Lost Mine of Phandelver

Marcon's eyes narrowed a little, but he held his tongue and shook his head to the sides in response, rejecting the offer again. When it came to the story however, it took a bit for the full ramifications to sink in for Marcon. But when they did, he turns to Garet with a pity look. "It's.... Listen, Mr. Garet, uh.... mmn...." He started to say, only to trail off for a moment sighing and murmuring the words, "Helm help me..." 

Yet unwilling to completely give up, Marcon spoke again in a firmer voice, "Look, there's plenty of mystery goin' on 'bout what happens 'n all that. So, don't... don't give up, eh? One way or another, we'll get to the bottom of that 'fore we go."

"Alright then, uh...suit yourself, I guess," says Harlan, who sounds a little more hurt than he would have wanted to let on. "It's not often that I find allies in this strange netherworld. I just...well just trying to be...good I s'pose. Not much of that here either. Can I at least heat that cold ration you're determined to feed yourself? Or offer you a comfy place to sit?" Harlan instructs his unseen servant to light a small campfire in an empty corner, which he then followed with a mold earth spell that forms the dirt floor of the tent next to the small campfire into something that looks like a large reclining chair. "Not sure where you came from, uh Marcon, is it? But in my family, we call this hospitality - it's how we show our guests that we welcome them. It's not charity I assure you, just a demonstration of good will and friendship."

He turns his attention back to the others, figuring Marcon will either accept his final offerings or won't and that he'd have to be okay with it either way. "So, I guess we should discuss our plan for tomorrow then? Ranger, you said when you looked inside the tent you saw a...sitting room of sorts? I've been in Isolde's tent many times and each time it looked different inside. Once I entered through the tent flap and found myself standing in the middle of a jungle...a damned tiger pounced on me and dragged me for a mile before plopping me down at Isolde's feet. In any case, she appears to have the ability to make her inner domain take whatever form she desires. The only time I ever see her outside her tent is when the circus is setting up or closing down in preparation to relocate."

Rigel scratches his cheek and lets out a disheartened sigh, "I'm about out of ideas. I don't think we can face her head on. I'd say burn the tent but we've already seen that it has little effect on the circus itself. More tents just go up in its place. Given what we know of Isolde so far I'm sure she'd have no problem escaping a fire. So I'm stuck, does anybody have any other ideas?" 

After all is said and done, Marcon sighs and draws a hand down his face. "Look man. I cannot stress enough that I'm aight as I am. I don't want no magic or magicked food. I don't want no comfy seat. And I'm warm enough as-is. Just... leave me be." He said plainly, though might've come off more exasperated than intended as well. "I got no interest being comfortable right now."

Having hopefully made his position clear enough, the young man's attention turned to the others, lingering on Garet for a moment, before truly focusing on the rest. "As far as I'm concerned, ain't nuthin much changed. We find the other townsfolk whose got the worse of this whole, uh... situation, get them somewhere safe maybe, and then hopefully find in the process somethin' to either force or convince that lady to at least let them and the townsfolk go... Or so I imagine, but take that with a grain of salt."

"Well let's go check out Linenes shop. Maybe there will be a clue to why she ran off."suggests Rigel.

Garet silently "absorbs" all the information shared by Harlen and nods to Rigels plan 

Harlan allows anyone who is partaking in their meal to finish eating then dismisses all the spells he’d cast. The party then settles down for some much needed rest, which is surprisingly uninterrupted.

(LONG REST COMPLETED)

When everyone wakes the next morning, they find Harlan slowly stirring a small pot of porrage over and equally small fire in the center of the tent. He hands an old tin cup to any who want breakfast. “No magic this time,” he says humbly “just a genuine carnival breakfast.”

In an act of stubbornness, defiance, or perhaps at this point simple preference, Marcon sticks to devour the very last of his rations for breakfast. "Mn... Need to stop by a well," He grumbled after emptying his waterskin to boot down his gullet not long after. "So, Mr. Harlen. Any other security aside from Headless we aughta be worried 'bout dealing wit' today, or should we be good to head on our way?" He asked plainly.

"Isolde has eyes everywhere...she often uses polymorph to disguise her agents. A squirrel, dog or sparrow might actually be something much more horrible..." says Harlan ominously.

"That... kinda makes it feel kinda pointless to have dealt with the brain, and just drawn needless attention to ourselves." Marcon says, frowning a little afterwards. But then, he shakes his head and adds tiredly, "Though I suppose the whole not having to deal with our minds being read is good and well enough. Along with any other tricks that guy had." He scratches his head for a moment after, considering some things, only to eventually sigh in defeat. "Anyhow. To Linene's then? Or do the rest of you got some ideas?" He asks, looking to Ronk, Garet, and Vanzaren.

"Malachai was definitely one of her more powerful servants," says Harlan as they all step out of his tent. The carnival is once again in full swing as they head to Linene's shop. Upon arriving, they find it in exactly the same condition as when they left it the day before, but the shopkeeper is nowhere to be found.

As the arrive at the shop, Ronk starts walking around slowly, looking for anything that might be a clue... while slowly eating his share of Harlan's porridge from a cup.

Investigation: 4

Marcon scratches his head and scrunches up his face. "I... remember her running out of the back, and... What was it..." He snaps his fingers a few times before his eyes finally light up at some epiphany. "Didn't Van pick up somethin? Or was that you, Mr. Rigel? I-I, uh... honestly, I was half in and out of most that went down the other day if... that wasn't already obvious." He said with a grimace, before halfway wandering over to the presumably still opened backdoor.

Ronk discovers nothing of significance in his sweep of the shop

Rigel stands in the middle of the shop with a perplexed look on his face. 

"Harlan, is there anybody else that might be an ally for us. Someone who might have a way for us to get closer to Isolde or who at least might be privy to information you are not?" He asks.

"Long story short? Probably not," Vanzaren answers for Harlan. "Unless things have changed that drastically from the last time I was here."

Between seeing Van distracted and Rigel perplexed presumably about his question, Marcon sighed and brushes off further questioning of the half-elf in favor of searching behind the register. There had been something there, if vague memory served him right.  Or at least someone had knelt down at something? The more he thought, the more the ex-farmhand grew visibly frustrated in the investigation. But all the more determined he became as well to see things through to the end.

Investigation: 11. (if perception would be more appropriate, that would be a 13)

(@All: For the record, he's alluding to the doll discovered last time. I cannot recall if Van ever picked it up/took it)

"I'm not the only person in the employ of this carnival against my will," says Harlan. "There are many of us that would like to be free from our indentured servitude, but it's hard to know who to trust...that's part of what keeps us fragmented and unable to assemble a suitable resistance. Anyone we take a chance on could double-cross us, I guess that is a risk we may have to eventually accept."

Marcon knelt down to examine the doll which was still on the floor from the day before. It had taken on the likeness of Linene Greywind, but hung limply in his hands as he examined it. The expression on the doll's face was one of sadness...the type of toy no child would ever want to play with.

(OOC: make an INT (Arcana) check...can be anyone, not necessarily Marcon.)

(OOC: Gonna give it a shot, if only for funsies)

"Macabre little thing ain't'cha?" Marcon mutters while turning the doll over in his hand for examination, even if bit doubtful of learning anything. The young man didn't know much about magic after all, barring a few stories or things idly observed since arriving in Phandalin.

Arcana: 14.

"'ey, uh... Wanna ya'll wanna take a look at this too?" He asks, offering the doll to the group. "Careful with it, mind'ja. Not sure what funky magic been placed on it, if any. But consider'n who it looks like, prolly best to be, uh... yea.. here."

Rigel takes a look of his own. 

5