Lost Mine of Phandelver

"You dare to mock me mortal?!" booms Malachai, "my powers are beyond your comprehension! Utter your query or begone!"

Marcon's eyes narrow at Malachai, and for the whole plan flees from his mind. But with gritted and a few breathes, he regains a measure of composure, and even puts on a stupid grin at the strange brain in a jar from beside Malachai. "Powers beyond comprehension, huh? Guess yer body couldn't take it then, eh?" He says, supporting Vanzaren's heckling, if from a slightly adjacent angle. "No offense meant of course, good sir. But, mind if the question be answering that one? 'cause like, we're all simple folk here fer the most part, and that mystery seems like it'd be one of the greatest one the cosmos could show wouldn't it?" He asked, grin expanding into a broad but tired smile.

(@DM: Aiming to mainly help Van at this point. But if check still required, see spoiler below)

"You.......DARE HECKLE ME?! You fool! Do you have any idea what powers you are toying with? I could rend you apart with merely a thought!" bellows Malachai. The brain visibly quivers with anger as it smashes against the inside of the jar, punctuating the words dare, fool, powers, rend and thought.

Malachai is almost singularly focused on Marcon: in addition to the berating from the brain's disembodied voice, the severed head spins several times and stops pointed in the farm boy's direction with an angry sneer and the distinctive sound of leather being griped tightly can be heard as the headless axeman's giant hands lock down around the handle of his weapon.

Ronk stares at the jar as this all goes on, then slowly raises his had. "Do... Do they change the water in there?"

A pained sigh issues from the disembodied voice. "You have before you an all-knowing and omnipotent being with the ability to see through time and the planes...and THAT is what most interests you? Oh, Dark Powers, please send upon us thy apocalyptic meteor, forthwith! No, no they don't...because it's not water, you simpleton, it's spinal fluid that was extracted by mind flayers from the mortal bodies of a thousand wizards and heroes more powerful than you could possibly comprehend. Although, there are a few floaty things in here that I have requested NUMEROUS TIMES to be carefully removed! And my calls have been yet UNANSWERED! There now bugbear, does this new knowledge fulfill your longest of longings?" chides Malachai. "Nice bathrobe, by the way..." 

"You've got stuff floating in there?" Van asks, interestwd. "Need any help with it?"

Ronk nods. "That's gross, but yes! Thank you, Mr. Brain." He stands a little straighter when he hears Van ask about helping. "Do you have a little net? If not, I'm good with my hands..." He reaches out a bit - not directly for the jar but just holding his hand out - and mimes plucking things out of the air.

Marcon breaks out of a staring contest with the disembodied head, which had been in for a while, even if only one-sidedly so. It took maybe a minute more than it should've to process what had happened during his focus elsewhere; but, when the realization dawns on him, he just looked plainly confused between Van and Ronk, no longer certain of what the plan even was at the moment. Thus paralyzed by indecision, he can only watch and wait to see what came of the new development.

Rigel continues to inch closer to the stage hopping that the inane line of questioning will keep Malachi distracted or enrage him to the point he uses the Dullahan.

"You...you would...dip out the floaty things? With your...bare hand?" the brain silently contemplates the merits of the potential removal of debris from his container against the risk of replacing them with new ones from the likely filth-encrusted hand of a bugbear. Malachai is clearly conflicted, not sure whether he can trust Ronk, but also desperate to be rid of the biological litter inside his glass jar. He has all but completely failed to notice Rigel carefully inching into a flanking position.

"I..I was ..t..trained by d..druids.. I c..could h..help with this" Says Garet with his naive young Firbolg mind and starts cleaning hands in parts of his cloth

"You were trained by druids to remove floaty things from the glass jars of disembodied brains?" challenges Malachai, "...that seems like quite a highly-specialized field to receive training in." The brain's tone of hopefulness turns to skepticism in response to Garet.

"Uh... Pardon my intruding on this, uh... convo, or, uh... whatever. But, in defense of this here Big Blue Fella-" He lazily thumbs Garet's general direction. "I imagine he ain't mean it quite in a... in a uh...  that way as to suggest it being a specialized sorta thing. But more like, 'cause Druids are all 'bout nature 'n stuff, as you probably well know, they know it can be delicate. And that it takes a careful hand to say, uh... pluck flowers and shrooms or whatever ta make natural medicines for themselves or the other creatures they tend to." Marcon explained.

"Or, ya know, at the very least he can probably.... or actually, I got a question now... Do you like... still smell stuff? Just in some weird magical way?"

"Yes, yes, I knew that is what he meant," says Malachai in an attempt to save face. "In my vast memory I can remember over a hundred-thousand individual scents, and can call them up to re-experience anytime I wish, so I have no need to actively smell...in fact, it prevents me from having to endure the offensive odors that usually follow common folk such as yourselves around, so when a dingy bugbear and his friends show up asking asinine questions, I can just decide to smell fresh honeysuckle or halfling cinnamon cookies. Right now, you all are cookies."

Rigel stifles a snickers at the cookies remark as he waits patiently for his team to draw the dullahan away.

Marcon opens and closes his mouth several times as if not quite certain how to respond, before eventually curtly dismissing the tangled web of thoughts in a shake of the head. "That's, uh... that's actually pretty neat. And like, your vision is kinda like that too? Wait, but that doesn't... unless... whoa..." Marcon kinda drifts off in thought again for a second, imagining the perspective of the brain...

Wis Save(DC 10): 12 (for funsies)

He snaps back to attention, and awkwardly clears his throat. "Alright! Here's a less assa... asa.... Asa-whatever-question. So, uh... like, are you the brain of that technically headless guy then? Do you like, control'im or... somethin else?  And if not, and sorry dude if this sounds a bit, uh.. weird, but... could you if ya wanted with all that cosmic knowledge of yours? Or even, uh, make like a body of your own so ya didn't have to imagine it?"

"Sorry what?" Vanzaren seems a bit confused. "I'm sure if he was capable of remaking his own body he would have at this point."

Rigel remains quiet and still in his position near the stage.

"As I said before, in my natural life I was a powerful wizard, falsely accused of a crime and summarily put to death! But I had prepared for such misfortunes and bargained with a necromancer to lay a curse of preservation upon my fabulous brain! HA, HA! Even though the executioner's axe fell upon my neck, I mocked them still after my head came to rest at the feet of the arrogant royals! Then my headless body stood up from the platform and tossed the axeman into the crowd! They cast me back into their dungeon, and for many more years I continued to berate their ignorance! Finally, when the circus came to town, Isolde purchased my life debt from the royal family...and I have served as her fortune-speaker ever since. My headless body and bodiless head have since taken on a sentience of their own...they do as they please, and I can no more command their compliance than a stranger such as yourself, so you would do well to not anger them..."

(OOC: roll Insight against DC 15 if you wish to attempt to spot any misinformation or deception with Malachai's monologue above.)

(@DM: DC 15? Easy peasy lemon squeezy~)

Insight: 10.

Marcon nods and rubs his chin, finding nothing at all wrong about the answer. "Sounds rough man. Especially about the whole losing control over your own body at that. I mean, sure, you got the whole other thing going for ya. But I gotta say, I'd probably feel pretty, uh, taken for a ride after if my body did the same thing. Nothing against it of course wanting to do its own thing mind ya. But... ya sure this necromancer didn't lay a curse on your body so that it, well... would sorta turn on ya like that? Like, ya don't miss being able to use your own hands fer stuff? 'cause like, magic and cosmic power is great 'n all -- fantastic, I'm sure, but... I dunno... you really cool with that? Or like, is there still a bond there, and that's why your body and head are still with ya all this time?" He yammered on, though was starting to lose steam.