Our hobby is a great thing, its background/fluff/lore is tremendously rich and inspiring and I love it. We should never forget it is made to fuel our creativity, not bound it. No one should never, ever, EVER discourage someone from stepping into this fantasy world by laughing down his/her work.
The Pink Berzerker
Once upon a time during the 41st millennium lived a boy and that boy had a pink scarf and pink socks that his mother had knitted and his father had dyed.
The scarf and socks brought colour and light in his gloomy, greasy, dirty, brownish world.
The boy lived on a remote Imperial world, in a remote Imperial hive and felt Imperial rule never brought him anything good.
The boy had been laughed at many many times, for he had a pink scarf and pink socks.
He was laughed at by boys and girls, by adults and kids, by shop keepers and local militia guardsmen.
One day an Imperial priest, all dressed in black and gold robes, summoned him to teach him about the God Emperor on his Golden Throne.
He taught him of the never sleeping spirit that guides mankind to the light, of the almighty Emperor that sees in our hearts and souls; and he told him that the Emperor thinks that socks and scarfs shouldn’t be pink.
Why does the God Emperor care, thought the boy, why doesn’t he care more about orks and tyrannids and rotten crops, about bad weather and the happiness of his people, than about one boy’s scarf and socks?
But the boy knew better than to speak his thoughts out loud.
When the boy’s parents died, killed in an industrial accident with hundreds of other workers, the boy was taken to an Imperial Administratum orphanage.
There a woman clad in an imperial uniform stripped him of his clothes, and wanted to dress him in a brown stinky robe, but he did not let her strip him of his pink scarf and pink socks.
And then he was beaten.
He was beaten in the name of the mercy of the Emperor and in the name of the wonder that is mankind, he was beaten in the name of all that is holy and all that is kind, he was beaten in the name of his fellow Imperial citizens and of the mighty Lords on Terra.
For socks should be brown and scarfs should be brown too.
And after the beating his body was bloody and sore, but he never gave up his pink scarf and his pink socks.
The boy ran away, covered in blood and bruises, pink scarf around his neck and pink socks on his feet.
Was Khorne laughing on his throne? The story does not tell.
The boy ended up working all the infamous tasks one of his age and size could work in spacesports and on spaceships.
He worked hard in cramped and dirty spaces, during long exhausting trips, with sweaty and stinky crew, he was captured and sold a slave many times and ran away more than once.
The story doesn’t tell how he ended up greasing the engine of a chaos cultists barge, neither does it tell how he found himself among chaos Astartes warriors of Khorne during a raid.
The story doesn’t tell what the Blood God on his Skull Throne saw in the boy that was now on the verge of becoming a man either.
But after one battle, when the leader of the warband laught at the washed-up pink scarf and the worn out pink socks and wanted to take them away, for Khorne followers should wear red and black and bronze, a furious rage and infinite bloodlust consumed the boy.
He grabbed one of his tools and jumped on the so called « warlord » and fueled by his rage, anger and years of burning resentment, he slit the « warlord » throat.
Then he grabbed the « warlord » weapon and took down the stunned heretic Astartes that were forming his guard.
Was Khorne laughing on his throne? The story does not tell.
But when the boy that was now a man emerged from the fight in the main room of the barge, holding the so called « warlord » axe in his hand, covered in blood, the other heretic Astartes recognized their God own fury in his eyes and they knelt before him.
The boy that was a boy no more endured tremendous pain and suffering at the hand of the warband sorceror and mad apothecary, pain and suffering far worse than the beating he had received many many years before, but that was nothing because he had chosen his path and the pain and suffering had a purpose.
He was an Astartes now, serving his God and voicing out loud his spite for the lies of the followers of the False Emperor on his golden throne.
He was not to be affraid anymore, nor was he to be laughed at anymore, nor was he to cry anymore.
Was Khorne laughing on his throne? The story does not tell.
When the men and women and shop keepers that had laughed heard the reports about pink armoured Khorne berzekers raiding their system, they did not laugh.
When the local militia heard the roar of the pink armoured warriors charging their line, they did not laugh.
When the Imperial priest and the woman in charge of the orphanage were brought before a pink armoured Warlord wearing a pink scarf around his neck (and pink socks on his feet), holding a mighty and vicious axe and towering upon them, they did not laugh.
Now the skulls of those who laughed ornate the Skull Throne of the Blood God and the story does tell that at that point he laughed.
Each time some Imperial fool thinks He cares about the colour of his warriors’ armour, the Blood God laughs and the axes of pink armoured berzerkers are the last thing the fool sees.
This post was inspired by a very sad story told by the great evilkipper on twitter. Since then I also discussed the issue of welcoming people to the hobby with others and you can read Predrag Vasiljevic take on this here.
Banner picture found here. Note that the red of the armour is so light that it looks…pinkish. Anyone having pink Khorne followers painted and willing to send me pics to illustrate this post is welcome to do so (here). Haters gonna hate.
Le Terrier du Verménarque 
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