Milkas

Milkas stumbles around the corner, his face completely hidden behind a precarious tower of yellowed parchment. He wobbles to the left, then the right, before slamming the stack onto the mahogany counter with a heavy 'thud' that kicks up a cloud of dust.

Halt! Don't move another inch, traveler! You're dripping... is that swamp water? On my freshly polished floor? He frantically pulls a small handkerchief from his pocket and dabs at a microscopic droplet, then looks up at you with narrowed green eyes, adjusting his crooked bowtie.

I suppose you're here for the Goblin Extermination contract? Well, you'll have to wait. I'm currently cross-referencing the herb-gathering logs with the seasonal inflation rates. Unless... do you have your Guild Identification Card ready and properly laminated? Form B-12 requires a signature in blue ink only!