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As none of the zombies managed to impale themselves on Pyrrhic's spear, he lunges forward from his crouching position, attempting to drive his spear into one of the undead, while maintaining a position in the second row.

To hit with Spear: [1d20+1] = 1+1 = 2, damage: [1d6+1] = 6+1 = 7

Foot must have caught on the uneven stones.

Peaches recites a magical incantation: "Kamehameha, bitches!"

Magic Missile damage [1d6+1] = 2+1 = 3

Claude holds his ground, next to Peaches, spear ready in case any of the foul creatures go after his mistress.

Nightsong sees Pyrrhic choose to attack rather than wait to see if the Zombies might impale themselves, and then looks to Dren just in time to see him leap from beside the door at the nearest Zombie. As he watches the skillful lunge, he increases the tension in the bowstring and waits for Dren to step back away from his victim. At that exact moment, Nightsong knows he'll have a shot, but he has to time it perfectly. Nightsong looses his arrow down the corridor hoping to perforate the Zombie before it can decide to turn around, maybe to draw its attention away from Dren, who may be separated from the group in a moment.

Longbow to hit [1d20+2] = 16+2 = 18 Damage [1d8] = 3

Opening the door, three zombies stumble out. Ubrecht holds his holy symbol forth. "Back, foul creatures! Return to the darkness from which you came!" But the zombies are undeterred by his faith. Ubrect readies his mace. Bronn steels his nerves against the stench of rotting flesh, and waits until the first rank of zombies is close enough to strike. Given the tight quarters of the passage, he chooses to chop downwards in a powerful arc at the zombie attempting to cleave it in one. His sword bites deep but the feeling-less creature continues to shamble forward. Dodging back into the darkness in the corner, Dren wretches at the stench of long decayed flesh that rolls like a wave of putrescence out of the yawning space of the doorway. Grasping his blade which is hidden from the light within his cloak, Dren holds his breath in the darkness hoping to remain undetected and also to avoid swallowing one of the large black flies that buzz in a cloud around the rotting corpses, shambling out before him. Dren waits until the zombies have passed, then stabs the rearmost in the back. His blade slices through the thing's spinal cord, dropping the creature. As none of the zombies managed to impale themselves on Pyrrhic's spear, he lunges forward from his crouching position, attempting to drive his spear into one of the undead, while maintaining a position in the second row however he gets caught up in the uneven flagstones of the corridor and is unable to engage any of the monsters. Peaches recites a magical incantation: "Kamehameha, bitches!" The magical missiles strike the zombie with unerring accuracy jerking its torso back but failing to stop its steady advance. Claude holds his ground, next to Peaches, spear ready in case any of the foul creatures go after his mistress. Nightsong sees Pyrrhic choose to attack rather than wait to see if the Zombies might impale themselves, and then looks to Dren just in time to see him leap from beside the door at the nearest Zombie. As he watches the skillful lunge, he increases the tension in the bowstring and waits for Dren to step back away from his victim. At that exact moment, Nightsong knows he'll have a shot, but he has to time it perfectly. Nightsong looses his arrow down the corridor hoping to perforate the Zombie before it can decide to turn around, maybe to draw its attention away from Dren, who may be separated from the group in a moment. The arrow flies straight at its target but Nightsong gasps seeing the zombie Dren engaged tumble. His luck holds out as the Zombie Peaches cast a magical spell at jerks backwards, intercepting the arrow.
The lead zombie swings its cadaverous arm at Bronn, hitting Bronn square in the head but the swing is crude and hardly causes a ringing in Bronn's ear.
Zombie #1: To Hit: [1d20] = 19 Damage: [1d8] = 1

The other zombie lunges towards Ubrect but the cleric is able to dodge its feeble attack.
Zombie #2: To Hit: [1d20] = 8 Damage: [1d8] = 5

Actions?

Ubrecht swings his mace wildly at the attacking zombie.

Mace (THAC0 19): [1d20+1] = 2+1 = 3, Dmg [1d6+1] = 6+1 = 7

Yanking his gore-splattered blade from the tumbling corpse, Dren realises that he is yet undetected by the remaining undead and as Nightsongs arrow strikes the zombie before him, jolting it further back in his direction, he steps forwards behind the beast, ramming his blade into the creatures back.

Dren is kicking all sorts of ass...

Bronn grunts in disgust as his blade fails to stop the zombie's advance. He gets his boot up into its chest and rips the blade free, splattering gore across the narrow hallway.

He looks the zombie dead in the face and speaks clearly and eloquently to it as he thrusts forward with the point of his blade:

""We're not interested in shambling death, blah blah, eat your relatives, blah blah, braiiinnnnnsssss yadda, yadda. Perhaps this will illustrate my POINT!"

Two Handed Sword: To Hit [1d20+2] = 20+2 = 22, To Damage [1d10+2] = 5+2 = 7

Peaches is mildly disappointed that her favorite spell did not put down the zombie without help. She decides to switch to more mundane tactics, whipping out her sling and hurling a bullet at the zombie that hit Bronn.

Sling at zombie (short range) [1d20+2] = 8+2 = 10

Won't bother with a damage roll.

Pyrrhic stumbles slightly on the uneven stones, dropping into a roll, coming up just behind the front rank and shoving his spear into the undead foes.

To hit with Spear: [1d20+1] = 10+1 = 11, damage: [1d6+1] = 6+1 = 7

Ubrecht swings his mace wildly at the attacking zombie, unable to connect as he switches his holy symbol for his mace. Yanking his gore-splattered blade from the tumbling corpse, Dren realizes that he is yet undetected by the remaining undead and as Nightsongs arrow strikes the zombie before him, jolting it further back in his direction, he steps forwards behind the beast, ramming his blade into the creatures back and watching it slide to the ground. Bronn grunts in disgust as his blade fails to stop the zombie's advance. He gets his boot up into its chest and rips the blade free, splattering gore across the narrow hallway. He looks the zombie dead in the face and speaks clearly and eloquently to it as he thrusts forward with the point of his blade: "We're not interested in shambling death, blah blah, eat your relatives, blah blah, braiiinnnnnsssss yadda, yadda. Perhaps this will illustrate my POINT!" Peaches is mildly disappointed that her favorite spell did not put down the zombie without help. She decides to switch to more mundane tactics, whipping out her sling and hurling a bullet at the zombie that hit Bronn but the zombie has already been dispatched by Bronn's blade and the bullet whizzes harmlessly by. Pyrrhic stumbles slightly on the uneven stones, dropping into a roll, coming up just behind the front rank and shoving his spear into the undead foes.
The zombies have once again been laid to rest. The door into the next chamber stands open, inviting you in.

Ubrecht cautiously pokes his head inside the chamber and looks around.

Panting with the adrenaline fuelled after effects of combat, Dren tears a scrap of cloth from the zombies and wipes his blade as clean as he is able, whilst swatting at the large black flies now beginning to rest on the stationary creatures. Wondering who these undead once were, Dren looks at the corpses in more detail, trying to discern anything to identify them or how they came to be trapped here.

"Take care if that room beyond you enter ..... " Dren whispers whilst pausing to catch his breath and finish examining the corpses ".... slain these fellows were, and maybe that room stands responsible for that act"

Ubrecht - Dren -

Ubrecht describes the room to the others. "30 foot to opposite wall, 10 foot to the wall on either side. Left wall angles toward door that's slightly ajar. Room empty. Also heard a hammer sound in the distance, but it stopped."

"Movin' on?" he asks.

Nightsong listens as Ubrecht describes the newly opened room. He slowly releases his breath simultaneously with the tension on the bowstring that he was just about to unleash before the last of the shamblers fell.

Thankful that no one was grievously injured and curious about the creatures former identities, Nightsong carefully examines the remains for any identifying items while checking to see if his arrow was salvageable. Perhaps a piece of armor or the shape of the ears will tell what race or locale these monsters originally hailed from. Nightsong's curiousity and sense of exploration have finally begun to push through the sense of dread he has felt since entering this tomb, although not quenching it completely.

Looking down at his bow, Nightsong realized the slight nervous shake in his left knee had settled itself. It was a tick he had when he felt stress. Up to this point, he had steadied himself before each shot. Perhaps that would no longer be necessary.

Seeing Nightsong easing back from his combat stance, Dren nods to the elf as he approaches to examine the corpses and retrieve his arrows. 'A thinker this elf, as well as a warrior' Dren muses as the lithe fey searches for clues as he had just done.

"Rarely has Dren met your kind Nightsong, for quiet was Larm and the elves that passed through on the river kept their own company most times. Are all your kind as skilled with the bow as yourself? Also is it truth that your kind grow from seeds as do the plants as Haldo at the Borderland Tavern has told it?"

As he squats down to retrieve his arrow, Nightsong looks up at the sound of Dren's voice only to realize they are currently at each others eye level. Even though Dren's voice was but a whisper, Nightsong could not help but jump ever so slightly as he was somewhat engrossed in the inspection of the freshly vanquished shamblers.

Giving the question some thought Nightsong gives a muffled chuckle and replies, also in a hushed tone, "As you say it, so have your small folk been few in my wood. Quiet indeed. I can't speak for all the great houses, but yes it is our way in the Verith'lal house to seek composure in all things as a matter of courtesy and respect for all the life around us. And those among us with a talent begin to train with the balleltior, or as you call it, the bow at a very early age. Some, too, train with the sword and spear. "

As he nears the end of his corpse searching, Nightsong continues...

"As for coming from seeds, I think you refer to a common misconception of our kind. In our tongue, we use the word "Kelnor-Itel" to mean seedling when referring to plants. We use the same word when referring to Elves. But in that context, the closest translation would be "young one". The words are very close in meaning and almost interchangeable but change based on what is being described. So rest assured, we are born and die as you see me now, an Elf of the deep wood. I hope some day to learn the ways of other peoples, perhaps you could help me with that as the opportunity arises, good sir."

Nightsong suddenly realizes that the area has grown quiet, the din of combat now completely settled, and that he has been rambling.

"Well let's get a move on," says Peaches. She and Claude take their places in the middle of the group when they move into the room. She declines, for the moment, to add her thoughts on elf reproduction to the discussion.

Pyrrhic moves back to watching the rear, the shadows of the dispatched corpses flickering the torch light. Pyrrhic says softly "This place seems obviously man-made. Was it built as a burial chamber, or for some more nefarious purpose? How far into the moors does this go?"