Fatigued from our fight with the cultists, we stumbled through the corridors and antechambers, weary beyond rational thought. After one of us nearly plunged into a crevasse and certain death, we agreed there could be no further travel without a respite.

Despite the ill-ease that permeated into our very bones, we set about making a meager camp with our remaining supplies. We tried to sleep, to rest, but the oppressive walls and our own thoughts kept such comfort at bay. We had seen too much horror for slumber, too much evil for even the balm of forgetfulness.

And so, as we sat and tried in vain for any sense of equilibrium, they attacked. Spawn from some Abyssal plane assailed us without pause, their numbers unending.

Too weak and outmanned to fight, we had no option but to flee, seemingly useless prayers on our lips.