Kei

He returns Peri's wink with a broad grin and  kiss of his own hand in mocking fashion.

"I bet the mage has her trapped. I've heard of some mad wizards that enslave demons and the such. Lunacy if you ask me!". He shakes his head to emphasize his opinion. 

Turning to Gerrard "Good to have you back to your old...er...yourself. Sorry if my spell put you out too much, but I couldn't have your skills working against us." His apology genuine.

"A trip back to town is probably the best course, I agree. My magics are running on empty, plus we should really cash in our loot. I mean, no point in leaving it here for someone else to steal....er....plunder.....er....take." He shouts up at this point, feeling as though the group is now staring at him in a disapproving manner. Without further hesitation he calls for Trill to join him and walks off towards where they'd hidden the sack of coins.

Peri:

As Kei heads toward the room to recover their stash, Peri calls out, "Mind the rug. It's magicked and we don't know what it'll do. Oh, and the bed, uh, fell onto the box. It was pretty old..."

Gerrard:

Still looking somewhat ashamed, Gerrard says, “Thank you for your kind words, Master Fiercehammer.  I, too, am ready to leave for now.  Perhaps the armor pieces will help with the funding.”

Dwal further examines the old, crumbling books. There is a lot of the arcane here - nothing magical in itself, and nothing particularly useful, but more than a little arcana about animating the bones of the dead, summoning and binding fiends, as well as animating inanimate objects. 

There's also a lot of history - mostly dry tales, but together they help to paint a bit of a backdrop to these halls: Durgeddin the Black was said to be a master smith who forged blades of surpassing quality and power. He and his clan were driven from their home by a horde of fierce orcs and trolls who plundered the dwarves’ ancestral halls and slew all they could catch. Fleeing his enemies, Durgeddin led the destitute remnants of his clan in search of a new home. After years of wandering, Durgeddin led them to the hills north of Saltmarsh and established a small, secret stronghold. Here, Durgeddin and his followers founded the stronghold of Khundrukar. From his hidden redoubt, he waged a decades-long vendetta against all orc-kind. (Evidently, it was a battle they ultimately lost.)

Unless you have further business, you gather your loot, and head toward the exit. Other than the distant, incessant hammering somewhere to the south, the halls are quiet. You make your way back to the room where you spent the night, and shimmy up the rope into the cold, outside air. As overcast as it is, it takes some adjusting to acclimate to the brightness outside.

Dwal

Dwal will put as many of the books, both history and arcane, in his backpack. He will go with the party to the entrance and help get everyone out. Dwal will make mental notes on how to get to the entrance as they make their way back to town. Once he gets back, after getting Gerrard to a more powerful priest, he will find ink and a quill and a journal book, if he can. He will draw a map and as many notes as possible about the site they just visited. 

Gerrard:

Much worse for the wear, Gerrard follows the others back to town, or at least to where Dwal thinks there is a more powerful cleric around.  He hopes the animated armor remnants are enough payment, though he knows not what is needed--or indeed if it is possible at all--to reverse his premature aging.

Peri:

As weak as the daylight is above ground, it seems like a summer day compared to the chill that had been creeping into Peri. He'd been in many lovely underground homes and usually enjoyed exploring caves, but this old dwarven hall with its restless dead was an altogether different affair. As they trudge back toward town he notes the sullen mood of his crew. They had explored long-forgotten ruins and collected some interesting treasure but he couldn't help but feel a little defeated. Leaving that evil demon to roam free, the mysterious labors of the grey dwarves, Gerrard's disturbing aging... No sense of resolution to any of it. And his improvised sarong was completely shot. Given the mood of the party, it promised to be a volatile meeting with the Council if they tried any chicanery.

Unless you have any further business down Toktok's hole, the party spends the next few hours trudging back to Saltmarsh. It is morning – well, early afternoon, by the time you return to Saltmarsh. The sun – a rare sight in these parts – is occasionally peeking out, although it only illuminates the advanced state of neglect of Saltmarsh's filthy streets and buildings. 

You have a few hours before the Town Council meeting. Do you have any immediate business in town?

Gerrard:

”Master Fiercehammer, is there a powerful cleric who can heal me before the council meeting?” asks Gerrard hopefully,  his reluctance to show up at the council meeting in his current state apparent.

Dwal

Dwal will suggest they visit the Temple of Procan for Gerrard's condition. 

The party crosses town to visit the Temple of Procan. It's nearly tea time, and Brinehald, wearing his simple gray tunic, his full white beard, and his peg leg, lounges near his alcove windows overlooking Crabbers Cove.

"Yes, sirs?" he greets you warmly. None of you have met him before – you've heard of him mostly through Qivys' tales of visiting him once. He is delighted to have some company. "My name is Wellgar Brinehald, priest of the Saltmarsh Temple of Procan." He snaps his fingers for his assistants to bring more tea. "Whom might you be? Come! Sit! Drink tea."

Gerrard:

"Father Brinehald, thank you for your welcome.  I am Gerrard Feldern, and I have recently run afoul of a ghost that seems to have drained me of my vitality," opens the noble as he sits and gratefully accepts some tea.  "Thankfully my heroic companions came to my rescue and defeated the spirit, but I am still feeling rather drained.  To add injury to injury, I was...uh...charmed by a fiend and seem to have come out worse for that experience as well," he adds.  "Brother Fiercehammer tells me you are a powerful healer and may be able to help me.," he concludes hopefully.

"'Drained of Vitality' – tell me more, my weary traveller. A ghost, you say?"

The tea - an odd, salty brew - arrives, with some hardtack.  He begins to launch into a story of the Pale Prow, a ramshackle old warship with rat-gnawed sails and an ornate rudder made from bone and wood, sailed by elven vampires. It's faded hull has never been touched by a shipwright, they say...

Gerrard:

"Right, so this unholy apparition sapped my will and vitality, leaving me afraid and aged.  I am twenty-four years old," he says, looking into the mirror, saying, "but now I look like I have weathered at least sixty winters, and Esmerelda will never consent to let me court her in this state."  Briefly touching his lips, he adds, "Then there was the beautiful lady who kissed me--and turned out to be a fiend of some kind, sapping my vitality so that I feel much more weary than normal."  Opening up his pack, he shows the armor, saying, "I don't have much of value with me right now, but perhaps this plate armor that I gathered will be worth something as payment."

"Twenty-four, you say?" He pulls a candle out of a candelabrum and holds it up to Gerrard's face for a few long moments, close enough to begin to sear one greying eyebrow.

"Well, I'm afraid we don't need any armor. Th' kind of magic you require is expensive. Diamond dust, in fact. 100 gold pieces worth. Can ye' pay for that? I don't think your armor has that kind o' value, I fear."

"But like I was sayin', Pale Prow don't sail under th' sun, and its appearance is always preceded by a heavy fog that appears without warning." Then he goes on to list eleven classifications of coastal fogs.

Gerrard:  

Looking to the others, Gerrard says, “I have some coin, but not that much.  I was hoping I could eventually get more for the armor since it is plate, but I do have some reward coming from the council tonight.  Did we find enough valuables in the citadel for my share to afford the diamond dust?” 

Peri:

((IIRC we never got around to selling the golden items from the Alchemist's lab after Gerrard had them appraised))

Peri is relieved to hear the curse can be reversed -- he was worried the noble's years were lost forever -- and he places the six golden ribs on the priest's table, followed by the apple, and finally the skull. "These should go a good ways toward payin' for your diamonds. We've some coin as well, if we need to make up the rest. Whatever it takes to fix him up we're good for it."

Kei

Exhausted from dragging the sack of coins all the way from the ruins, he turns to Peri, and in a completely unexpected act of selflessness points to the sack. "This would be enough" he whispers. Not to be polite, but to keep their monetary status from the priest.

When Peri inevitably gives him a shocked look due to his selflessness, he merely replies with "What?! A guy shouldn't have to suffer with his lady friend just because we all started something we probably shouldn't have."

Dwal

Dwal eyes the priest for a few minutes, allowing him to prattle for only a short bit, then he raises his voice and says: "By the Weave itself man! We have gold enough, take the burden from this man before yer stories age him even more!" he says in a huff. 

Peri:

Well, that answers that question. Kei's motivated by money, sure enough, but not so obsessed he'd deprive a man of his youth. Fair enough -- money's as good a reason for adventurin' as simple curiosity, probably better. Feeling a little better about this stranger's trustworthiness, Peri motions for the man to lean down so he can whisper in his ear,