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

[Callidus Thorn]

As the diminutive Dunmer stormed away Edril poured himself a glass of the wine, closing his eyes and savouring the first sip, all the more exquisite for his time away from the city. The key he slid into one of the capacious pockets of his robe, before returning to his repose.

It was strangely easy to keep track of the girl's lifeshadow as she moved about The Count's Arms, and in doing so he was able to check if she tampered with his meal, though he wasn't surprised when she didn't. Her clothing seemed more like that of a street urchin than a waitress in a quality tavern, so he knew she wouldn't want to risk losing her job. And a small part of him had enjoyed the impotent anger in her eyes, particularly when she delivered his meal.

-----

Edril was glad he'd spent the extra for the better vintage at The Count's Arms, as he stood outside The Flowing Bowl. Whenever he could he avoided the dock area of Anvil, having no interest in associating with the sailors and drunkards that couldn't afford the prices in the main part of town. But the meal had been good, the wine had been very good, and it had put Edril in a good enough mood to suffer low company without complaint.

No sooner had he stepped in than he began to regret doing so. the Flowing Bowl had none of the quality and taste of the Count's Arms, and the same held true for its clientele. He cast an eye about the dingy place, ignoring with practised ease the sort of people he'd expect to find in a place like this. Two individuals caught his eye; a finely-dressed Bosmer and an armed and armoured Dunmer. And a third at a nearby table, a Nord; portly, with brown hair and an absurd quantity of facial hair.

Edril made his way through The Flowing Bowl, a glare and a sneer more than sufficient to move aside any that crossed his path, until he stood before the Nord. He looked down at the seated figure, his face flushed, clearly deep into his cups. "Waste of my time" he muttered to himself, as he turned away, and headed back towards the entrance.