You are the follower of The God of Blood and War. You have served him for many years, giving him blood offerings and humbly taking his blessings and gifts. He gifted you voices in your head. You stood in the middle of a meadow, a sword of masterful craftmanship in your hand. Corpses dotted the area around you, and blood dripped steadily from your blade. The meadow was stained red with the blood of your enemies, which you had sacrificed to your god. You ignored the blood splattered across you, panting.