BLOOD BLESSING

by Sarah Cawkwell

Prepare to be judged in His name. Prepare for your reckoning in the name of the Blood God, warrior. He has deemed you worthy of this, the ultimate reward. Not all of His followers receive this honour in person. Look upon me. I am the harbinger of death. I am the herald and consort of He Who Thirsts. I am Valkia, known as the Bloody and my face is the last that your eyes will see.

You shiver.

You react.

You know me, then? This is good. It is right and proper that a warrior who declares his loyalty to my lord and master cowers in the presence of his betters. Do not fear me, beloved. You knew this day would come. You have anticipated and hoped for my presence throughout your entire life.

Perhaps it is your fanatical devotion that makes you tremble like a leaf in the wind.

Do not die. It is not yet your time, warrior. Not quite yet. There is something that remains to be done. Listen to me, disciple and prepare to make a final choice. No, do not die. I have not yet given you permission to do that.

Look at me. What do you see? A daemon-woman, clad in armour of scarlet? Perhaps you see your queen. Do you see your equal or do you see your better? So many questions, when all you want to do is die. You tremble again.

Perhaps it is the rain, bringing an aching chill to your mortal bones.

Perhaps you are shivering in fear. Perhaps you are shivering in ecstasy. Which is it, beloved disciple? No… No, do not answer. There is no need.

I am no fool. I know that whilst your tremors may be due to any of these things, you simply shiver from the mortal wound that steals your very existence. The gaping wound in your gut through which your life bleeds, dragging you inexorably and inevitably to your end. I know the truth, beloved. It is written in your dying face and written in the blood that smears the head of your weapon. You have killed countless numbers on this battlefield today. You have slaughtered your way through your enemy without fear or hesitation, but now you can fight no longer.

It is a poor end to come to. What is a warrior without war? What is a fighter without a fight? You are dying, mortal. You are a man. Nothing more, nothing less.

But with the whisper of a single word, you could be more.

You have cried my lord’s name with every stroke of your weapon and He has received the plentiful tithe of blood reaped from the bodies of your enemies. You have strived for glory and in so doing have brought yourself to His attention. You have done well and He is prepared to give you the choice.

The rain is coming down harder now, washing the blood and ooze from your flesh, cleansing your body but your soul can never be absolved from the stains and filth that cling with tenacious determination.

This is good.

I smell the blood oozing from you; I see the life force ebb between your fingers. Each laborious beat of your heart brings another surge of scarlet bubbling to the surface. There are few things more worthy than the spilling of blood in the god’s name… but the blood of the devout is greater. Would that I could describe the scent of that purity. The taste.

So what do you desire? I offer you the greatest honour my lord can give. And it is the most simple of choices, warrior.

Death or glory.

The choice is yours. While it may seem obvious, consider what it is that you really want. Your world is bloodied and broken, your eyesight failing, but what is it that you do see? Is it the path to darkness unending, or the path to life renewed?

Life brought me to death and in that death I found life. A delightful conceit, but once I threw off the chains of my mortal existence, once Khorne granted me life beyond, I saw all. Perhaps that is what your heart desires. If you choose glory, Khorne will raise you up to more than you could ever imagine you could be. You will fight the Battle Eternal in His name, the endless thirst for blood and the desire to bring skulls to His throne driving you ever onwards. You will fall countless times in those wars, banished to the eternal realm by the foul magic and enchanted blades of the living, but you will rise again and again.

Is this the warrior’s true dream? The lust for battle, the need for bloodshed and the desire to leave a trail of broken bodies in your wake? Or is it the true dream of the warrior to end their life at the appropriate time? Do not necessarily be fooled by your tribal tradition that a warrior’s legacy begins with the legend of his death. Think on this.

What child of the Blood God would ever wish to end the battle?

You see it now, my fading friend. Death is, for many, the ultimate honour. Choose death… The pain ends and the legend begins. Choose glory and the pain no longer matters… though it remains.

Either way you choose, know that you are honoured. Choose death and I will personally reap your skull for his throne. Not for you the casual tumble into the pile. For you will come the honour of being added to the throne itself.

Choose, warrior. Your life is measured now in seconds. Whisper the word before the sands of time trickle to their inevitable conclusion or you will be just one of the other dead on this battlefield, unimportant and forgotten. Death will bring you closer to the Blood God than you would ever dare imagine. Glory will grant you the chance to serve by my side.

Which will it be?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Sarah Cawkwell is a north-east England based freelance writer. Married, with a son (who is the grown up in the house) and two intellectually challenged cats, she’s been a determined and prolific writer for many years. Her first novel, The Gildar Rift, was published in 2011. When not slaving away over a hot keyboard, Sarah’s hobbies include reading everything and anything, running around in fields with swords screaming incomprehensibly and having her soul slowly sucked dry by online games.

A BLACK LIBRARY PUBLICATION

Published in 2012 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd., Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK

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