The Redbrands — What the Locals Know
Rumors, whispers, and warnings from the people of Phandalin
Who Are They?
The Redbrands are a gang of thugs, ruffians, and petty criminals who have been terrorizing Phandalin for the past several months. They take their name from the dirty scarlet cloaks they wear — a crude uniform that makes them easy to spot and, more to the point, easy to fear. They swagger through town in twos and threes, shaking down shopkeepers, harassing travelers, and making it very clear that they consider Phandalin their turf.
Nobody knows exactly how many there are. Estimates from the townsfolk range from a dozen to thirty or more, depending on who you ask and how scared they are. What’s clear is that there are enough of them to bully a small, undefended town — and that they’ve been growing bolder.
What Do They Do?
The Redbrands operate like a protection racket. They demand “tribute” from local businesses, drink for free at the Sleeping Giant (a rough tap house on the east end of town that serves as their unofficial headquarters), and intimidate anyone who looks like they might cause trouble. They’ve beaten people who refused to pay. They’ve vandalized property. There are darker rumors too — people who’ve crossed them and simply disappeared.
They don’t seem to have any interest in governing or building anything. They take what they want, hurt anyone who objects, and spend their evenings drinking and gambling. They’re parasites, and the town is suffering for it.
What the Townsfolk Say
Talk to enough people in Phandalin and you’ll hear some version of the following:
At the Stonehill Inn, the general sentiment is frustration mixed with fear. Toblen Stonehill will tell you the Redbrands are bad for business and worse for morale, but he’s careful about saying too much too loudly. His wife is more blunt — she’ll tell you somebody needs to do something, and she doesn’t much care who.
Elmar Barthen at Barthen’s Provisions shakes his head when you bring them up. He’s had his deliveries “taxed” by Redbrand thugs on more than one occasion. He’s not a fighting man, and he knows it.
Linene Graywind at the Lionshield Coster has less patience for them. She won’t sell weapons to anyone she thinks might be connected to the gang, and she’s made no secret of her contempt for them. She’s tough, but she’s also smart enough not to pick a fight she can’t win alone.
Daran Edermath, the retired adventurer at the orchard, is one of the few people in town willing to say plainly that the Redbrands need to be dealt with. He’s too old to do it himself, but he has a keen eye and a long memory, and he’ll share what he knows with anyone who seems capable and willing.
Qelline Alderleaf worries about her son Carp, who’s been playing near the woods east of town. The boy claims he found a secret tunnel in the woods near Tresendar Manor and saw some “big ugly bandits” coming out of it. Qelline isn’t sure how much of that is a child’s imagination, but she’d rather someone checked it out.
Halia Thornton at the Miner’s Exchange is harder to read. She clearly dislikes the Redbrands — they’re bad for the mining trade — but her interest in seeing them gone seems to go beyond simple civic concern. She strikes some as a woman with her own agenda.
The Sleeping Giant
The Sleeping Giant is a dirty, run-down tap house on the east side of town, and it’s where the Redbrands drink, gamble, and loiter. The place was never much to begin with — a squat stone building with a low ceiling, sticky floors, and watered-down ale — but since the Redbrands claimed it as their hangout, decent folk have stopped going entirely.
On any given day, a handful of Redbrand thugs can be found on the front porch or inside, drinking and looking for trouble. They’re not subtle about it. They catcall passersby, make threatening remarks to anyone who gets too close, and generally behave like men who’ve never faced real consequences. Approaching the Sleeping Giant is a good way to get into a confrontation — which may or may not be what you’re looking for.
Tresendar Manor
The Redbrands seem to be connected to the old Tresendar Manor ruins on the hill at the east edge of town. Several townsfolk have noticed Redbrand activity around the ruined manor, and young Carp Alderleaf’s story about a tunnel in the nearby woods adds weight to the theory that the gang is using the manor’s cellars as a base of operations.
The manor itself has been a ruin for centuries — crumbling stone walls, a collapsed upper story, and an overgrown foundation. What lies beneath it is anyone’s guess, but the locals have always said the cellars run deep. Before the Redbrands, people avoided the manor out of superstition. Now they avoid it out of common sense.
Their Leader
The Redbrands answer to someone, but the townsfolk aren’t sure who. The thugs themselves are mostly local toughs and hired muscle — not the kind of men who come up with a scheme like this on their own. Someone is organizing them, funding them, and directing their activities.
A few people in town have heard the Redbrands refer to their leader as “Glasstaff” — a nickname, presumably, though what it refers to is unclear. Nobody in Phandalin claims to have met this person face-to-face, and the Redbrands themselves seem to take orders without question. Whoever Glasstaff is, the thugs are more afraid of him than they are of the town.
Why Hasn’t Anyone Done Anything?
This is the question that hangs over every conversation about the Redbrands. The answer is painfully simple: Phandalin has no militia, no city guard, and no one with the authority or the muscle to drive the gang out.
The townmaster has been worse than useless — too frightened to act, too timid to organize resistance, and too invested in pretending the problem will solve itself. Sildar Hallwinter, the Lords’ Alliance agent, has been pushing for action, but he’s one man, and he has his hands full trying to establish basic governance in a town that’s barely held together.
The townsfolk aren’t cowards — they’re farmers, miners, and shopkeepers facing down armed thugs with no one to back them up. A few brave souls have stood up to the Redbrands individually. It hasn’t gone well for them.
What Phandalin needs is someone — or a group of someones — willing and able to do what the town can’t do for itself.
The information above represents what a newcomer to Phandalin could learn by spending an evening at the Stonehill Inn, visiting the local shops, and asking the right questions.