Three of the four skeletons cringed and fell back from the cleric. The fourth rushed forward with a ancient bronze spear. Gruffydd crushed its ribcage with his hammer, then did the same to the skull. Gustav forced the other undead back into alcoves, where they been waiting and guarding for untold years. Cowering in their holes, the ret of the party made quick work of them.
The tomb had a solitary sarcophagus in the center. The tomb was richly carved with reliefs similiar to the frescoes in the hallway. The lid was carved in the shape of the saint himself. Asleep in stone. Nemon and Laramine slowly removed the lid.
Inside, a skeleton in a plain gown rested. When it didn't move, Laramine and Nemon began feeling around the corpse, searching for treasure. Nothing.
All this time, the rest of party waited, ready for something terrible to happen. A trap. A screeching skeleton. But, nothing happened.
Gruffydd was first to notice a small doorway to the west. It was plain and stone. A closer look showed it was sealed in wax. Miss adventure produced a dagger and carefully dug the wax out. A qucik check to see if it was trapped, and with the help of Gruffydd, the door opened.
Cobwebs obscured their view. The Men had to crouch to get inside. A single torch was lit to burn away the webs and thrown into the room to give light for the members of the party without night vision.
Against the far wall a single figure stood, then stirred. Dressed in a dark, filthy rag of robe, a lone rotten corpse moved to seperate itself from the cobwebs and the shadows. It carried a long rusting sword. It's eyes glowed red with what seemd to be mailce. In the light of the torch, a golden dagger gleamed, protruding from the creature's chest.