We battled our way through the sinuous halls of the labyrinth for two days and vied with devils and aberrations alike. The deeper we delved, the more unmistakable the carvings and depictions became: the entire temple was devoted to the worship and gorging of something we could only assume was vampiric.
Eventually we crossed into a far more ancient sanctum, around which the rest of the structure had been built. As we stepped onto the dark, icy stone, we could all feel its presence. A moldering presence; a remnant of past glory; now aware of our beating hearts. We could feel its thirst, beckoning us to do battle with it; we could feel its desperation to either be renewed by our blood or finally released by our blades.
Once we entered its decrepit throne room, I almost pitied the wretch. So much fear and horror to feed what has become a desiccated husk; so many lives fantastically wasted, and for what? It was well for us that so many decades had passed, for the vampire and his guard of consorts were clearly shades of their former power. Yet, they proved formidable even in such a state.
After a final, exhausting battle, we collected tokens of our victory and stumbled thankfully out into the warmth of the light. The trek back to the ship seemed an impossibility in our current state. With little hope it would have remined upon our return, we turned to the magic of Melchris’ scroll.