It seems impossible, but here, at least thirty miles from the nearest town, stands a circular stone well, about eight feet wide in diameter, dressed fieldstone rising three feet out of the ground. Above this arches a stone trilithion, carved with many symbols. Astute or eldritch-trained visitors recognize a few of these as debased symbols reminiscent of the ancient elves, though the handiwork of the well is decidedly not their work.
A much weather-worn rope is lashed about the lintel stone, descending into the putrid-smelling depths. It is within arm's reach of the eastern side of the well, and the stone face seems scuffed, as though by passage of feet clambering over the low wall.
The well itself descends some fifty feet into the earth, ending and widening out into a long, shallow room, about eighty feet long by twenty feet wide. At the southern end of the room is a wooden door, age-twisted in it's frame, with a heavy wooden beam serving to hold it shut from this side. In the eastern wall, a low archway opens up on a steep set of stairs, while in the north, another archway seems to lead to a second room.
The source of the putrid smell is a group of 10 zombies, clad in rotting mustard-yellow robes and black-lacquered masks bearing the symbol of a sun upon their brows. The zombies ineffectually scratch at the barred door to the south, ignoring anyone entering the well unless they make loud noises, cast spells, or come within 10'. These actions cause the zombies to turn, attack the interloper, and then (if not destroyed) go back to their previous actions.
Propped in the southeastern corner of the room, there is the semi-decayed corpse of a small dwarf (or large halfling) clad in chain mail, warhammer still clutched in withered hand. It seems evident that the poor fellow died facing the zombies. Upon his person is a backpack and rotten pouch with 12 gold. His other gear, an assortment of "generic starting adventurer" belongings, are damaged by time and weather.