This place is barren, ancient and imbued with dark hatred, yet seems untouched by mortal power. A roaring sound fills the room, echoing off of the slimy, pitted walls. The roar is emitted from the east, a deluge cascading from a sharp cliff. It is the roar of the blood thirst, a primal scream known to all, known in the deepest depths of the subconscious. Dredged up only in the Nightmare, it haunts this place eternally. Bones lay about the chamber, shattered, splintered into dozens of pieces. They appear to have been thrown, cast away in a violent rage. Some bones have been lodged into the walls themselves, the rock around the stone beaten with an unholy rage, a fury borne of unholy power. The floor is wet with blood, cracks jumping across the floor, holes at irregular intervals. Crumbling rock makes step precarious, especially those leading downward, to the eastern base of the bloodfall. To the west, the untouched rock gives way to the image of some grotesque tower.