Among the Bloodbound of Khorne, the Skullfiend Tribe are reckoned headhunters even by the grim standards of their kin, for to them the taking of skulls is not the by-product of war but its whole grammar — craft, currency, and creed at once. A Skullfiend measures his worth and his standing before the Blood God in one unit only: heads. Coin means nothing to such warriors; a rival's tally means everything.
Their encampments announce the creed before a word is spoken. Trophy-racks rise between the tents like leafless forests, hung with the yellowed skulls of a thousand campaigns, creaking in the wind with a sound the tribe holds to be the truest music. Warriors compete ceaselessly to heap their racks higher than their neighbours', and the murderous disputes this breeds are settled the only way the Skullfiend know — with more skulls, freshly taken. This makes the tribe a furnace of ambition forever one insult from turning inward, yet also peerless in the harvest. A Skullfiend warband does not fight to win ground or break a line; it fights to reap, and counts a battle failed if a single enemy head is left on its shoulders.
Blades of Khorne
Order of battle
The The Skullfiend Tribe field the units of the Blades of Khorne — a detachment from the roster:
Kindred formations
Other Blades of Khorne formations
Reapers of VengeanceKhorne's own executioners — a daemon-heavy slaughterhost loosed upon those who have personally offended the Blood God, from oathbreakers to sorcerers who dare steal kills owed to his tally. The Reapers descend without warning and withdraw only when the debt has been paid in heads.
The BloodlordsA daemon slaughterhost obsessed with quality over quantity: the Bloodlords hunt the champions, monsters, and heroes of the realms, for only the mightiest skulls are fit to crown the Blood God's mountain. Lesser foes are cut aside merely to clear the path to a worthy kill.
The GoretideThe vast mortal horde of Korghos Khul, which drowned the kingdoms of Aqshy's Great Parch during the Age of Chaos and has never stopped marching. Clad in rust-red plate, the Goretide advances like a wound that will not close, driven onward by their master's hunt for the one skull denied him.