As recorded in the Year of the Guiding Star, in the Librarium Eternum
Of Coin, Ale, and Sildar’s News
Upon the dawn of their second day in Phandalin, the adventurers sought to fortify themselves for the trials ahead. Gold exchanged hands as they procured weapons, armor, and supplies, each mindful of the dangers still lurking in the shadows. Yet not all found their solace in steel and spellcraft—Dapps Plateforge, the Dwarven rogue, sought refuge in the bottom of a flagon, accumulating a debt of drink so grand it might rival the weight of his own purse.
*
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Sildar Hallwinter entered their midst, bearing tidings of grave importance. His Order had granted him audience with a contact in town, from whom he had learned the following:
• The wizard Iarno Albrek, his missing contact, had last been seen near the ruins of Tresendar Manor. His disappearance was no accident.
• Gundren Rockseeker was believed to be held captive in a fortress known as Cragmaw Castle, though its location remained unknown.
• His Order had sanctioned a reward of 200 gold pieces for Gundren’s safe return.
*
Armed with this knowledge, the group debated their next course. And it was then that they recalled the words of Qelline Alderleaf, the town’s halfling farmer, who had spoken of her son’s recent misadventure.
Of Carp the Halfling and the Redbrand Threat
They set forth to Alderleaf Farm, where they found Carp, a wide-eyed youth of ten summers. The boy recounted how he had followed a band of Redbrand thugs to a hidden tunnel beneath Tresendar Manor. He spoke also of “rough-looking men”, strangers to the town, who had passed through the same entrance.
*
With some persuasion—and the reluctant approval of his mother—Carp led them through the dense woodlands to the tunnel’s entrance. Yet before they could reach their destination, danger found them first.
*
A patrol of Redbrand ruffians, clad in their crimson cloaks, emerged from the brush. One, evidently their leader, sneered at the adventurers and bade them turn back—unless they wished to part with their coin and their lives.
*
*
Durin Grumblefinger, never one for diplomacy, spat upon the brigand’s boot.
A blade was drawn.
Blood was spilled.
*
The battle was fierce, but the adventurers prevailed. One by one, the Redbrands fell, their laughter turning to screams as steel met flesh. Only a single survivor remained, bound and bleeding at their feet.
*
Carp, who had dreamt of adventure, beheld the slaughter with wide, horrified eyes. Without a word, the boy fled into the trees, his visions of heroism shattered.
Of Glasstaff, Prisoners, and the Redbrand Disguise
Under duress, the captured thug yielded his secrets:
• Their master was a man known as Glasstaff, yet he was but a servant of a greater power.
• Prisoners were indeed held within the vaults of Tresendar Manor, though their number and condition were unknown.
• The hidden tunnel Carp had spoken of was a mystery even to him.
*
Bribery softened his resolve, and in exchange for the promise of his life, he led them to a more conventional entrance—the stone staircase leading into the ruined manor’s depths.
*
The adventurers donned the crimson cloaks of their fallen foes, disguising themselves as Redbrand initiates, and made their way to the manor.
Of the Descent into the Redbrand Hideout
Tresendar Manor, once a proud keep, lay in ruin, its stones worn by time and neglect. No sentries stood guard upon its grounds, though the earth was marked with many footprints, leading to a crumbling kitchen where a heavy-set stone staircase descended into darkness.
*
*
With caution, they followed the steps downward.
At the base of the stairwell, they came upon a large cellar. Barrels lined the walls, filled with provisions no doubt plundered from traders upon the road. A large stone cistern sat against the western wall, its still waters reflecting the dim light of their torches. A door, heavy and iron-bound, loomed beneath the staircase.
The air was still, thick with the scent of damp stone and aged wood.
Then—a sound.
Not the scuffle of rats nor the whisper of wind, but something guttural, beast-like, echoing from beyond the chamber’s far side.
Something awaited them in the depths.
Something hungry.
Thus ends the fifth account of their journey. Their path winds ever downward, into the very heart of darkness beneath Phandalin.
Recorded by the Chronicler’s Hand, in service to seekers of tales untold.
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