Somewhere not on this plane....

His legs stomped the halls of the citadel like a giant, as fast as a lioness, his hands clutched "Slaughter" and "Pain". The taste of blood was still fresh in his mouth from his last kill, elation filled him as "Slaugther" bit deep into the back of another patron of the Slaughtering Citadel. As he began hacking and cleaving separating the head from the body of his kill, the ground around him began to turn into a pool of blood and his feet sank slowly and then in the blink of an eye he fell into the pool and was gone.

She rested her hand against the stone, grateful that even in death she could bring forth silence, otherwise the howling would have broken her mind. Her ancient eladrin eyes could even see in the dark which was good, because most light sources could not survive in the darkness of these tunnels, the howling winds snuffs them out almost immediately. She was not entirely sure where to go or why, but hardly a surprising reward for dying as the willing henchman of a crazed king of bloody slaughter. Her left hand fell down and rested on her trusted old spellbook, she took a break, then the ground beneath her turned soft and a second later she was falling.

He stroked his brow and followed it to the tip of his right horn, enjoying the sights. The random explosions of violence, so beautiful, he had always marvelled at the beauty of the chaotic nature of war. How everyone sort of belonged and came together in a pandemonium of chaos that almost made sense, like everything was meant to be even though that would contradict the chaotic side of things. He shook his head, his mind could not handle such lofty thoughts, he was more down to earth. As he stood, about to jump down from the ledge in the middle of two other patrons and tear them to pieces, he felt gravity pull him down into the stone he was standing on, into a pool of blood.

The Mace with many faces shaped as if laughing manically swiped into his victims face. His own face gleemed with glee, as much as a gnoll could portray this, he was chanting as he smashes his way through victims "From skin to bone, you will beg and moan!". His victims was fleeing, running in fear of his violence "First we slay, then we flay!" he cackled as he began tearing the skin from fallen victims. His devoutness was true and tested, he was a beacon to his people. As he butchered and slaughtered the ground around him turned to more than just spilled blood, it became a deep pool and he fell straight down into it.

Her shield blocked a blow, sword parried a swing, this fight was dragging on. She dropped her shield guard and invited the attack, let it bite deep under her arm and then she clenched down on the weapon with her arm suffering the pain and grinning like a lunatic, she had him! Her iron mask smacked into his face, bone cracked, her faceplate came crashing in one more time SMACK. She wrapped her arm around his weapon hand and brought his arm into an unnatural angle. Then all of a sudden she lost all sense of weight and plummeted into a pool of blood.

In the darkness and the howling wind a voice carried "First we slay, then we flay!" slight monotone rhythm, a drum was beating and odd offkey chimes. "Skin to bone, they will beg and moan!". In the darkness 5 globes of soft blue light shone and slowly rise, carried forth by the will of a god motivated by the voice of a mortal. "Time for slaughter, time for blood!". Below the 5 globes rise the sound of a thousand moans, bones rattle, rusty metal creaks, the stench of death fly on the howling winds.