Hi Guys,

Here is a new item I have been working on; little interviews with the gods of 40K. I hope you like it.

KHORNE

What?! An intruder in my realm?! Where is this intruder?! Who is brave and bold enough to come to the centre of my fortress? What warrior seeks to challenge ME in battle?! SHOW YOURSELF!

…Ah there you are brave warrior. A human, I expect no less. What is it An'ggrath?...NO! This thing that comes has traversed through my Fortress to me. I will not deny myself a fight with this warrior, nor will I deny this warrior of a worthy fight. Any who slay this fighter shall face my wrath!

Now, brave warrior, come closer to my pyre, into the light. Don't be shy little warrior, I am not going to kill you. At least not yet. Ah, I smell fear and concern. Afraid you may have bitten off more than you can chew? It gets the blood pumping does it not?

My blood is pumping as well, but for an entirely different reason. It has been a long time since an intruder has come before me. My fortress is not something that can be traversed by anyone. To swim through the blood rivers of Pal'torek, to move through my infernal legions, to sidestep my cannons, and yes, to finally enter the Brass Citadel.

Yessss….you are truly a warrior worth fighting. For the first time in an age I can finally stretch my legs and taste the sweet nectar of combat. My sword, 'The Warmaker' longs to take blood once more. But what is this; you come with no weapons? Ah, so you wish to challenge me in hand to hand combat do you? You are either brave or a fool to challenge me the mighty Khorne. Marvellous. Truly marvellous.

A warrior will brand anything his weapon, but only a true fighter will use hands as their weapon. Very well warrior, though my sword hungers for blood, it shall remain in its sheath.

Yes. We shall do battle, a glorious battle and when you die by my hand your skull be sanctimonious amongst the others that make my throne. A proud trophy which I shall keep preserved and treasured from now to the end of eternity! SO COME BRAVE WARRIOR! LET US DO BATTLE!

Ah, the warrior speaks. Yes you feel the battle approach, the thirst rises in you? Though afraid you are excited, yes. What is it warrior? Let my Daemons know what a true warrior sounds like.

….'Don't get up?' What do you speak of?

….You are not here for a fight? THEN WHY ARE YOU HERE! Why have you traversed my Fortress if not for a fight? What kind of warrior are you?

…'To talk'?...HOW DARE YOU COME BEFORE ME?! I should smite you right now and cast your soul into this fire pit along with all the other cowards! Foul worm, you are not even worthy of my blade or my attention! An'ggrath, deal with this insect!

….Hold, An'ggrath. My thirst for blood is denied, but my interest is piqued. What could you possibly want to talk about that you risked traversing my Fortress risking a bloody death? Speak insect, before I lose interest.

…Me? You wish to discuss me? Such flattery and arrogance. You think your puny mind can comprehend me? But if you wish to hear Khorne then so be it, take a seat insect.

I notice you are staring at my throne. Larger than you thought huh? To you perhaps, but these skulls are the accumulation of thousands of years of combat. When I first became aware, the throne was little no larger than an Emperor Class Titan. Now look at it.

But know insect, I am not ungrateful of my throne. I reflect on the blood spilled in my name just as much as I look forward to the blood yet to be spilled. Each skull belonged to someone, and they died for me. Willingly or not is inconsequential and I find it appropriate to know their names.

This one here, belonged to Martelli Acheius of Krieg.

This one here belonged to Crull of the World Eaters, a pleasantly sadistic acolyte but he learned at the hands of an Ork that a warrior must be skilled, strong and intelligent.

This one here belongs to an Ork by the name of Dakka 'Ong Killington, a particular ruthless Warboss who caused quite a mess in the western fringes of the galaxy.

But this one here I am particularly fond of, this unremarkable skull belonged to Spencer Fif, a veteran of the Berserkers. A true acolyte who knew me better than others. Knowing my desire for blood was paramount, he took his own life. As a token of his loyalty I always keep him close, right here just where armrest meets the spine of my throne. Do you see it?

…'Fif', the very name brings a smile. You wanted to talk to me insect well I have the perfect topic. Let's talk about Spencer Fif. He was a true warrior and he saw what I saw. 'What' you might ask? Well insect, he saw blood and he fell in love with it. He loved blood in all its beauty and imperfection. He loved its colour, its texture, its taste and warmth. But more than that, he loved what it represented.

What did the blood represent? It represented life, in all its forms. That is what I feel when I stare at the pools and rivers of blood that flow through my Fortress; life. Nothing is more exquisite than watching life flow out of someone's body and into your own.

More than that he appreciated the very nature of how blood came to be. It came through struggle and pain, rage and jealously. These are the elements that require blood to be shed and never has anything mortal or otherwise felt more alive than taking these dark emotions and fuel them into something spectacular.

I knew this and so did Spencer Fif. Do not believe contrary, his sacrifice was welcomed and his blood was added to the great rivers. However even though I am surrounded by Daemons and so call heretics, Spencer Fif was a rarity. He shed blood because he liked it.

Everyone at my command, from the greatest of my Daemons to the lowest of my worshippers kill and shed blood because of a reason. That is the problem. They need a reason. Angorn came to me out of vengeance. Urka Az'baramael did so out of pride and lust for power. Demonbreed did it out of fear. Even Kharn, the ever faithful, he sheds blood both enemy and ally alike. But he does it out of rage and bloodlust. Admirable qualities which I approve of, but his path to me was rimmed with pride, betrayal and resentment. Those that claim to kill for the sake of killing, although plentiful are not genuine. Those that are not driven by some personal agenda are hopelessly insane, allowing the warp to cloud their senses.

But not Spencer Fif, he did not join out of a desire for power, insanity or vengeance or anger. He definitely did not join to please me. He joined us because he liked blood, he appreciated it. He studied it like an art; took his time to enjoy it. While my acolytes share blood for me hoping to gain my favour, Fif shed blood for his own reasons. It would be appropriate to say that he never actually chose my path, but rather his path ran parallel to mine but never truly intersected. Yes, despite the company I keep and the legions that flock to my call every day, I rarely come across a sane blood aficionado.

…Don't look at me that way insect. I know what 'aficionado' means, and I know how to use it in a sentence too. I do not know where you people get these ideas of me being a mindless brute, most likely because of Tzeentch. That duplicitous, arrogant pansy is nothing without its bag of tricks. That quaint little maze thinks it can stop anyone from encroaching on its safety. But what is to stop someone levelling the entire maze?

That is what it and Slaanesh fail to understand. They are completely driven by self-interest, they are never just interested in doing something for the sake of doing it. There always has to be a plan, they never just DO IT! They are always thinking and imagining. I suppose in the end that is why I was given life by humans as opposed to the Eldar. While Eldar are intellectual and boring, man is very much an animal race.

While Eldar are interested in what colour a plant should be, man is killing each other and droves, given to their primal element. All that desire to shed blood would amount to something. In this case it was me.

I have a fondness for blood. As a consequence, I hold an affinity for all those emotions and reasons that would lead to blood being drawn. I am warrior because what else would shed blood. I am the personification of hate and anger because those are the primary drives that fuel bloodshed. But they are just labels. Something a puny mind gives so it can understand, but they cannot see me for what I truly am.

And what I am is a haemophiliac.

….Yes, I know what that word means too. As a haemophiliac I know blood. I know it very well. I am called the Blood God for a reason, speck. As a consequence, although I love blood I know its quality when I see it.

The river over here flows with the blood of the noble and proud. Warriors through and through, you can tell by its texture, slick like oil. But this one here, no not that one, the other one, the flows with the blood of the devoted, its texture is nondescript but the smell, of copper and earth.

That eerie red glow from the river next to it; that is Eldar blood. That runs unpleasantly low and has been for some millennia. The Eldar have forsaken the path of true warriors and embraced trickery. Failing that, Slaanesh claims them for her own…purposes. Freak. I cannot tell me which irks me more.

A new river that has begun to flow is that of the Tau, that strange bluish substance over there. I know it looks gigantic to you, but to me it is little more than a cup. I watch it more out of curiosity than actual enjoyment, their blood is gelatinous and boring.

The Ork river over there is less a river and more a tidal wave. But despite its impressive size it is unappetizing and unremarkable. Have you ever partaken in Ork blood?

…No I suppose not. Be thankful for it is weak and petty. It is like comparing a mass of bread as opposed to an elegant fine wine.

Don't get me started on Tyranids. Those annoying little shits. I might as well try and get blood out of a rock. They fight for every drop and desperately claim everything they lost. There is no sport behind them. There is nothing interesting about those creatures apart from the fact that they want to steal my game for their own. To hell with THAT!

That river behind you that contains the blood of faithful, those humans who serve Anythema. Strangely enough I have always enjoyed watching that river the most. It is easily the most beautiful and prevalent in my Fortress. More so, the blood contains fear…so much fear.

I know what you are thinking. 'If they are so fearful, wouldn't they be cowards', the answer is no. Every man who is in battle faces fear, but only cowards allow that fear to overcome them. That is the difference between the blood that flows in this river and the chaff that is cast into the pyre here.

…You look upset. Could it be that you can hear their screams? Do not weep for the worthless, for like I said, they are just chaff.

I must admit mortal, our little talk was much more amusing than I thought it would. But I grow weary of this. This is normally the part where I would allow my Daemons to split your skull. But it would seem a waste to kill you after you have heard all I said. Besides I have sacrifices being offered to me even as we speak. Your blood can wait.

So go insect, leave and do not return. You clearly were not meant for this place. But know that I am aware of your existence and I will be with your forever. Every paper cut, every scratch; I will be there.

Go.

0o0o0o

Hope you enjoyed.