Most of them are, but Jozan cast the Turn Undead spell at the beginning of the fight, remember? Three Ghouls turned tail and ran off, now they're still alive and around here somewhere....
"Of course," Jozan says to your request. He speaks a few words, and the palm of his right hand begins to glow with a faint white light. He places his palm on your heads and after murmuring a few more words, the light seems to be pulled into you, healing up all your wounds. AKA, Jozan casts Cure Light Wounds, both of you are now restored to full health.
So, are we going to kill some undead or just stand around all day? You know, if any of you slackers ever went to war, you would probably be dead from indecision, it only takes a split-second to mess up and end up dead, WE NEED TO MOVE IT!
I was born in the Shaar,in a most unusual manner. I burst forth from the womb of my mother, and a jet of flame preceded me. It was quickly obvious to my mother I was destined to be involved in magic somehow. What she did not expect was for me to become a warmage. I was raised at an academy where I drilled day and night from a tender young age of 10. I spent 20 years learning all there is to know about the art of war and the ways of magic. Mostly what I learned was how to incorporate magic into war, hence the title warmage! I was involved in a few minor skirmishes with local orcs and conflicts where I continued to learn more about being a true warmage. One day, 132 years ago, I was sent to war I will never forget. We charged, against an army of Elves, Wood Elves to be precise. I was in an army that was a hybrid of Moon Elves, Sun Elves, and a few other Gray Elves. That War was the worst 40 years of my life. The fighting was so intense for me, and some days I wasn't sure which side was which, choosing to attack anything that moved near me with little thought as to who it was. The nights were long and cold, as we were encamped somewhere near Frozen North/Silvery Marches border. I remember there were times where we were fighting the enemy, and times we were fighting all manner of creature constantly disturbed by our engagements. The worst part was why we were fighting. It turned out both sides accused the other of illegally crossing the border, when in fact neither side technically crossed until the fighting began. This realization of pointless fighting cost me my sanity, and I spent 20 years in a dark cave alone, with naught but visions of senseless fighting to keep me company. One day, I realized the error of my ways, and simply got up and left the cave I had spent so much time in, and went back to my old home in the Shaar, where I found that things had changed. My mother called me a monster, as word of my "ill-temper" had reached her, and she utterly rejected me. I felt a wave of depression wash over me, which lasted me another 10 years, until I was called to duty once again. This time, I had a quite different approach to my fighting style, choosing to only unleash my anger at key moments in the battle. I spent another 30 years in the service of Neverwinter, as a guardian of the northern border, protecting it from various creatures who thrive in the cold. I remember my fingers always feeling numb, so I would abuse my Lesser Orb of Fire by lighting it without using it, keeping my hands warm and using it as a warning to any who dared oppose me. I was constantly reminded of my father, who had died 2 years after I was born. I never knew him personally, but my mother spoke often of him as a great master of bow, sword and staff. He was known as a Spellsword, and one day I hope to obtain that title, to honor his memory. I spent many hours learning how to use Sword and Bow, but I feel that I have not wasted my effort. War is the only way man or elf can truly resolve their differences, and I will tell you now, I do not approve of it! The last 30 years of my life have been devoted to rooting out unlawful killing, or murder for the lay man.
