The fires of Mordhaus roar. In the vault, a drummer and a guitar god defend what the band has created. The bass player courageously leads as many people as he can out of the burning ballroom, the singer rescues his incapacitated rhythm guitar player, and out in the heat of battle, the brave manager strives to protect what's his.
Waves of Revengencers raid the metal palace, seeking to destroy everything they can get their hands on. But they find that once they reach a certain point, try to invade a particular area, they can go no farther.
One bugged eye and one squinty eye glares out at them from the dim space. A low snarl issues through crooked and broken teeth.
"You shall not pass through 'ere, you 'orrible fiends..."
This is his territory. He will not let them take it. He's dispatched a dozen would-be conquerors of his territory already, and the huge gleaming kitchen knives in his bent and twisted hands say plainly he would have no trouble with adding more to the small pile of bodies.
This is not normally his nature. The chef, despite his monstrous appearance, is usually a gentle, even tempered soul. But he's been forced into this. He's plenty observant- he knows who they are, what they're here for, and mon dieu, they will not take the kitchen.
The group who's come to occupy the kitchen seems somewhat at a loss. They don't know what this strange creature is, nor why it seems so bent on defending something as seemingly unimportant as the house kitchen. What they don't realize is that they might has well have come for Fafnir's gold.
This is what's precious, what's important. Jean Pierre is an extraordinary chef, and his wondrous talent for the unique and delicious is only meant for the masters of this castle. His beloved Dethklok. And if he would rather have his brains scooped out with a melon baller than miss the chance to cook for them, if he had the will to stay alive after being chopped to bits, he would fight and kill and maybe even die to defend his own precious place, his own sacred duty.
"'Ave at you."
All around, the palace of Metal, the House of Murder, is burning to ash. The five princes of Metal, their loyal knight and steward, and all of their soldiers are fighting for what means the most to them. In times such as this, it's the most anyone can do.
Even the simplest of sewn-together-wrong chefs.