Acheron?

The mist began to well up, seemingly from his very feet. Queg knew something wasn't right, his hand flashed to his bastard sword. The very sword wrested from the depths of Khundrukar. Queg's eyes bulged, furiously, he tried to draw breath from a mouth that no longer could and nostrils that had been rendered useless. He was as vaguely aware of the cold metal that had just past under his chin and the life blood that now washed the floor as he was of the melodic voice, bidding him to be quiet, behind him. Queg saw the floor rushing up at him but he never hit it. The blackness that overcame Queg was impenetrable, or was it? A distant voice, a far away voice, yelled unintelligibly. It became clearer and clearer, as if Queg was rushing towards it or it to him. No sooner than Queg could decipher what it was saying, a great flash of white light and a sharp searing pain shot through the half-orc.
"Dwarves and elves, elves and dwarves!" came a scream, an impossible scream, in the deep guttural tongue of the orcs. Again, a crack and the sudden coolness in the stifling air told Queg that he had just lost another swatch of skin. Flayed to the bone, Queg gradually became aware of his surroundings, the iron under his feet and the battles raging all around him could only mean one thing...Acheron. Acheron, the home plane of his deity, Gruumsh. Constant battle was waged here, vast war cubes with infinite armies engaged in constant strife against one another for no other reason than bloodletting. Queg's eyes snapped to their fullest diameter, as a wet splash announced another crack of a flesh rending implement. Daring a glance over his shoulder, Queg saw his god, or his god thing.
Shorter than Queg but twice his bulk and outfitted in black full plate, Gruumsh assailed Queg relentlessly.
"Dwarves, wretched friend of dwarves. Elf lover, stinking elf lover." Gruumsh spit.
His unblinking eye, centered on his cauldron like head, fell on Queg and promised an eternity of pain.
"I will tear out the half of you worth beating and leave the other half for the devils, elf lover!" Gruumsh howled as his blows fell faster and faster.
How many blows fell? Queg could not tell. The pain, or the planar qualities of Acheron caused time to stand still. His ruined flesh lie in piles at his feet. Sweat mingled with tears stung Queg's eyes. The battles raged ever on around him. How he longed to trade places with the warriors, a stand up fight. He saw, to, that the combatants were too busy being ran through by swords or impaled on pole arms to witness Queg's shame and torment at the hands of his god. His god, the one he followed more out of tradition than any faith based calling. The one thing they had in common, the only portion of Gruumsh's dogma that Queg subscribed to, was battle. Queg, loved it. He had tried to take up smithing, to scare away his demons. The war mongering, the blood lust that comes over the half-orc. He had tried, and failed to deny these urges. But no longer, he would walk onto the infernal fields of battle that are Acheron, and he would die a thousand deaths, he would fall a hundred times but would fell ten times that many. If only the torture would end.
"Don't you dare!" the tone of the god thing changed from rage and elation to confusion and trepidation. Gruumsh heard it. A calling, a voice somewhere off plane. The god double his efforts, no longer wishing enduring torment, but to keep the traitorous half-orc here, on his plane.
Queg barely understood, the scourge whistled wildly on and around his shattered form. Each attack landing with gut wrenching pain and skin flaying destruction. The blow, the last one, the first one, Queg couldn't tell anymore, landed with a finality that rocked the warring plane. The hooks of the scourge sank into unprotected meat and bone. Anchoring him to the spot. Queg heard it then, what was obviously a fell voice to Gruumsh was music to him. The barbarian knew that his friends were calling. They needed him and he intended to go.
Reading his thoughts, knowing his every move Gruumsh raged on. "If you go half breed, you only prolong the inevitable. Your suffering will be the thing of songs and nightmares of children." Gruumsh stamped and snorted. He pulled on the scourge which was now more a part of Queg than the god thing's weapon.
It was too late, however, because once called the choice became Queg's. The path back had been laid out before him. A hand of hope had been extended into this unholy place with the sole intention of ripping Queg back from death...and rip it did.
The curses spewed from Gruumsh like lava from an angry volcano. His voice growing more and more distant. Queg's mouth fell open in horror and pain as the scourge finally tore from him, the sinister weapon's reach extending long after the angry god's voice had died away.
Queg's eyes fluttered open, a glowing staring priest of Pelor standing over him. The horror filled visage of Queg Bor a stark contrast to his companions smiling faces.