Lost Mine of Phandelver

"Marbles?" Marcon quietly parroted while looking to Harlen. Once the magic washed over him, the ex-farmhand shuddered for a moment, before then looking wide-eyed and alert. While he still looked plenty exhausted judging by the dark lines still under his eyes, Marcon soon clamored to his feet, and marveled at slightly jittery hands. "Uh.... whoa.... uhm-..." He looks to Harlan. "Thanks, I guess. AIn't know you could do that. Tho', if ya could've done somethin' like that-..." He catches himself, and looks down shamefaced.

"Sorry, that... I ain't mean.... uhm.... Just, uh, thanks fer that." Marcon looked up with a weak grin, then turned to consider the others' condition. It takes a lengthy moment, but eventually enough brain cells are rubbed together to pick up on past context. Because soon after, he looks from Garet to Rigel. "Don't look like the big man is of much of a mind to leave..."

(@DM: Not sure how many times Harlan meant to cast the spell, or if the wand's greater resto is more powerful than the base spell. But removed 1 level of exhaustion as per the spell's description)

Harlan looked sheepishly at Marcon, "Sorry lad, it's only got one charge per day and uh, wasn't sure who was gonna need it most after we was done with Malachai....or once he was done with us, if you know what I mean. I might have needed to re-grow someone an arm or an eyeball or a....liver..." said the plump circus man as he then fished a silver flask out of yet another pocket, ripped off the cork and tipped the bottom skyward. After a few long pulls, he repostured and pushed the container at the farmboy. "Go on, gag on that fer a minute...we won't tell Momma," he said with a teasing but cheerful grin.

The last of the fireworks had all but expended, but the roiling fog pouring forth from the box marked "DO NOT OPEN" was only churning stronger. The party was nearly up to their waist in thick grey vapor. The visual obstructions did not dissuade Garet's frantic searching...through boxes, behind stage curtains, in dressing rooms...then he saw the corner of it, poking out from underneath an old burlap sack and glinting through the fog...something precious to him he had not seen in years (or perhaps decades now?) a gleaming breastplate, polished to an immaculate and unblemishable golden shine, bearing worn but intact red leather fastening straps and a familiar platinum filligree featuring a peaceful woodland scene...it was his father's makers mark alright...because it was indeed, his father's armor. Not the kind he sold, not similar to the one he wore...it was his.

Garet turned it over in his hands and found the crease along the lower left flank - a scar upon the otherwise immaculate item he had accidentally placed there himself when he had been toying around up on the roof one day while his parents were out...he hadn't noticed the large, red-tailed hawk swooping in for the kill of one of the chickens that had decided to join him up on the the fragile thatch roof. Though the bird had not frightened him (he was a firbolg after all), the gust from it's nearly 7-foot wingspan had knocked him off balance and he went plummeting to the wood pile below, landing on the blade of a carelessly upturned axe. Had his father's beautiful armor not been loosely fastened around his thin frame, the much younger Garet would have bled out long before he could have been Priest of Meilikki, Slayer of Dragons, Savior of Goblins and undoubted numerous other noble titles he'd yet to earn.

This item was more than just his father's protection on the road, it served as almost like a business uniform...his father, albeit a very humble man, clad himself in one of the most glorious examples of the kind of craftsmanship a prospective buyer could expect to receive from his unique collection of arms and armor. And that day, all those years ago, Garet had irrevocably marred it's perfection. His father didn't show his anger at the young firbolg when he found out what happened, he just asked his son one simple question: "What've ye learned today, boy?"

His father's simple, yet powerful question from that day so long ago now echoed within him over and over as he stared awestruck at the breastplate, which looked exactly as it had the last time he'd laid eyes on it...  "....what've ye learned today, boy..."                                                                              

                                                                "....at've ye learned today, b..."

                                                                                                "....ve ye learned toda..."

Garet carefully picks the armor and checks all the marks on it. He stands tall and looks around. 

"g...guys..." His voice vibrates full of emotion, looks that he does not care at all about his recent near death experience or fight or anything but the item

He moves closer to the group
"that.. b.. belong to f..firbolg"

It is hard for him to build sentence in common

"that..f..m...f.m.. my father" 

He searches for Vanzaren and moves quickly to him "Is t..this some k..kind of i.. illusion ?!"

 "Mn. Fair enough," Marcon admits alongside a shrug. When it came to offering however, Marcon stares at it for a moment before briefly closing his eyes and shaking his head. "I, uh... 'preciate the thought. But, I'm good. One, uh... round was enough for one day." He explained, recalling the morning's order back at the bar. The ex-farmhand attention is soon pulled back to Garet; Who Marcon in his sleep deprived mind hadn't properly paid enough attention to during the whole fight.

Admittedly, even now he still seemed a touch more confused than concerned or sympathetic. But considering how little he knew about (or perhaps better yet remembered, if ever brought up) about the Firbolg's past, such a feeling couldn't be helped in the moment. Still, seeing the firbolg so torn up and uncertain left just an awkward pit in the young man's stomach, that he eventually walked over to Ronk. "You aight, bud?"

As soon as Marcon sits up and appeared more alert Rigel moved swiftly to the tents exit. Trying to contain the smoke inside the tent as best he can he peaks out to see if anyone is headed their way. He keeps a close look out for Carp.

Addressing his companions he reiterates the need for haste.

" We need to hurry. We still need to locate Carp and if Isolde doesn't already know we're here she will soon."

"Our friend is absolutely correct," said Harlan who then cast gust to help clear the way for the rest to the tent's exit, which by then had become nearly completely obscured from the effects of the fog and fireworks. "We don't know exactly where Isolde is, but those two minions will probably report back to her as a default now that Malachai is dead. She won't know who his killers are, but if we are found here at the scene of the crime, she will assume it was us, so let's be on our way." He quickly ushered the rest of the group out the exit and across the town square, near Sister Garaele's shrine of Tymora. "We'll be safe here while we regroup - we can 'people watch' for a few to see who or...what...shows up to investigate Malachai's tent..."

"Sounds good to me." Says Rigel. "I did hear Malachai slip and say that Isolde in the main tent so once we catch a little breather we should check there next. But in the mean time we should keep an eye out for the magician who made Carp disappear."

Perception: 10

Once Marcon sees to Ronk, there's no further resistance out of the farmhand. He just followed along quietly listening to any planning from the others, and seeming to at least catch more details this time around. Still, once they reach their destination, Marcon takes the first chance to sit down on even the ground within the shrine area, root out his healer's kit, and set to work trying to figure out how best to patch himself up.

"Not that I don't wanna find Carp 'n all, but... hm... Pretty sure its a bad thing to invoke one god's name in another deities shrine, so not gonna do that. Just gonna say here's kinda hoping nothing comes of what's happened too soon. Don't know 'bout the rest of ya, but I could use a breather(short rest)." He admits.

(If/When next able to SR)

Ronk groans a bit, rubbing his temples from the aftermath of the brain blast, and nods at Marcon. "Yeah, taking a little break might be good... I think that brain made me smell the color green..."

(OOC: SHORT REST IN PROGRESS)

The party takes it easy for an hour watching the strange street performances in Phandalin's town square. Across the way, Rigel thinks he spots a boy that looks like Carp peeking out from behind a tent - the boy looks around nervously and then disappears behind the tent again.

Short rest healing: 12

EDIT: Yeeah, gonna spend the other two.

5

Shor rest healing 20

"Oh Lady Luck," Vanzaren says as they stand around. "We could use some of your luck right now." He pulls a gold piece from his belt and flips it onto the shrine. "Don't forget the Sister as well, she's missing two. Why on earth they'd be interested in her I have absolutly no idea. Unless they 'judged her guilty' just for feeling bad about something."

Hit Dice (rolling 3d6): 18

Garet confused by Vanzaren words repeats slowly "the armor?"

Unless disturbed for anyone reason, Marcon would need to be given a nudge, as the ex-farmhand had fallen asleep at some point in a corner of the shrine. If/When someone does wake him up, it is with a start and some scrambling blindly for his weapon while half-muttering, "I was upIwasup! What's goin' on? Where are we?" After some furtive looking about and to slowly get his bearings, well... that would really depend on the others. 

Vanzaren sighs, "Do you have any regrets Garret? About your father?"

"what?" answer a little confused Garet "I p..promised my mom to look for any s..signs of h..him"

Vanzaren nods, "This place isnt nice Garet. It uses things against you. The things that really hurt you. It beats you down and traps you here."

Rigel notices the young boy peeking from behind the tent. The boy looks similar enough to Carp that Rigel decides he may want to speak to the boy. He casts Hunters mark on the child just as the boy slips back behind the tent. 

" I think I just saw Carp go behind that tent. I marked him so he should be easier to find but the mark won't last long. I'd go look for him myself but I get the feeling we shouldn't separate unless absolutely necessary. " He informs the rest.

Garet nods to Van. Gasps "s..so w..what now?"