stop Dilemma from laughing.

"The only person who's going to touch you is probably a blind prostitute with no teeth, you bosmer scum!"

"Hey, you say blind prostitute with no teeth like its a bad thing! I demand satisfaction from that mockery, my good sir!"

"Go satisfy yoursel-"

"So you can watch?"

"Fuc-"

Dilemma's ears were suddenly covered by a pair of green hands that were almost the size of her head. She looked towards the source and found a hulking Orc gazing back at her with the most gentle expression one can expect to see from his race.

"They talking bad words," the giant said with a heavy Orsinium accent. "You no want hear it no more."

Alongside the now bickering Ylenno and Genericus, this Orc, who called himself Balabog Palemaw, had a hand in making her time in Bravil bearable. He had taught her how to read and write, how to maintain basic armor and even how to cook. The last part was the most enjoyable activity she had had with the kind and grizzled Orc, and memories of it resurfaced with a glow.

"You take Ylenno order now - your hairless boss go angry with lazy Dilemma."

Sure enough, when Dilemma glanced a look at the bar, Wilbur was looking at her with narrowed eyes. He was tapping the counter with his fingers, and near him was a tray of steaming food that was in the process of becoming cold. Dilemma stood on her toes and gave Balabog a peck on his pale cheek; the Orc then watched her rush off to take the tray to the table it belonged to.

Which, coincidentally, was the earlier Dunmer's.

With a mental huff, she set the tray on his table with just the barest hint of politeness (just barely managing to avoid dropping the whole thing on his lap) and scampered off to refill Ylenno's beer. As she was in the process of filling his mug, an electric pop of connection buzzed in her mind and she heard the voice of Princess, lackadaisical and sultry.

You won't believe what I found today, elf, the feline said in their telepathic bond.

What did you find, Dilemma asked, carefully trying to fill the mug as much as possible.

A better paying job for you, was the laid back reply. Two jobs, actually, but one is seriously suspect.

Lay it on me.

Well, there's this fellow calling himself Oedipus Nebraska trying to rally people in an Expedition of sorts. To the bowels of Sutch, I believe.

Sounds interesting. What's the reward he's offering?

Certainly not fish sticks and balls of yarns, which is unfortunate, because fish sticks and balls of yarns are an emotionally satisfying pay. But I suppose your feeble elvish mind can't possibly comprehend the-

Princess. What's. The. Reward.

An indignant mewl echoed before the cat bothered to reply.

Ten thousand gold up front. With sixty thousand more per completion of the quest, artifacts and loot found during the Expedition notwithstanding.

Dilemma was stupefied into silence. So paralyzed was she at the amount of gold that Princess specified that she had kept filling the mug and now it overflowed. She gritted her teeth in annoyance and began the process of cleaning it up and filling a new one.

That's seventy thousand. We could buy a house with that and still have enough left to admit me in Cheydinhal's University of Swords for a whole semester! Where is this Oedipus?

He's in the docks. Without a shirt on and wearing his trousers on his head.

... What?

I told you one of the jobs was suspect. The man's literally pants-on-head crazy! You should've seen how he drooled and ranted.

Annoyance and anger bloomed in Dilemma and when she next spoke in the link, it was with the voice of thunder.

Damnit, Princess, stop playing around! The free training's gonna end tomorrow and we need the damn money to get off from this place!

The mischievous laugh she received was wholly unrepentant. Dilemma sent an image of baths and soap to terrify the feline into submission and it worked, as much as intimidation can work with the fearless Princess.

Okay, okay, no need to resort to violence, elf. Here's the deal; a Nord with the most magnificent mane in his face -so magnificent in fact, that I thought he glued two of my most hairy kin on his face!- came by the Flowing Bowl and spread the word that he was hiring help.

Go on. What kind of help does he need?

He needs help finding his missing silverware.

Dilemma had had enough of the cat's antics. She was about to shut off the link when Princess felt her annoyance, and a sense of urgency came from the cat's end.

No wait, I'm serious! Even now he's talking with an armored Dunmer about its little details. Here, take a look.

Dilemma's body froze and her eyes rolled up. She went blind for a second and her mind rang loudly before her sight returned. When she looked up, she looked up in a different place. This time, she wasn't in the Count's Arms. This time, she was looking through the eyes of Princess, and the cat's vision afforded her the sight of a bearded Nord conversing with a Dunmer in a low-class inn that was undoubtedly the Flowing Bowl. She watched as the two talked, finished their conversation, and went their separate ways. Actually, the Dunmer was the one who went on his way to another table filled with a blonde elf and a young Imperial. The Nord just stayed where he was.

An explosion of sound in her brain, the image of the Flowing Bowl clearing away like a smoke being swept away by a wind, and a moment later Dilemma was back in her body, back in the Count's Arms.

Looks like you're right, Princess. Keep an eye on the Nord and that Dunmer. When my shift ends I'll go straight to them.

On your way here, can you bring me a couple of fish sticks? I think I deserve a little reward for this.

Dilemma gave her a chuckle, shut off the telepathic link and resumed her duties as a waitress.