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And behold, a Daemon Lord comes in the full panoply of battle. At his passing the trees gibber their rage and the stones shout their hate to an uncaring sky. He hunts the enemies of his Master, for meat is mortal flesh and his wine mortal souls.
At his left hand moans a Daemon bound in the shape of an axe. Its songs of blood and hatred echo forth and fill the the sky with a sound to stir the dead. At his right hand stand lesser Daemons, hunters all, straining at the leashes of the Hounds. They chomp upon the shades and spirits they have harried, throwing morsels of innocence to each other, so that all may sample the sweetest meats.
Behind him wait the legions of his master, arrayed in armor fluted and chased with gold, brighter than the sun and darker than midnight. Each holds and shrieking sword, each screams in disharmony with his blade, each joins the chorus of Chaos, a promise of worse than death for those who hear it. Beneath their feet, the earth writhes at their touch, as if seeking escape their presence.
Behold, a Daemon Lord comes and we are all doomed...—The Liber Chaotica, Warhammer 40000
All Daemons are falsehood. They are lies, given the shape of creatures by the power of Chaos. Fear the Daemons of Khorne for this reason and then fear them once more.—Inquisitor Lichenstein, Warhammer 40000