The Crypt of Lord Zantras

Only a small bit of light ever reaches this place. Dust hangs in the air, gagging you and tickling your nose. The stench of something not long dead assaults you, and the dark piles of inert forms lying in the corner don't do much for your feeling of well-being. An ond antique candelabra hangs from the ceiling, and although the candles seem to be at full length, they burn steadily. Black marks from the flame mar the ceiling directly over them. In the corner and above, nearly a legion of bats hang from any purchase their little claws will find, and they sit quietly chittering back and forth to one another, watching. Bookshelves line the walls, somethign unheard of in any crypt. The shelves are filled with books, some of which are beginning to fall apart with age. Some are bound in leather, some in cloth, and one is even bound in what appears to be human flesh. This one looks more than hospitable, as if someone might have lived here at one time. Or still does.

a large black laquered coffin set with silver fittings, a thick iron-bound chest, a black obsidian obelisk with a pulsating blue orb floating above it, and a rickety old carriage are here.