This place is barren, the rock untouched by the chisel or the dark magic that has touched the rest of the complex. It is dark, slimy creatures thriving on the filth. A sharp, coppery smell prevails within the chamber, filling your throat, burning your eyes. It is a familiar stench, associated with the casualties of war, flanked always by Death itself. You stand upon a ledge, small, a rough path resembling stairs leading downward. The entire western half of the room is but a sea of churning blood. It rushes over stained rocks, soaked for all time in the ichor of tainted innocence. Upon one of the dryer rocks, a skull has been laid, cracked, yet almost untouched by the scarlet flow. A smaller, thinner skeleton is curled through the sockets of the eyes. It is a snake, a foolish serpent that somehow stranded itself, a mistake that evidently was its end. The roar of the falling blood echoes from the walls, filling your ears, making almost all other sound inaudible. You can follow the twisting path downward, to the base of the Bloodfall, or east, out of this cavernous room.