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 stared at the young man before him; he had long hair that fell to his neck, a face sprouting shadows of stubble growing underneath his chin and neck, warning him it was time for a shave. The water rippled, and the young man's face - for a moment- looked like that of a wolf. It was only after a second that Kraven saw Tiber walk up beside him from the water's reflection.

Tiber sniffed out the barrels for food, as he often did. He had quite the knack for finding meals. Kraven enjoyed bringing him in his travels for many reasons, and this was only but one of them. Tiber was young, and too curious. He supposed all young Highland wolves were like this at a young age. These wolves were common in Colovian hills and in the Great Forest, where wild packs were feared by farmers and shepherds. But some foresters have domesticated the beasts and, bred for size, use them as mounts in the ancient times.

He was a valuable friend.

Kraven sat up, patted the dirt away from his pants, and walked away from the ships. He looked hot and bedraggled as he made his way along the Harborside. Sweat had left dark rings beneath the arms of his light linen shirt, and he had the same sour look on his long face worn the time he arrived.

It was time to leave Anvil.

By staying too long, and waiting too long, he concluded that he would not work with the dark elves. It was best he took leave, and if any problems rise in the tavern, should anyone be stabbed, caught on fire or flown out the window as victims of telekenetic power, he wanted no part. He did not want to stand idly as some drunk mistaken witness points an accusing finger claiming, "Aye, I saw the lad with them, too."

No, not today. Kraven whistled, and Tiber followed.

This post has been edited by Darkness Eternal: Aug 23 2016, 09:46 PM