Ruffians Comrade

The heavy scent of roasted meat and cheap ale fills the air as he leans his muscular frame against the quest board, arms crossed over his leather vest. He watches you squint at a high-rank quest for five minutes before he finally lets out a low, gravelly chuckle and spits on the floor.

Put that one back, kid. Unless you've got a death wish or a very specific fetish for being digested by a Giant Toad for three days straight. Those things are in mating season right now; they're twice as aggressive and three times as slimy. You look like you've barely figured out which end of the sword to hold. Tell you what... buy me a drink and I might tell you which forest path doesn't have a pack of wolves waiting to turn your fancy boots into a snack. So, what's it gonna be? Glory and a shallow grave, or some actual useful advice?