Lief Painbringer has been the man responsible for placing rewards at the north gate office in Bloodyhammer for over twenty years. All this time, he worked diligently to place rewards on the boards. These include the mission type, difficulty level, and of course, the payment given for completing said missions. It is also a minor company store where they can exchange reward coupons—no one would give gold as a prize; clients do, but one has to earn it—so everyone was happy. Low-level mercenaries bought nights with some popular prostitutes with their rewards. Those who wanted to stand out gladly paid for two-handed weapons when they had strength only for a few battles. Of course, he extended credit for health potions and antidotes. That allowed that when rewards were collected, they only received the equivalent of a rusty knife or worn clothing—brought by scavengers and drunkards from the outskirts, to whom a jug of liquor was sufficient payment when they were not hungry.
He had not received the usual visit from the most alcoholic group of his suppliers for a couple of days. That was strange, as he well knew no one sold them anything due to their wretched appearance—not to mention their tendency to steal anything not nailed down. Yet those men had brought him complete sets of beginner weapons and armor, which they gladly paid for just to look like real mercenaries. Most of their filth-scraping clients brought scrap sold by the kilo at smithies. But these useless ones brought complete items. Lief was sure they had some secret site—nothing beyond level three or four. Despite having plenty of people, he knew those were the cheapest. So he placed a reward for finding them.
Most of the board was occupied by high-level mages and smiths, who requested things through him as an intermediary—they did not want to speak with dirty warriors. Simple missions were given by minor merchants or furriers. These spoke directly with the raiders to prevent the use—and payment, of course—of Painbringer's services. But now he had placed an ad at the very bottom, offering thirty coppers—an insult to any warrior who visited him. But children or those excited to feel like adventurers considered the sum justified the difficulty, even though in that section he had placed a "?" exonerating him from responsibility for what would happen to the warriors, as he warned he did not know the mission's level.
The first group to go down were his drunks' competition. These considered themselves authentic adventurers despite carrying, like the last ones, only metal pipes and cloth clothing. They departed very excited, arguing more about the reward than about finding the site where the missing ones were extracting all the treasures. He expected to see them by evening, but they did not return.
The following week, he raised his price to one silver coin. At that moment, a newly formed group of genuine adventurers arrived. All wore armor and linen clothing provided by him. They left at dawn with great enthusiasm. They were not drunk; they knew the risks and were ready to be great.
On the third day, one of them returned—five glorious dreams fewer. At that moment, a true shiver ran down Lief's back. Nothing within the first three levels had the power to harm six adventurers. He was sure three already had some experience. As he imagined, the strongest—a dwarf warrior—was the one who returned. He came with an empty gaze, dragging behind him some anonymous legs and his arm giving the appearance of a lumberjack bringing a bundle of old wood. Only the blood on his stump, bloody bandages, and the fact that his clothes seemed to have been through fire dispelled the appearance. Lief tended the wounds as best he could while listening in horror. Apparently, a new threat loomed in the first levels of the Dark Forest.
With a few glasses of wine, the dwarf began to loosen his tongue. They all traveled calmly. The three novices stayed close to their elders with swords ready. The more experienced smiled indulgently, for they had gone down to levels five and the entrance of six, so nothing on the third floor impressed them. They were not going for the reward—they were going to give the novices experience.
They arrived at a scrap cemetery, where the drunks should have been. Advancing ahead of the group, he said he heard a howl behind him. With a trembling voice, he described seeing his student—a scatterbrained human—let loose a sword stroke against the stupid gelatins of this floor. Only this one was not stupid. It contracted, and when the boy returned the blow, it extended something like a tentacle that tore off a piece of his face. He paled while telling this. Two glasses later, he continued. Apparently, at that moment, not-stupid slimes leaped from all the lakes. They cornered everyone and destroyed whatever they touched. They were not fast, but the shock was so great that by the time the dwarf realized they did not have the necessary equipment, only he remained. Throwing axes left and right, he fought his way to the dump's entrance. Apparently, he returned in silence, taking what he could recover of his friends and his arm. This story truly alarmed Lief. With all the kindness he could muster, he told the dwarf he would buy a map of how to reach that dump and give him a jug of wine per day for the rest of his life if he told no one how to get there. The dwarf silently began to draw as they put the parchment before him. Painbringer knew what he had to do—it was the only thing he could accomplish.
Now, at the missions and rewards gate, to the right of available missions is a sign inviting adventurers who want to become better to train against deadly but easily avoidable enemies—if one has what is needed. The map costs only fifty silvers and is only handed over when venturing into the forest. It guarantees that adventurers who train there will return as heroes. He also added another mission to that of the drunks. This one rose to one silver coin and fifty coppers, but warns he will pay very well for weapons, armor, and everything they can bring from their training mission. Of course, he still disclaims any responsibility for whatever happens to the adventurers, but gladly—for a modest sum—lets them speak with a drunk dwarf who tells horror stories of the place. Thus, he ensures the doubtful go. A great business.