As Gareth walks back into the mines with the others, he can't help but overhear the conversation between Meira and Lyra. The topic of their conversation is very concerning, and he has to resist the urge to turn around right then and there, but he waits until everyone is settled and Don Jon is snoring on one of the cots. The ranger nods when Eldrin says he will stay up and keep watch. Gareth takes the opportunity to approach Meira and Lyra.

In a low voice, he says, "I heard what you said about Don Jon. That's alarming news to say the least." He focuses on Lyra when he says, "No one here is going to hurt him. I know what we did with the ratfolk seems cruel...hells, it was cruel. But the ratfolk made their hostile intentions clear. Don Jon is different. I wouldn't exactly call him our friend, but we were hired to protect him. That's what we're going to do."

Gareth sneaks a glance back at Don Jon's snoring form. "I'm hoping he'll make it till sunrise. Then we should get him back to Phandalin right away. Maybe Adabra can help him with her potions."

Zephyros barely notices the subtle murmurs of the women.

Ironheart carefully inspects the interaction from the very corner of his eye, wondering why Lyra is keeping her conversation quiet.

Not wanting to be too nosey with his acquaintances, he forces his mind to think of a plan for the following day.

After Eldrin, the master wizard, states he will keep watch, Zephyros volunteers to stay awake and alert as well.

Before the evening ends, Zephyros will cast find Familiar

His familiar takes the form of a red-tailed hawk.

Meira is a little concerned that Gareth had overheard her and Lyra. She makes a note to remember that in the future.  But she does give him a nod as he speaks. "He'd better make it," she says, and with a momentary glance at Lyra it is clear she is more concerned about her reaction. "You don't suppose there's a horse or something near at hand? Some way to get back faster? You're sure we shouldn't try to go tonight?" She keeps her voice low but knows others might be able to hear. 

Lyra is clearly startled when Gareth approaches and says he overheard them. "Woah! Your ears are sharp!" she says, still trying to keep her voice down. Then, under her breath, she adds,, "...or am I just that bad at whispering?" 

The cleric lets out a nervous laugh, twirls a finger through her hair, and continues, "Okay. Okay okay okay." She takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "You're right, Gareth. I'm probably overreacting. I'm sorry. You're right it's not the same. And that we'll protect him."

She breathes in again and, feeling more composed, says, "Okay. Let's warn the others. They need to know. Then we can plan together and decide how best to act."

With that, the halfling walks up to Zephyros and Eldrin. "Uhm… sorry for all the whispering. I saw something, got scared, and didn't know what to do. But I'll repeat it for everyone now. Can you come, please?" She gestures for them to follow her back toward Gareth and Meira.

Once the party is gathered, she speaks again: "Don-Jon was bitten by one of the ratfolk. And that means… well, there's a high chance he might be cursed. With lycanthropy." She pauses. "I'm not entirely certain he's aware of it. And I'm not even entirely certain he didn't resist the curse. But the way he looks…" She shakes her head. "I have the feeling he hasn't."

Lyra looks at everyone, a bit ashamed. "I'm really sorry. I just don't know how to heal him, or when the transformation could happen. But, can we please help him? We were thinking about taking him back to Phandalin. Maybe Adabra can heal him! But…" She turns to glance at Don-Jon's sleeping form. "…We're not sure if we can wait until tomorrow."

"Do any of you know anything about lycanthropy? How about you, Eldrin? Have you ever read anything about it?" Lyra gently tugs on the wizard's sleeve as she says this. 

Eldrin,

Eldrin tilts his head slightly at Lyra’s question, his expression unreadable at first, too many thoughts, perhaps, shifting beneath the surface. Then, quietly, he speaks, his voice carrying a precise and measured cadence.

“I know… enough.”

He steps forward, his gaze drifting toward Don-Jon’s unconscious form.

“The curse of lycanthropy spreads through blood, if a lycanthrope wounds a humanoid, there’s a chance the victim becomes afflicted. Children of lycanthropes can inherit it as well.” His voice lowers. “For the afflicted, those not born to it, a remove curse spell is said to be sufficient. But if he was born with it… only a the Wish spell would break it.”

Eldrin pauses, folding his hands behind his back.

“I wish I could offer more certainty, but… during my time studying with Adabra, the subject never came up. I learned much of poultices and salves, blood and fever, but lycanthropy was not on the curriculum.”

He turns to look at Lyra fully now, his voice softening just slightly. “You were right to speak. Silence, in this case, would have been far more dangerous.”

Then, to the others, his tone cools into something more deliberate, as if each word is being weighed before being spoken.

“I do not believe he would ever mean to harm us. But belief alone is not protection. We should leave for Phandalin as soon as possible. If Adabra cannot help, then we may need to find someone who can cast the appropriate spell.”

Then he adds, more quietly, “And if we cannot… then we must be ready for what may come. Kindness does not preclude caution.”

"A spell to remove curses" Lyra repeats softly after Eldrin, deep in thought. "I know we clerics can do that. But I'm afraid that knowledge hasn't come to me yet." She frowns. If only she were a bit farther along in her path. If only she'd payed more attention in the temple, instead of goofing off. "Blast it!" she mutters under her breath.

But she pushes those aside, forcing herself to focus on something practical. She tries to recall any nearby town with a temple that might offer this kind of service. Because if Adabra can't manage it, maybe they could send word to someone outside Phandalin. Even if it took days—and Don-Jon transformed in the meantime—perhaps keeping him secured and away from others while help was on the way could serve as a fallback plan. (d20 roll = 16. 20 Religion / 18 if History)

When Eldrin tells her she was right to speak up, Lyra gives him a small, grateful smile. It fades a little when he says that they'll need to be ready in case they can't find the cure, but knowing he's right, she just sighs and casts a glance toward the ceiling of the cave, silently wishing it won't come to that.

Lyra seems ready to leave immediately, but she waits for the rest to give their opinion. "We could take a little rest first," she suggests softly, "just to make sure everyone's fully healed before we head out."

 Lyra,

"We can rest here for an hour or so to get our strength back and then make for Phandalin," Gareth agrees, watching the sleeping form of Don Jon. "We should tell him our concern when he wakes. He deserves to know."

With Eldrin and Zephyros volunteering to keep watch, the ranger lays down on one of the cots, rolling his cloak into a makeshift pillow. He doesn't intend to fall asleep; he's not sure if he would even be able to in this situation. But his body is tired from the fighting, and it feels good to just lay for a moment. 

Meira watches as the others talk, her eyes particularly staying on Lyra as she sees how concerned she is. She seems to be thinking over the situation when she finally speaks up. "Eldrin, you said a person affected by a bite can recover from just a spell to remove curse. It will still work if he's already... umm, changed?"

She glances to the elf for confirmation, then goes on. "We don't know how long he has. We don't know how long to get him help. I think we need to speak with Don-Jon and the dwarves, find a place here where they can isolate him and lock him in." She turns to Lyra as she continues. "Some place they can get him food and water.  So he'll be taken care of."

She then turns to the group. "We then go for help. Get back as fast as we can. I guess this means not helping the Butterskull Ranch though.  Unless we split up somehow."

Meira stops, as she's exhausted her ideas.  "It's the best I can come up with.  We tell everyone now and take off in the morning."

Zephyros listens to the group discussion with a tacticians logic. The battle hardened warrior looks over at Don-Jon as Lyra describes her suspicions. The thought crosses the warriors mind for a split second to end the threat fully and completely but the thought fades just as fast as it came. His grip around the trident tightens, causing the muscles in his arm to flex. He grits his teeth and begins to stroke his beard in thought.

"I agree with Eldrin. Lyra, you were wise to tell us of your concern. We cannot allow this curse to spread any further." He turns to Meira as she suggests abandoning the ranchers to their fate. "However, I will not abandon the people of Butterskull Ranch to the blood thirsty Orcs." 

Zephyros paces around the room while pondering their options. "Here's what we know. We know the people of Butterskull Ranch need our help. We know those wererats were not mindless beasts. That suggests Don-Jon will still be able to reason even if he... turns. I admit I know little about Lycanthropes, but we know we can kill them. We know the dwarves are capable fighters and have to tools to defend against this very threat."

The armored warriors pacing continues, "We don't know if Don-Jon is truly infected, not yet at least. If he is, we don't know how long the process takes to complete. We don't know if the people of Butterskull can afford any more delays. I suggest we ask the dwarves to set a guard on Don-Jon as a precaution. We rest only as long as needed and then make haste to Butterskull and deal with the threat there. Return here on our way back to Phandalin to check on... things. This way we stay on target, stay together, and confirm Don-Jon's condition."

The bull of a man stops pacing and turns back to the group expecting their approval. He then takes the rest of the hour rest to summon his red-tailed Hawk familiar while the others inform the dwarves of current events. 

Lyra glances from one companion to the other as they all express their thoughts. Eldrin, Gareth and Meira favor returning to Phandalin, while Zephyros suggests advancing toward Butterskull Ranch. Despite the disagreement, they all agree that Don-Jon should be kept locked up as a precaution and properly cared for. The cleric finds that a reasonable path forward, assuming the dwarves agree to help. And they should, shouldn't they? After all, the party helped them free the mine in the first place!

She nods in agreement and says, "I agree with Zephyros that we shouldn't leave the people at Butterskull Ranch alone. If the dwarves help us keep Don-Jon locked up and properly cared for, I think that settles it. Now that I think about it, the Temple of Tymora in Neverwinter regularly sends acolytes to smaller settlements. I don't know the schedule, or when the sister who maintains the shrine in Phandalin will return, but maybe we'll be lucky and she'll be there when we get back from Butterskull Ranch! Or… maybe I'll be able to receive Tymora's blessing myself by then."

The halfling sounds a bit unsure about that last part, but she looks far less worried now that they have several options in hand: Adabra, the Neverwinter acolyte, or herself.

"Couldn't we sleep here, though?" the little cleric asks, turning to regard the big fighter. "If we need to leave in an hour, I'll follow, of course. But we're going to have to sleep at some point, and I'd rather have my magic at its fullest." 

Whatever the party decides, Lyra offers to be the one to break the news to Don-Jon at the end of their rest. She'll walk up to the cowboy, put a hand on his, and gently inform him of the bad news, that the best thing for everyone—including himself—is for him to be locked up in the mines for now, and that they'll return as soon as possible with a cure. "I'm sorry this happened. But I promise we won't abandon you!"

Later, Lyra approaches Zephyros, her eyes sparkling as she looks at the red-tailed hawk. "Beautiful bird! Is it a he... or a she? Do they have a name? Can I pet them!?"

(ooc: Lyra only has 2 spell slots left! I vote for a long rest here, but if the majority prefers leaving in an hour, then let's do that)

"Aye, I'd have to agree that we need to rest. I certainly can't handle a whole armada of orcs myself." Zephyros briefly sighs.

Lyra's reaction upon seeing his newest companion makes the tough warrior chuckle.

"His name is Felagi." Zephyros pauses a long moment, his expression seeming to ponder about an old friend.

"Of course you can pet him!" Ironheart exclaims, his deep voice echoing throughout the cavern.

When Lyra goes to talk with Don-Jon, Meira accompanies her.  She also was willing to speak with the dwarves to let them know about the situation and their plan.  She would speak to them in Dwarvish, hoping that might help ease the conversation a bit.  

Lyra and Meira,

Please give me persuasion rolls for your conversations with Don-Jon and the dwarves.

(Meira Persuasion - with Don-Jon: 21, with dwarves: 26) 

Persuasion isn't one of Lyra's strongest skills, but with Meira at her side—and perhaps by picking up a bit of her way with words—the cleric seems to handle herself decently. Or so she hopes!

(Persuasion: 16 for Don-Jon, 15 for the dwarves.)

Meira and Lyra,

You wake Don-Jon from his slumber after only an hour of rest. He groggily sits up, wincing in pain as he does. You sit across from him on a nearby cot and relay your suspicions about his being cursed with Lycanthropy. Your suspicions are reinforced as you look at the cowboy. Sweat beads down his forehead and the whites of his eyes have turned yellow. He looks sick. Don-Jon places his hat next to him on the cot as he sits. At first he's dismissive, but you ladies gently encourage to see reason and ask for him to isolate for everyone's protection, including his own. He agrees, saying, "I admit I don't feel very good. If you think it best, I'll stay locked up for now. Please help me cure this sickness! I'd hate to become one of those... vermin."

Afterwards, you approach Torrin and the rest of the dwarves. They are easy to find outside as they lay their fallen comrade to rest in a freshly dug grave, placing a pickaxe and helmet at the head of the grave, filling it in. You respectfully watch and wait for the dwarves to pay their respects and then tell them about Don-Jon. Torrin immediately grabs his pickaxe and starts to head back into the mine, but Boggin places a restraining hand on the dwarven leader. "Let's hear 'em out, Torrin." You suggest locking up and putting a watch on the cowboy until you can return to cure him. The dwarves reluctantly agree to your proposal and ask you to hurry back so they don't have to deal with this threat for long. They mention they appreciate Meira conversing with them in dwarvish and view it as a sign of respect. 

The dwarves lead Don-Jon into a separate room in the northeastern part of the cave they call the overseer's office and install a lock on the outside of the door. "Don't worry. We'll make sure he gets plenty of food and water." Finlie says as he spots the worry in Lyra's eyes for the cowboy. They then move the dead bodies of the giant rats and wererats outside into a large pile just outside the main entrance. Once complete, they douse the pile with lantern oil and set it ablaze. The burning hair and flesh smells terrible. Dark smoke rises into an even darker sky.

 Meira,

As the dwarves grab the wererat leader and haul her body outside, you spot something fall out of the dead wererat's pocket. It appears to be a pair of goggles—very stylish.

Zephyros,

After you summon him, Felagi hangs out on your shoulder. He lets you know he doesn't like being underground much, but the kind halfling's attention makes his stay underground better.

Catching sight of the goggles, Meira picks them up and takes a look at them. 

Meira,

Taking a closer look at the goggles, they appear to be well constructed and have a steampunk vibe to them. Looking through the lenses, you immediately recognize you can see better in the dark with them. You have found goggles of night.