- "Great was the blood letting that day! The ice became red slush for a league or more. The Stormbulls went mad with it, shrieking at the sky. Some of them, they drop their axes and leap on my fellows, biting off limbs and heads with their teeth. We cut them bad, sliced them open and still they would not stop eating the spilt gore. Dere is no wit in their heads when the blood song sings, only the desire to maim and eat. Several of my cousins and one of my brothers died like this. He died screaming. It was not a good death"
- —Holger Algersson, Norse Mercenary.
When Morrslieb is full in the sky, the Gorebulls roar out a bellowing call that resounds around the forest for many miles, attracting yet more Minotaurs and invoking the bloodgreed that runs through all of their kind.[1a]
Soon the forest will echo to the thunder of gargantuan hooves as Minotaurs gather by the hundred at the Herdstone, pawing the ground in their haste to trample and crush. It is not only Minotaurs who heed the call of the bloodgreed, for sometimes the Beastmen themselves will be swept up in the rush of primal instinct to fight and to feed. As bands of Minotaurs crash through the trees towards the settlements and fortifications of the civilised races, so groups of Gors and other Beastmen follow in their wake, consumed by the desire to wolf down the hot flesh of their enemies.[1a]