<div class="floatleft">(http://simg4.gelbooru.com//images/c7/07/c707481bd6bc3b28e389686e5f7fe72e.jpg?173701)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Patrick Milgram<br/><strong>Location:</strong>The Vine and Horn Inn and Tavern<br/><strong>Time:</strong>Afternoon<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Callie Rhodes (assuming Johanna and Maelynn join after quest starts in the forest?)<br/><br/>While to many, Amberdale was another waypoint on a journey, a connections to adventures ahead, for Patrick, it was home. It wasn't a good home, either. When all he knew was half-slavery to a demanding musician whose changing goals and orders seemed to never end, one could imagine his dislike of the place. It was only recently that he had begun to stay out late, to avoid going "home". It wasn't hard. Despite the often changing population, Amberdale was a relatively safe place. The only thing he really found himself bothered by was actually sleeping on the ground somewhere, what with all the things happening at all hours of day. Every corner of Amberdale seemed to be lively at all times of day and night. It was endearing, his hometown, but also irritating. Very irritating.<br/><br/>More irritating was the fact that, as one of the permanent residents of this place (though not for much longer, he hoped), the other residents knew him. Which meant that, even though he had slept curled up outside at the corner of a house, he still couldn't quite escape the eccentric musician if the man was determined. And when it came to free labor, boy was the man determined. The parchment was written in chickenscratch only Patrick could decipher, and even then, only on a good day. Squinting at it, he could barely make out "collect for miniharp objects -> map find friends DANGER". Below, a bunch of scribbles, or perhaps the promised map? Rolling up the quest scroll, Patrick grumbled as he straightened his back. Stupid as the eccentric musician might be, when he said "DANGER", he definitely meant something.<br/><br/>Maybe if he was lucky, he'd be able to palm off the entire quest on someone else and go on his merry way. Goodness knows he wouldn't be able to claim the so-called reward. It'd just be "confiscated" as soon as it was given. At least with other adventurers, the man would have to honor what he wrote on the paper...whatever it was. In the end, though, they'd probably need Patrick, if only to read the map. Somehow, that excited him, loathe as he was to admit it.<br/><br/>He entered the bar, nodding familiarly at the bouncer, then the bartender. He had just woken up and his hair was still a mess; he hadn't managed to sleep until the tavern finally cleared out at four in the morning. The news about the quest had come far too soon after his rude awakening, too, and groaning, he made his way to the bar and sat himself down, paying no attention to the red-haired dancer next to him for the time being. "Pint of your strongest, man. You know whose tab to put it on." It was a small jab in the side of the most influential man in his life, but he did what he could. "Look at what he gave me. A quest. A fucking quest. Tells me to find others. He's mocking me, the bastard." Patrick grunted, waving the paper around with annoyance.<br/><br/>