Well, I've got something: My Newly vampirised adventurer had been sent to clear a warlord out of the catacombs of the Pregnant Abbey. His companions, two spearmen and an axeman, followed him in.
It was, for lack of a better term, a massacre. The Warlord, who happened to be a master of the crossbow, sent his lackeys after us in an effort to delay our charge long enough for him to turn us into pincushions. The axeman got it in the leg, and fought valiantly against a trio of macemen, but was finally overhwlemed after they snapped every bone in his lower body, but he gave as good as he got, and gave them all massive bleeding wounds before perishing. The Spearmen fought bravely with a single lasher, but the strength of armok himself was with him, and he defeated both of my loyal meat sheilds before subcuming to a terminal case of thrown sock. The Warlord then promptly shot me in the chest, puncturing both lungs. Calmly, I withdrew the bolt and slung it back at him, striking him square in the heart.
He stared back, dumbfounded, as his deliscious lifeblood dripped from his veins, and he collapsed in a muddled heap on the floor.
Asmur Togirkamal, you shall be forever remembered. You were very...tasty.