The Grinning Crypt
by Reverend Dungeon MasterYou’ve heard the rumors, but like every adventurer, you don’t believe them. Not really. It’s just a tomb, they said, a forgotten necropolis nestled in the damp belly of the forest. You’re here for the loot, the glory, and maybe a little bone-crunching violence. What you didn’t count on was the smell.
It hits you like a slap: rot and mold, thick enough to chew. The ancient stone door groans as you force it open, unleashing a gust of air so cold it feels like skeletal fingers tracing your neck. You step inside, and the darkness swallows you whole. Your torch flickers weakly, casting shadows that lurch and twist like drunken specters.
And then you see it—no, them. Rows of skeletal remains, slumped against the walls. They’re still clad in rusted armor, their hands clutching weapons long since dulled by time. Above them, faint carvings depict grotesque rituals, their meanings lost to centuries of decay.
You feel it before you hear it: a soft, rhythmic scraping, like metal against stone. Your pulse quickens. One of the skeletons stirs, its head jerking unnaturally to meet your gaze. Its empty sockets burn with a sick green light, and before you can scream, its comrades rise in unison, weapons clattering.
The dead don’t just rise, they lurch forward, their skeletal jaws creaking open in what you swear is a mocking grin.
The skeletal warriors advance, their movements unnervingly fluid for something long dead. They don’t charge, they stalk. Their clinking armor and scraping blades form a cacophony that echoes through the crypt.
But then the real nightmare begins. From the far shadows, a hulking figure steps forward, dragging a massive axe. This one is no mere skeleton. Its form is bloated, its flesh hanging in wet, sagging folds. A soft glow emanates from its gaping chest cavity, illuminating the room in sick hues. This is a greater ghoul, and its presence fills the air with the stench of death and malevolence.
The skeletons attack in disciplined waves, their strikes methodical and relentless. The greater ghoul hangs back, letting its minions weaken you. When it moves, it’s with terrifying speed, aiming to paralyze you with its claws before delivering a bone-shattering blow with its axe.
The crypt itself is against you. The walls seep moisture, making every surface slick. Broken stones litter the floor, threatening to trip you at the worst possible moment. And then there’s the low, droning hum that seems to vibrate through the stone, a sound that worms into your skull and threatens to break your focus.
Treasure
After defeating the undead, you find the source of the crypt’s allure, a locked iron chest in the rear of the chamber. Its surface is carved with eldritch runes, and inside lies a trove of treasure:
1,200 gp in ancient coinage
Gleaming ruby worth 500 gp
Potion of Heroism
Scroll of Protection from Undead
Stats
Skeletons (6)
AC: 7
HD: 1 (4 hp each)
THAC0: 19
Attacks: 1 (rusty sword, 1d6 damage)
Special: Immune to sleep and charm, take double damage from blunt weapons
Movement: 60' (20')
Morale: 12
Treasure Type: U (scattered coins and minor trinkets in alcoves)
Greater Ghoul (1)
AC: 5
HD: 5+3 (27 hp)
THAC0: 15
Attacks: 2 claws (1d4 each) and 1 axe (1d8+2)
Special: Paralyzing touch (save vs. paralysis or immobilized for 2d4 rounds), immune to sleep and charm
Movement: 90' (30')
Morale: 10
Treasure Type: C (iron chest with gold, gems, and magical items)
Good luck surviving. The dead don’t let go easily.
