Gareth slings his bow onto his back and then kneels down next to Lyra and the still form of Don Jon. He squeezes Lyra's shoulder reassuringly before examining Don Jon's limp form. The ranger is afraid the man is dead after that nasty bite from the carrion crawler, but he checks for a pulse just to be sure.

Medicine - 23

Rasziel

"Apologies, I will be more careful the next time I save someone from being devoured." The young purple-robed dark-haired man with the sinister-looking scar says with a few more coughs. "Now, please, try to calm yourself and let sister Garaele take care of the infected one." 

Alisande gives Rasziel a quick, encouraging pat on the shoulder as she strides forward. Evidently tensions were high, given the tragic plight of Don Jon. "Impressive marksmanship. I shall need to examine that particular weave of yours. Its construction is... intriguing." She says thoughtfully, trying to make sense of the warlock's strange incantation in a manner she might be capable of replicating. 

With the faintest of shrugs, she proceeds into the room where Don Jon lies prone, a solemn, mildly concerned look etched on her face. She didn't know this individual beyond what Bogin and Foglie had relayed to her, yet she felt sympathy for his predicament. If the poor man had succumbed to the crawler's assault, it was a truly nightmarish way to depart this world. And if his curse had progressed - well, that hardly seemed a palatable outcome either. 

Alisande steps back a pace or two, affording Sister Garaele, Gareth and Lyra ample room to work. Her gaze is soon drawn by the gruesome carrion crawler and its noxious, seeping wounds. She suppresses a shudder, her stomach tightening with revulsion. One hand rests lightly on the hilt of her sword, ready, should the carrion crawler have any vile spawn burrowed and lurking in the cave's walls. 

Meira gives Rasziel a sharp look when he had replied to Lyra. As she returns her bow to her back, she says. "No reason to talk to her like that. She's right. I get you have no self-control, but no need to take that out on Don-Jon."  She keeps back, allowing Sister Garaele to get to the injured man. Hopefully he's just injured and will be alright. 

She calls then  to Gareth, "You think that's the same creature we'd noted before? Not a new one trying to make a home here?"  She looks for Torrin, "Do you run into a lot of these things around here? Should we be bracing for more?" 

Lyra,

The first thing you notice as you run to Don Jon's side is the beginning of his transformation. His nose and mouth have elongated, and his hair is beginning to grow fuller and thicker all over his body. He stares past you, with eyes open, but unmoving. You're unsure if the cowboy is alive or dead. Sister Garaele walks over next to you and puts a comforting hand on your shoulder, giving you a sympathetic smile as she does. "I pray Tymoria gives you clear direction, and wisdom to make the right choice." She then turns her attention to Don Jon. "Now, let's have a look at our patient."

 Gareth,

You find a pulse when you check Don Jon's vitals, and the man breathes shallowly. You know for sure he's affected by some form of paralysis.

Meira,

Torrin walks back to the group after the fight. He listens to your question and responds, "Only one that I know of, but there's one way to find out!" He points to the closed door nearby to the east. "The monster had made its lair in there. Should I go check, or would you like to?"

Sister Garaele recites a prayer, "Lady Luck, we know that fortune favors the bold. Please give us your fortune now as we ask for your intercession. Please heal this malady, my Goddess Tymora." The priestess lays hands on Don Jon as she prays. 

Does anyone do anything to assist the Sister?

Feeling much reassured now, Lyra closes her eyes and inhales deeply a few times. As she does, her fingers find the silver coin and lucky moonstone hanging from her neck. "Lady Luck, shine your light on us today," she whispers softly to herself.

When she opens her eyes again, she catches Gareth's expression of relief. Don-Jon might look bad, but he's still breathing! That's all Lyra needs. Nodding, she lays her hands on Don Jon as well.

"Please, Tymora, lend us a hand," she begins—then snorts suddenly, covering her mouth with a giggle. "Well, not that hand, you know? We don't want to smack Don Jon this time. Even though he does love his whiskey a little too much… and those awful stories about fighting manticores and owlbears by the dozens, all by himself. Gods, they're terrible! But they're fun, too. I bet you'd laugh yourself if you heard them." Her smile softens into something more earnest. "So, what do you say, oh Goddess of Fortune? Shall we give this man another chance? Say yes, please?"

As the senior cleric mutters her solemn prayer, Lyra mimics her, words tumbling out with hope. Together, their voices weave into a double plea, offered up to Tymora in the hope she'll shine her smile on the cowboy.

(ooc: Lyra will cast Lesser Restoration on Don-Jon)

"He's alive. Just paralyzed," Gareth says, the relief evident in his voice. He moves back a little in order to give Sister Garaele and Lyra space to work on Don Jon.

While Don Jon is being tended to, the ranger turns his attention to Meira and Torrin. "I hope there aren't more of those things in here," he says. "You might have yourselves an infestation."

Gareth turns toward the closed door and listens, trying to discern if there's anything moving around on the other side.

Perception - 11

Meira nods to Torrin. "I can check, but wouldn't mind backup." She looks at Gareth and Zephyros. "You two want to come with me?"

Once they agree, she goes over to the door, also listening first before she tries to open it. (Perception: 24)

 Rasziel raises an eye-brow at the comment and the pat from his noble companion. He hoped she wouldn't be too intrigued or she would risk to meet a fate like his. He is then taken a bit aback at the sharp tone of the woman with the bow, not quite following the logic of her statement, but he decides to simply give her a small apologetic bow, hoping that would be better recieved, then floating away from the others to let them care for the infected one.

"I can come with you." The young purple-robed dark-haired man with the sinister-looking scar speaks up and offers with a few more coughs. "I do not doubt your capabilities but I would want a chance to prove myself, and perhaps eventually win your confidence." He says with a small polite smile.

'Oh, thanks goodness Mr. Raskin is fine. If I held the door any longer he'd be worm food... I won't let that mistake happen again.' The grizzled warrior ponders to himself.

As soon as Meira mentions going to check for more of the disgusting bug-things, Zephyros strides to the rogue's side. "Ready and waiting, I am at your command." Ironheart gruffly states with the proficiency of a practiced soldier.

As Rasziel interjects into the conversation, Zephyros gives the young man a firm nod.

The bear of a man stares straight into the eyes of the caster. Slowly stroking his big brown beard, the steeled veteran stolidly states, "Aye, I sense in you a fierce loyalty not easily broken; I can tell you will be an invaluable ally."

When the deft rogue move to the door, Zephyros follows her.

Perception: 17

"If you don't mind ma'am, I'd like to enter first." Ironheart solemnly mentions before gently adding, "That way I can get eaten, if anyone does at all."

Meira also waves Rasziel to follow as Zephyros gives him a nod. She raises a brow as he calls her 'ma'am' but all she says is, "How about you try to not get eaten. But you can go first." She still waits to see if she can hear anything, then opens the door, stepping aside to let Zephyros go first. 

As Rasziel and the strangers discuss hunting down the remaining carrion crawlers, Alisande instinctively feels the desire to join them, to answer the call of adventure and plummet head-first into acts of valiant derring-do.

And yet... she had been contracted to protect Sister Garaele in her mission to rid Don Jon Raskin of his curse. She glances at Zephyros, Gareth, Meira and Rasziel, considering her words carefully. It seemed ill-advised to go running off and leave the vulnerable unattended, but the rather prickly reception she and Rasziel had thus far received made her reluctant to voice counsel against it. There was an injured man here, and the last thing she wished to do was ignite further discord as he fought a delicate, private battle for his body and soul. She and Eldrin, with Torrin and his dwarves, would have to suffice. 

When a natural intermission in the prayers arises, the noblewoman instead leans over the clergy, looking to Lyra and the Sister in turn. "How fares the patient?" She inquires tenderly. "Is the paralysis permanent? I pray the lycanthropy has not taken hold."