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]

Mages. Mystic Archers. Kraven half expected a staff-wielding wizard walk through the tavern to sign up for the task at hand. In mere minutes Kraven saw two schools of magic in play. Destruction and Mysticism. Athyn lit his foul-smelling pipe with a fireball, and the other dark elf's display of telekenetic used to pull himself a seat was not amiss. What? You can't use your hands grab a seat like the rest of us?

Heh, came a passing thought. If any of them practices alteration and can turn my [censored] into gold, I'd be the happiest bastard alive.

Gold was a welcome thing in his life. Nay, in fact a nescessary thing in his life. He needed a bed to rest.

"Hmph. I'd hardly call a thousand septims 'lucrative', but necessity does present something of a leveling force." The scarred, ill-mannered dark elf said. His methods for communication seemed brute, and not without tones of violence. Kraven would prefer to stay clear of him. Though temptation was loud enough to make him utter a word to the conversing dark elves, Kraven only narrowed his eyes, but didn’t rise to the bait.

Judging from those words, Kraven assumed the man was rich beyond measure. He'd often heard some dark elves in Morrowind preffered magics and ancient knowledge rather than material wealth, which many considered a simple means to an end. He's heard of the Great Houses in Morrowind and their strange named which he could not remember. Could this dark elf be a member of one of those houses?

He wondered the same about Athyn. The only one decent enough so far, as far as impressions go, was Buffy. She remained ever so quiet in the company of an axe-caressing dark elf and sneering stranger. So small that she could just as easily slip away from thought.

Athyn explained nothing knew to this stranger, and as he did Kraven could feel his tired mind and body eager to drift into deep and dreamless sleep. Athyn might even give the same story about the Red Skulls and their love for cadaverous pieces and macabre artwork. None of which scared Kraven. He knew a man like the mage was not intimidated easily.

Getting up, Kraven took a sip of his drink before nudging his pet canine in the head. He looked at Athyn before he spoke to the dark elf. "I'll be outside if you need me. I'm interested." He turned to Buffy, and nodded his thanks to her with a smile. He averted his gaze then to the dark elf and nodded as well. He left the tavern with Tiber following him outside.

Outside of the Flowing Bowl, Kraven breathed the fresh salty air and looked around for a nice corner to sleep in. Maybe the beggars know.