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

[Darkness Eternal]

Kraven Desselius, The Flowing Bowl.

Mystic archer, mused Kraven. What the hells is a mystic archer?

From what the Imperial gathered from both Mer is that a man had his property stolen. To be more specific, his mead recipe, and he was in process of hiring able-bodied men and women to recover his lost goods. A wealthy fellow, no doubt, to make such an annoucement with considerable coin involved for the fruits of the participants' labor. How blessed it would be, thought the young man, to be rich for just a day. I'd pay the Dark Brotherhood or anyone to stick their blades up that thief's bunghole.

The dark elf made some comment about leeks, and the like, and it went through Kraven's ear and passed out the other as he was momentarily distracted by the tavern's patrons. One was a Redguard sailor and his young boy, sitting at the far corner of the tavern. The older man had a beer that was brown, and his son had a loaf of bread that was white, accompanied by stew that was creamy white. On another table a khajiit woman swirled her spoon in a bowl of soup. It was thick with leeks, carrots, barley, and turnips white and yellow, with local clams and chunks of fish and crabmeat, swimming in a stock of heavy cream and butter.

It was the sort of stew that warmed a man right down to his bones, and Kraven saw that the dark elf wasn't the only one dissapointed with his meals. I'm still hungry, Kraven thought.

Tiber sniffed around the table for crumbs. Kraven learned on that innkeeps and taverners were tolerated the animal's presence because he seldom begged, barked, growled and bit. He was a quiet beast, just as his master was. Kraven broke a small piece of bread and brought it under the table with his hand. After a few seconds he felt a cold nose, and a wet tongue followed by a nibble grace his fingers, and the bread was no more.

Giving some explanation on how the plates vanished, the dark elf gave Kraven a dark look with his red and grey eye that came harsh with a grin. A grimace that, Kraven guessed, was made to draw a reaction or expression of fear and concern. Kraven didn't mind. In fact, he didn't care. Men tried to intimidate him many times over and he doesn't fall prey to their threats, subtle or no. Women, on the other hand . . .

"Any questions?"

Desselius shot a look at Buffy, and then at Tiber, before turning back to the dark elf. He had many questions to ask, including some to Buffy(the mystic archer). But first and foremost, "Aye, I do have a question. What's your name? And when do you embark on this journey of yours?"

He did not know any dark elves intimately as friend, and so he would keep himself as distanced from this man as possible. The prospect of gold, however, was enough to keep him interested. The dark elf should be aware he was no fighter. He could use his bow, and there was a first time for everything but in the meantime he could clean any chamberpots, keep their horses fed, carry knapsacks and fold out bedrolls and hunt food for them for a modest fee. But he'd do no fighting. He wouldn't risk his skin for another person, or for gold.

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: Mar 21 2016, 06:57 PM