Lost Mine of Phandelver

Garet believes that Sister Garaele is really Sister Garaele and not some netherworld imposter and while there is clearly magic at play concerning the appearance of the exterior of the circus tent vs. what Rigel can see inside, the cleric is only able to sense that it is more than it what it seems to be, his raw instincts yield no further information to him.

The Tymorian cleric says to Garet: "Hmm...well, how do you know that he never escaped? You haven't seen him still here, have you? Unless my memory fails me, you are the first and only firbolg I have ever laid eyes on. The presence of his armor in this place might suggest that he once was here, but even that is rather circumstantial evidence. Maybe he left it behind for some reason - he may have had to leave suddenly. Or perhaps he sold the armor for food or had it stolen from him by some brigand that found himself a captive of this strange ethereal circus. In any case, I don't think you have enough information to justify losing hope yet my friend."

"Going to be honest," Vanzaren whisper, "he's the only one ive ever seen."

Rigel returns to Garet and Sister Garaele. "The tent is not what it seems. Inside I saw a stonewalled room or what I can best describe a a sitting parlor. I saw no one but I feel it may be a trap. No sign of the boy but I heard the laughter of a child but distorted as if by distance. A distance that didn't exist. I think we should gather the others and find a better place to hold up and rest. We're going to need everyone as strong as possible for this next part. Especially since we'll probably have to deal with the Houlan(?spelling)again." Says Rigel as he looks around nervously to see if anyone has taken notice of them or seems to be watching them.

Perception: 17

Garet nods slowly and packs back the armor "Maybe you r..right"

Garet agrees with Rigel and fallows him

Rigel, Garet and Sister Garaele return to the others near the Shrine of Tymora without incident. Rigel who attempted to keep a keen eye out for would be spies or other "too-curious" observers did not identify any, however he was quick to notice that the tent where the party had encountered Malachai barely over an hour ago was gone...not disassembled, but completely disappeared and replaced by several other smaller booths and vendors.

"Well that's interesting. They move pretty fast around here ." quips Rigel. He then relays what he saw in the tent to the ones who stayed back.

"What do we want to do next? We can go directly for Isolde. We can keep looking for Carp or go look for Linene. We can always go find some place to hold up until we're all up to what ever happens next. What we really need is to figure out what to do now that Malachai is out of the picture. Personally, I think we should put eyes on Isolde and watch her for a bit to gather more information."

Harlan pipes up concerning Rigel's suggestions: "I think that large tent you just scouted is hers. In fact, I would not be surprised if the boy you were tracking was not Isolde herself under the guise of an illusion. That echoing laughter you described seems like the perfect lure. I hate to say it, but if we mean to find Isolde, then I am afraid that entering that tent may be our only option, but you make a good point about resting somewhere to gather our strength. The question is, how many more will disappear while we do so?"

Ronk raises his hand slowly. "If people are going to disappear if we wait, won't they disappear while we look for Carp or Linene?" He shrugs. "Resting more might be good but... We probably have to stop Isolde first before helping the others."

"I agree, but to do that we're gonna have to rest. So where should we do that? Harlan, can we hide out in your tent?"

Says Rigel.

"It's the safest place I know, even in the perpetual hell of Isolde's planes-walking circus..." says the fatman. He beckons the party towards his tent, covered under the illusion of non-detection spells. Once there, Harlan produces an expensive-looking gem-encrusted bowl and waves his hands above it in somatic gestures as he casts heroes' feast. He then invites them to join him at his table as he commands his unseen servant to cater to his companions' every need.

(OOC: the party commences a long rest, during which they may share stories, conversation and plans for how to deal with their adversary...)

When at first reawakened to be finally moved back to Harlen's tent, Marcon had been content to follow along only mildly complaining about not be woken up sooner. When its made clear at some point the "plan" being to rest for the day however... his face immediately darkens, if only just for the moment. But then as if struck by an epiphany, his eyes widen for a second, before his whole countenance takes on a more defeated look. "...I... I see..." With that, Marcon intended to find his own corner in the tent to sit down, reflect, and munch on some rations over joining in any  kind of fancy feast. 

Harlan noticed Marcon sitting alone eating cold rations instead of the hearty meal he had conjured. Though the food was fancy enough for royalty, the man's tent and table were modest, even by circus-folk standards. "What say you friend," he calls out to the haggard-looking farmhand,"...don't you want to enjoy the restorative benefits of this enormous feast? You look as though you could use the nutrition, perhaps even more so than the others...I've not offended you in some way, have I? If so, please tell me, I've spent so long among these....vile, wretched people, that maybe I've forgotten what good manners looks like."

If asked about the powerful magic this otherwise normal-looking man had been able to demonstrate time and again, Harlan explains that for years he had scavenged powerful items and material components from various people that Isolde had trapped in her nether-realm. "I've been hoarding it all this time," he says "...using only what I had to to survive while stashing the rest in preparation for a final move on Isolde. I feel that day has come, and so it's time to put everything to use...like that jeweled bowl I used to make us this fine supper, which truth be told, might be our last."

"Well now dont be so negative," Vanzaren says. "Come join the party. If the only way to get this blasted carnival out of our lovely town is to kill someone who probably is unkillable then I say we have fun with it. Especially if we intend to save the people its already taken."

"I'll drink to that!" seconds Harlan. He raises his cup and drains it of wine, much of it spilling out the sides. "Perhaps we could enjoy some entertainment as well, yes?" He fishes through his coat pockets and pulls out a moonstone, into which he speaks a silent command word and sets the stone on the edge of the table. The stone then projects a life-sized, three-dimensional image of an elegant string quintet: two elvish violinists, a tiefling violist, a tabaxi cellist and an air genasi bassist - all dressed in the finest formal wear, who began performing as if they were in the audience of kings and gods.

At the question, Marcon just takes one look at the food from his vantage point, and almost immediately looks ill. "I... No.... Just no." He eventually would say in response. Though, it might've fallen on deaf ears at that point, what with the whole band being summoned to play for the group. Which while a touch aggravating for Marcon, if the slight eye twitch following their music was any indication, he says nothing of it, and simply goes back to consuming his rations and gradually somewhat tuning things out. At least until it sounded as if some plan is being made by the others. But unless called forth, he just listens...

Rigel just rolls his eyes and shakes his head at Marcons refusal to eat the restorative meal. Turning to Harlan he says, 

"Harlan perhaps you could tell us some stories of some of the things you've seen Isolde do? It might provide some insight into her tactics or a vulnerability. Something we might exploit to our advantage.. Things like, "What is her typical first move in a fight? How long does it seem to take for her to recoup her energy after a fight? Does she anger easy and rage in the fight or does she fight from a place of serenity and  calculation?" No detail is too small." Rigel takes another bite as he awaits a response.

Ronk alternates between meditative sips of tea and messily tearing into a turkey leg. When the quintet starts playing he slowly sweeps the but of his spear through to image, letting out a soft grunt of amazement.

Garet first reaches for one of the exquisite dishes but seeing Marcon reaction he moves his hand back.

"m..maybe we s..should n..n..not use such b..big magic h..here" 

He moves to his backpack and take one of his own food rations

"Did y..you ever s..see any of my k..kind m..master Harlan?" 

Marcon raised a brow at Garet's action, before then shooting Harlen a brief but questioning look. Then just when looks as if he might say something to Garet, the words catch in his throat, then abandoned altogether in a  grunt while settling back into his seat. It wasn't as if he understood magic all that well anyhow. Plus, surely Harlen might explain whatever limitations there might be to the food before Garet missed the opportunity. 

Between mouthfuls of his meal, Harlan responds to Rigel's questions: "To be honest, I've never seen her actually fight, but she carries a dredful-looking sword, which I've heard is cursed...some of the others in the carnival say it holds her hostage just as she does all of us. When she kills, she does so in private, so I don't know whether she does the deed herself, or dispatches her minions and servants - like Malachai and his brute guardian - to do it for her. All I know is that once it is finished, her victim's belongings are left behind, which I try to scoop up before anyone knows what's been left lying around...that's how I got all this wonderful magical stuff."

Looking at Garet and Marcon, he exhorts them: "Eat up my wary chums...a meal this good doesn't come along very often, even in a dwarf's lifetime, unless of course they are royalty. Not sure what is holding you back - does this magic scare you? I can assure you there is no trick here - this food is as real as it gets!"

He then addresses Garet's question: "I saw a firbolg looked just like you several years ago...that's carnival time, mind you, it works different here, remember. He wore that brassy breastplate you've got on and spoke plainly and straightforwardly - wouldn't use two words if one'd do. Kind, but stern...a real no-nonsense fellow. He joined me at this very table a couple times. Said he was in the arms and armor business and had got caught up here because he took a load of stolen goods, though he didn't know it at the time. Seems the dwarves they actually belonged to had put a price on his head, and well I guess Isolde's circus caught up to him. He told me that he'd returned home to find that his son had left for the adventuring life and he'd gone after him so's the dwarves he owed money to couldn't capture his son and ransom him off. He disappeared only a few tendays ago though...another of Isolde's victims, I assume..."