Quote from FairIthilien >>

A bit later, the halfling stands and tells the others, "The dead miner we found earlier... he'd clearly died from multiple stab wounds, but he'd been bitten as well. He looked like he'd been dead for a very very long time, but his clothes didn't suggest that. It was as if all the fluids had been pulled out of his body. I don't understand… I mean, if the ratfolk wanted to turn him into one of them, then why…?" Lyra doesn't finish the sentence, but then adds, "He had a letter for someone named Mary Gilmore. I wonder where she might live. I'd like to give her the letter."

Quote from FairIthilien >>

Still, she can't help but turn toward Torrin and ask, "Wait. Did you just say you have a brother to bury? Wha—? Who do you mean? When did he die? What happened?"

Torrin stops mid-stride and turns towards you. "Aye, not a brother by blood, but bond. Frederic Gilmore was a fine man. Those filthy rats murdered him as we were trying to escape. We realized our picks couldn't hurt them too late. Frederic sacrificed himself so we could barricade the door. Mary was his wife..." Torrin's expression turns from anger to sadness before he continues, "...widowed now. I tried to take his place, but he pushed me into the room and shut the door in my face. My brothers then barred the door and held me back as we heard... well, I won't tell you what we heard. Darn blood suckers! I pray Moradin's hammer strikes them all down!"

"Mary lives in Phandalin. They were saving up enough money to start a family and a farm. Frederic was always talking about it. That's all he ever talked about. It should have been me..." Torrin's sentence trails off as he turns to go, pushing Finlie out of the way as he does. Finlie stumbles backwards under the force of the push. All the dwarves watch Torrin for a moment before following. 

Don-Jon clears his throat, "Hurrumm... well, I'm sure the Neverwinter Consortium will pay next of kin for their lost loved ones. I'll make sure of it." He gets no reaction from the dwarves as they flow back into the mine. 

Zephyros briefly nods at Gareth and just before breaking into a full sprint he swiftly exclaims, "Let's move!"

Zephyros attempts to catch up to the wereats and attack.

He'll throw his trident if he's in range.

Hit: 11

Damage: 13

Meira stands, trying to keep a blank face even if small pains still persist. "Scare?" she says to Lyra. "I'm just fine. No need to be scared!"  

She listens as the halfling speaks with Torrin and he describes how Frederic gave himself up and about the wife, Mary, he left behind in Phandalin. While seeming impressed by the story, she doesn't seem all that enthusiastic about the deed.  But she says nothing about that. "If you're going to take that letter to Mary, I'd be glad to help you Lyra," she says softly.  

Gareth starts running in the direction the wererats fled, bow in hand. He scans the horizon, trying to find them. They can't have gotten too far yet he hopes. If he's able to spot any of the fleeing wererats, he'll take aim and release an arrow.

Perception - 11

Longbow - 27 to hit for 7 piercing damage

Gareth & Zephyros,

You run after the fleeing wererats. Picking up the fresh trail is easy; you can see them running north in the distance. They are a bit too far for Zephyros to throw his trident, but Gareth lets fly an arrow. It hits the closest wererat, sending him stumbling momentarily before falling to the ground. The other two don't break stride and continue to run. You continue your pursuit. 

Lyra & Meira,

You hang back at the mine and rest after the battle. The dwarves have disappeared back into the mine. Don-Jon pulls some bandages out of his backpack and begins dressing several wounds he received. He pulls a crossbow bolt out of his left thigh with a grimace of pain and wraps a bandage around the wound. He then holds a bandage to his neck. "I'm glad everyone made it through the fight alright." He says as he sits down near you, but still a comfortable distance away.

Eldrin,

What are you doing?

"Frederic Gilmore..." Lyra quietly repeats after Torrin. So that was the miner's name, and that was what had happened. She doesn't say more, but her face reflects her feelings—the weight of this new piece of information adding to everything she's been trying not to think about. The fight. The miners' deaths. The ratfolk deaths—which she had taken part in too.

It's becoming increasingly clearer to the young cleric that life forces tough choices. Choices she never thought she'd have to make. And that it weighs on her heart.

Lyra nods at Meira's words, grateful for the offer to help deliver the letter to Frederic's wife. Gareth had offered his help too, back when they first talked about it. It's a small comfort—but a comfort she'll hold onto. At least they can do that little bit of good. At least, the story won't just end in bloodshed.

Feeling suddenly tired, and while waiting for Zephyros and Gareth to return so they can all decide what comes next, Lyra sits down beside Don-Jon. She doesn't use her magic, but helps him tend to his wounds—making sure they're clean and the bandages are properly wrapped.

"You do that, okay?" she says to the cowboy. "Talk to the Neverwinter Consortium. Make sure they compensate the families for the loved ones they lost."

(ooc: OMG, I rolled medicine and got a 7. Maybe Lyra's not that good with bandages ... )

Gareth continues the pursuit, nocking another arrow and letting it fly. He quickly pulls out another one and does the same, trying to take down both of the fleeing wererats.

Longbow - Nat 20 for 14 piercing damage

Longbow - 25 to hit for 12 piercing damage

Zephyros continues running after the wererats. When Gareth brings down one of the fleeing wererats, Zephyros tells the ranger, "Nice shot!" Gareth's two follow up shots impress the armored warrior even more. He only continues to run after the enemy if they are still running away.

When the ratfolk are fallen, the bull of a man walks over to them to ensure they no longer live, stabbing them with his trident in the process.

Lyra,

You help the cowboy dress his wounds. Your skill, however, focuses on divine healing. Using rudimentary bandages isn't a common practice for you and it shows as you try to assist Don-Jon. You look at the wound to the cowboy's neck. Several small, shallow puncture holes rim the left side of the Don-Jon's neck in a long oval shape. You tighten the bandage around the man's leg to the point he gives a yelp, "Ouch! Thank you Ms. Lyra, I appreciate the attention." Lastly, you spot a deep puncture wound on the man's waist that is still bleeding pretty badly. This one he hadn't dressed yet. You help him clean and cover the wound. The cowboy grimaces in pain and nods at you in appreciation. 

Gareth, 

Your next two attacks are expertly aimed and hit both wererats, sending each to the ground skidding to a halt. [[OOC: Now that's how you do it! Nice shooting, Tex!]]

Zephyros,

Walking up to each wererat you recognize two of the three are dead. The third appears to be unconscious. You finish him off with a quick thrust of your trident.

(ooc: Oh no...  Would Lyra know anything about how to prevent Don-Jon from turning? Also, do we now have to inspect ourselves in search of puncture wounds? All those who have been hurt by wererats? Or is it only Don-Jon the one who was bitten?

EDIT: Reviewing the combat posts, I think only Don-Jon and Finlie were bitten?)

Meira slowly stands when Lyra goes to sit next to Don-Jon and help with his wounds. She paces for a moment, seeming unsure of what to do. "Hope Gareth and Zephyros are ok," she mutters, casting a glance in the direction they went.  Stepping back near where she'd been sitting, she picks up her dulcimer, starting to lightly strum the strings. It soon resolves into a tune, a soft, light, melancholy melody - no words. It seems to at least bring herself some calm as she waits to see what happens next. 

Satisfied that the wererats will no longer be a threat, Gareth returns to the group. He gives a short nod to signify that the job is done, but it's clear he'd rather not talk about it. In his mind, finishing off the ratfolk was the lesser of two evils. It didn't make him feel good, but he's also sure they probably saved some lives by ending the ratfolks'. 

"How are you doing there, Don Jon?" the ranger asks, noticing the bandages. 

A shimmer breaks the stillness like the air itself folding in on a forgotten shape. At first, it’s nothing, just a subtle ripple, as if heat is rising from the earth, but then it grows: the faint suggestion of a silhouette, light bending around the contours of a man rejoining the world one glimmer at a time.

Bit by bit, Eldrin comes into view.

His features materialize like light flowing in reverse, first the edge of his cloak, then the pale angles of his face, and finally the distant, cool sharpness of his eyes. His once-pristine robes are torn at the shoulder, where a dark, wet patch blooms beneath a jagged tear. One arm hangs slightly stiff, his fingers slick with drying blood.

He exhales with weary control, not quite a sigh.

“Well,” he says, voice dry but strained, “it appears the potion’s effects are not quite permanent.” His gaze shifts to Lyra, then Don-Jon, then Meira in turn. “I was hoping for more time to observe it… fascinating construction, really. I could feel light brushing over me, bending, not passing through, but skimming the surface like water over oil. Perfect diffusion.”

He falters slightly, then rolls his injured shoulder with a wince and a quiet grunt. “Unfortunately, academic fascination doesn’t dress wounds.”

Turning slightly to Meira, his expression softens with a flicker of grim amusement. “I believe I owe you for the timely warnings.” 

He lowers himself slowly to a seated position near the others, placing his satchel at his side with the same meticulous care he gives to every motion, though now tinged with visible fatigue.

“I trust the others have… dealt with the stragglers?”