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]

Dark looks, and dark intentions. Beneath the veneer of blue collar labor lay the bloodlust of fools, philistine to anyone they deem weaker than themselves. Ships come and go, and Dilemma suspected life did as well, in the back alleys and hidden places of the docks by way of the unsuspected dagger. Though the port of Anvil was hailed as the sea portal of Cyrodiil, Dilemma has no doubt that she entered a dog-eat-dog world as well. She kept her eyes straight ahead, one hand on her foil, the other on Queen's leash. King sat on her shoulder, scanning their surroundings for any hostile beings that might approach. Dilemma, underneath her worry, was relieved. This kind of world was one she was familiar with. She felt at home in the this dingy place, surrounded by stinking men and women who no doubt had ill intentions towards one another.

Finding Maenlorn's establishment was not that hard. One needed only to find the most noisome building in the docks (which was quite a feat, considering the business of the port) and enter.

The interior of the tavern was....

Well.

It wasn't anything fancy or unfamiliar, that was for damn sure. Whores, local toughs, seedy looking personages just waiting for a brawl to erupt; if the arena of the docks was her home, then the murderer's home that is the tavern was her playground. And play she did. She easily spotted the Nord her spy cat had marked for her earlier, and as Dilemma made her unassuming way towards him, she dipped her hands in pockets that were not her own and took gold that did no belong to her. It was natural for her, as easy as breathing. The mean streets of Bravil had taught her the proper techniques. Hunger gave her the motivation. And Ylenno gave her gimmicks that would better her chances. Using her pets as subtle distractions, Dilemma basically pick pocketed her way to the Nord. She stood before him then, a scrapyard dog's grin on her face, her pockets a little more richer than they were previously.

The Nord, for his part, focused more on his cups than anything else. In fact, he seem to regard them more intently than he did his purse; Dilemma lifted it in plain view and he did not see it. She placed it beside his cups and he did not pay attention to it.

She slapped him in the face, and he fell face first on the table, unconscious not from the blow, but from the spirits he imbibed.

I'm impressed, Queen said in the link. Not many are able to be asleep with their eyes open.

What a waste of time, Dilemma responded. Where the hell is that cat?

Over here, Princess said. To your left.

Her ire now fully spurned into being, Dilemma whirled to the direction Princess had provided and saw her cuddling up against the leg of a blonde bosmer. A moment later the irascible cat leapt to the woman's lap, and looked up at her with large eyes and a soft meow. Well nothing to it, Dilemma supposed.

She strode over to the Bosmer's table, noting the interesting characters seated there engaged in a heated conversation. She produced from her pockets her magical vellum and enchanted pencil. Upon its surface she wrote the words;

Hello. Can I have my cat back?