The undead thing spoke in voice like steel scraping on stone, "Who dares disturb my tomb?".
"Saint Unther himself," Gustav spoke in a whisper, then shouted, "Back to sleep you wretched thing!"
The cleric's hand glowed briefly with righteous fury, then dwindled.
The saint gurgled what must have been a laugh. "You have no power here, young one..."
The creature moved with lightning speed. His rusty longsword bit deep into Gustav's shoulder. The rest of the party sprung to attack, but it was then that four unseen skeletons joined the fray, appearing from the shadows.
Gruffydd's hammer snapped the rusty blade. Laramine's mace destroyed one of the unholy man's shoulders. But, he still kept fighting.
Miss Adventure, Nemon and Gildrid faced the new attackers. It was an unelegant brawl in a dark, tight spot. Almost all the party was hurt in some small way. Saint Unther was still cackling with glee, flailing at the party with dislocated limbs, and biting teeth. It was Nemon who reached in and snagged the the gold dagger that was lodged in the creature's chest. Immediately, the red glow of his eyes disappeared with what seemed like relief. The saint's ravaged skeleton dropped to the floor.
A sealed closet was found containing a few coins and gems, and dusty scrolls. The body of the saint was left where he lay, despite the protests of Gustav.
A short while later the party emerged from a door they had previously passed up, and made their way to the stairs where they had encountered the giant weasel. Should they return to the surface? Should they make their way through the strange opening before them, and down the dark stairs?