Chapter 4: The Redbrand's Long Shadow

The smell of frying bacon and the clink of tankards filled the Stonehill Inn's common room. The adventurers, bleary-eyed but stomachs rumbling, gathered around a table laden with eggs, sausages, and mugs of steaming coffee. Xanthe and Sildar were noticeably absent, off on errands of their own, leaving the rest of the party to plot their next move.

"Right, then," Hinnerk declared, spearing a sausage with his fork, "what's the plan, lads and lasses? Do we find this Gundren fellow, or do we we find ourselves a new employer?"

Darry, ever the opportunist, seized the moment to corner Toblen Stonehill, the innkeeper, with a silver tongue and a charming smile. "Tell me, good sir," he began, leaning in conspiratorially, "what's the lay of the land in this charming little hamlet of yours?"

Toblen, a gruff dwarf with a bushy beard and a wary eye, took a long swig of ale before answering. "Charming, you say? Aye, it has its moments. But there's a shadow over Phandalin, a darkness called the Redbrands. They're a gang of thugs, extorting and terrorising the townsfolk and they killed Thel Dendrar the woodcutter."

As they spoke, a Redbrand named Florina sauntered in, her scarred face a testament to a life lived on the edge of the blade. Darry, his nimble mind already weaving a web of deceit, spun a tale of his own importance, claiming to be a nobleman with the rest of the party as his loyal bodyguards.

"So," Darry drawled, flashing Florina a winning smile, "what's a well-connected gent like myself got to do to make some coin in this town?"

Florina, intrigued by the prospect of a new recruit, invited them to the Sleeping Giant Taphouse later that afternoon."We'll see what you're made of then," she said with a smirk.

The party split up, each following their own leads. Leofric, ever the pragmatist, negotiated a hefty finder's fee for the crates they had looted from the goblin cave.

"Fifty gold pieces," he declared to the merchant at the Lionshield Coster, his voice a cold command. "And not a copper less."

Tunwéya, burdened by the slaughter in the cave, sought guidance from Sister Garaele. The priestess, her face etched with the lines of a life dedicated to faith, listened patiently as Tunwéya poured out his heart.

"There is a spirit, Agatha," she said softly, "who dwells west of Conyberry. She may have the answers you seek, but be warned, she is vain and demands a worthy offering."

At Barthen's Provisions, the adventurers collected their promised reward for delivering the supplies, the coins clinking satisfyingly in their pouches. The shopkeeper, a gruff dwarf named Elmar Barthen, echoed the warnings about the Redbrands, his eyes filled with a weary resignation.

"Those bloody bastards," he spat. "Someone needs to teach them a lesson."

Sildar Hallwinter, his face etched with worry and his armor bearing the scars of battle, approached the party with a heavy heart. The weight of his capture and the unknown fate of Gundren pressed down upon him like a leaden cloak. His voice, however, was a touch too eager, a hint of desperation that bordered on mania in his eyes.

"Please," he croaked, his voice raw with desperation, "help me find Gundren. I fear he's in grave danger."

The adventurers, their minds buzzing with the information they had gathered, exchanged wary glances. Sildar's pleas seemed genuine, but there was something off about him. Was it the frantic edge to his voice? Or the way his gaze darted around the room, as if searching for unseen eyes?

Their next stop was Edermath Orchard, where Darry, using his silver tongue and a bit of Thieves' Cant, learned more about the Redbrands' operation. Their leader, a mysterious figure known as Glasstaff, was rumoured to be hiding out in the depths of Tresendar Manor.

At the Townmaster's Hall, Leofric strode through the door, his bearing as haughty as a peacock amongst chickens. Og, the half-orc paladin, lumbered after him, his brow furrowed in confusion. Inside, Townmaster Harbin Wester, a man whose nerves seemed perpetually frayed, looked up from a stack of papers, his eyes widening at the sight of the imposing half-orc.

"What's the meaning of this?" he sputtered, his voice a thin squeak. "Have you brought a prisoner?"

Leofric, a smirk playing on his lips, gestured towards Og with a flourish. "Indeed, Townmaster," he announced in his rich, baritone voice. "We have apprehended a dangerous orc marauder, caught red-handed in the act of pillaging our wagon."

Og blinked, his confusion deepening. "But... I..." he began, his voice a low rumble.

Leofric silenced him with a raised hand. "The creature is clearly unintelligent," he continued, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "But its brute strength speaks for itself. I'm sure you'll find it a valuable addition to your... collection."

Harbin Wester, his eyes darting between Leofric and Og, swallowed nervously. "An... orc?" he stammered. "Are you certain? He doesn't look like any orc I've ever seen..."

Leofric's smirk widened. "Appearances can be deceiving, Townmaster. But I assure you, this beast is as savage as they come. You need only look at its crude weaponry and bestial attire to see the truth."

Og, finally understanding the ruse, let out a low growl of protest. Leofric asked the Townmaster about the Redbands.  Harbin claimed they were merely a mercenary company not unlike the party and no real threat to the town.  Leofric sensed he was actually scared of the Redbrands.  Harbin agreed to allow the party to investigate the woodcutter’s murder under his authority and bring any suspects to him.

Suddenly, Hinnerk and Tunwéya burst through the door, their faces a mixture of amusement and disbelief.

"What in the blazes are you up to, elf?" Hinnerk barked, his voice booming through the small hall. "Trying to sell our friend Og as an orc? Have you gone mad?"

Leofric's smirk faltered. "A simple misunderstanding," he muttered, his eyes narrowing. "I was merely attempting to... test the townmaster's resolve."

Harbin Wester, his face now a mask of indignation, sputtered in outrage. "Test me? Are you questioning my authority? I'll have you know..."

But Hinnerk cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Enough of this nonsense," he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. "We've got more important matters to attend to. Come on, Og, let's get you out of this madhouse."

As they left, leaving a flustered and sputtering Townmaster in their wake, Tunwéya couldn't help but chuckle. "Well played," he said, a hint of admiration in his voice. "Though I doubt the Townmaster will appreciate your sense of humour."

Leofric simply shrugged, a smug grin returning to his face. "Sometimes, a little chaos is necessary to expose the truth," he replied. "And the truth is, this town is rotten to its core."

The party continued their quest, leaving the Townmaster's Hall with a newfound sense of purpose. They had seen the fear in Harbin Wester's eyes, the weakness that lurked beneath his bluster. Phandalin was in need of heroes, and they were ready to answer the call.