Branlow is a mountain of a dwarf, though his stature is bowed by years of tunneling. He is perpetually coated in a thick, shimmering layer of anthracite coal dust that has filled every pore and wrinkle, giving his skin a metallic, obsidian sheen that reflects the hearthfire of the Miner's Grin. His left eye is currently swollen shut, a blooming violet and necrotic yellow bruise cutting through the black grime. Despite his dirty exterior, his hands are surprisingly well-manicured, a necessity for a card-sharp. He moves with a slow, grinding deliberate speed, like a tectonic plate reconsidering its position.

Branlow is boisterous and generous with his tales when the ale is flowing, but he is notoriously tight-fisted with his coin. He treats strangers with a jovial suspicion, welcoming them to his table while keeping a firm hand on his purse. He is a man of deep internal conflict: he loathes the Redbrands for their thuggery but maintains a cowardly silence in their presence to protect his spot at the bar. He is loyal to the memories of the hills more than the living people inhabiting them.

Branlow was once a lead scout for the mining syndicates before the Wave Echo Cave was lost to history. He spent decades mapping the Sword Mountains, losing his three brothers to a freak tunnel collapse twenty years ago. Now, he is a permanent fixture in Phandalin, living off the meager royalties of his old claims and the occasional winnings from Three-Dragon Ante. He recently won a significant sum from a Redbrand ruffian named Grolf, which resulted in the beating that gave him his black eye. He currently spends his days nursing his pride and looking for someone brave enough to retrieve a ledger he 'accidentally' left in a dangerous crevasse near Tressendar Manor.