#The Six Princes (Brood of Slaanesh);

[slaanxsh]

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The incursion into the Mortal Realms by the armies of Khorne had been far from unnoticed. Such was the consequence of the Blood God and his minions on the Great Game; rival powers would alter long-held plans, delay schemes, or quite simply get themselves out of the way and let more foolish daemons or mortals pit themselves as the daemon-iron blades of the Blood Legions.

The Order had come down from Slaanesh, on the swift and sure foot of his heralds: find the six-princes and order their return to the Rings of Pleasure immediately. One had already returned, which just left the remaining five, four of which were easily found and persuaded. Even as Slaanesh's offspring, the princes were rarely so audacious as to ignore a direct order from their father-mother.

Which made S'ríash's absence....noteworthy.

The most seasoned Heralds and huntresses could not find hide or hair of their Prince's child. Their godly spoor led only to dead ends and after a while, dead ends turned into dead daemons, victims of the Pleasure God's increasingly short temper. It was eventually concluded that S'ríash was no longer in the Mortal Realms, but hidden in the warp and away from the Dark Prince's prying eyes.

So Slaanesh had sent for the remaining five. And he had focused his attention on Ïéxiish, the last one to see the Six-Prince.

"𝐸𝑛𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑙��𝑖𝑠ℎ 𝑔𝑎𝑚𝑒, Ïé𝑥𝑖𝑖𝑠ℎ! 𝐼𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑢𝑛𝑛𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑦 𝑝𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝑒𝑛𝑑."

" It is no game, sire." Ïéxiish was on her knees before the Satin throne, her siblings behind her trying their best to look uninteresting. " When the Red God came, I fled and S'ríash did not. The Heralds found traces of him in the aftermath of a great, bloody battle but nothing more."

Slaanesh, unsure what to make of it all, continued to pace and glare daggers at his daughter. He could scent no lies on her. On any of them. Whatever scheme had taken his child from him hadn't involved any S'ríash's siblings. D'ýosh came forward, catching the God of Pleasure's attention. He didn't dare look Slaanesh in the eyes, playing with his talons and fidgeting under his mother-father's gaze.

" I visited the scene with my fiends. Ïéxiish speaks true, but there was more there, underneath all the blood. Even your Steeds could have...overlooked it. But a Fiend's tongue is quite keen, my own are bred for--" D'ýosh caught the beginnings of irritation beginning to worm it's way onto Slaanesh's face, and quickly course-corrected from his bragging.

" Anyway. There was a malignity there. Nurglish in origin." D'ýosh explained.

"𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘜𝘳-𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘵?"

D'ýosh nodded slowly, " They say he has created a new phage. One that can slay a god. And to my understanding, Nurgleth always tests his creations before releasing them. Yes, he has Poxfulcrum, but why kill his beloved phage-slave when he could slay an enemy instead? At least, that is my thinking."

Slaanesh's brow knitted. It wasn't totally farfetched...Nurgle had taken samples from them all in meetings past, in order to free them from the Malal induced malignity they had all caught. But, what could help could also be twisted and corrupted to harm. That was the way of the Nurglish.

A deep frown marring his beautiful, alien features, Slaanesh looked to his children, five where there should be six.

" 𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘯. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘣𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘗𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘎𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘐 𝘥𝘰."

[slaanxsh]

Northlands, Realm of Mortals

Winter had gripped the North. Always an icy land, the turning of the seasons made the unforgiving land even moreso. But still, life continued on, eking out an existence despite the deep snow and deeper chill. Nature contesting against itself. The sheer persistence of those with beating hearts and bright souls. The simple beauty to be found in fresh snow--

" S'ríash."

The godling twitched an ear, then turned around, meeting the baleful gazes of his sibling. Ïanesh and D'ýosh both leered back at him, the eldest and youngest respectively. Ïanesh sniffed. "We are not here to sightsee. Come."

" Oh-- we've been searching for father and that prince for ages. All of D'ýosh's tactics have gotten us nothing and nowhere!" S'ríash complained, earning himself an ugly look from the sibling in question. Ïanesh's stern look turned sly, his leaf-green eyes drifting over to catch the wine-dark gaze of his younger sibling, D'ýosh.

"Be that as it may, we do not have the luxury of time in the mortal realm."

" A pity. The snow is so beautiful." S'ríash stuck out his tongue, catching snowflakes upon it.

D'ýosh shouldered his way into the conversation, " If you two do not like my plans, you can damn well make your own!"

Ïanesh crossed his arms, " Are you not the so-called best hunter among us?"

D'ýosh's nose wrinkled, " A god is a different matter than a god-beast. And Slaanesh has forbidden the use of my Sybelliant, Plieth, and Caressa."

"Hah!" Ïanesh crowed, " Nothing without your precious Leapers? I should have expected as much."

The pair descended into bickering and not for the first time. S'ríash watched them, waiting until he could edge into the fighting.

" At this rate, our sisters will find the pair before we will. They will hold that victory over our heads for eternity and we will be lower in father's sight." S'ríash commented. That stopped the argument, though he could see both of his siblings were reluctant to abandon it (especially D'ýosh, who had been losing).

" You are right, baby brother. We are wasting time." Another cruel look D'ýosh's way. Ïanesh stopped, thinking, playing with a lock of his dark blond hair. His younger brothers looked at him expectantly.

"South."

"South?" D'ýosh and S'ríash parroted, one with excitement, the other with trepidation.

" If one were to hide themselves, to lose themselves...they would head south." Ïanesh looked at the two, waiting to be contested. D'ýosh didn't disappoint.

" A fine way to cast our uncle's gazes upon us."

" Nurgleth, Kharneth, and Tzeen'neth have bigger problems. And, we will guise ourselves, so they cannot detect us, obviously. Sésserish, T'tevtesh, and Ïéxiish are probably there already, closer to the quarry while we bumble about in the snow. So yes, south. Unless you have a better idea, D'ýosh?"

D'ýosh, again, did not disappoint, " Why don't be separate? That way, we will cover more ground. And, I can be spared looking at your ugly mug for a while."

Ïanesh looked absolutely scandalized, a sharp, dramatic gasp wrenched from his throat. Rage came out his beautiful, sharp features, and just like that, the older and younger were back dueling wits with one another. S'ríash sagged, rolled his pine-green eyes, and shifting surreptitiously into the form of a piebald serpent.

Whatever Ïanesh's feelings on the matter, splitting up was a good idea...

[slaanxsh]

Southlands, Stirland, Domain of the Civilized

S'ríash had claimed the right to search the southern part of the world for himself, leaving Ïanesh to scour the West and D'ýosh to scour the east. Nominally, the south encompassed many races and cultures and S'ríash was excited to explore them all....but pragmatically, this meant the Empire. Jewel of mankind, fixation of all the gods of chaos, veritable second-domain of S'ríash's mother-father Slaanesh. Full of cultists and underlings who would readily do the bidding of the Pleasure God's child, fruit from the Prince's own womb.

Unfortunately for S'ríash, Ïéxiish had quite a similar idea and was a damn side more persuasive than he was. Now, S'ríash was generally considered the most personable of his siblings, but in the face of Ïéxiish abrasiveness and sheer arrogance, even the youngest of the Six Princes found himself losing his patience. Her offer of joining forces had been firmly and soundly rejected and so the rivalry and contests for the mortal hearts of the County of Stirland began.

Ïéxiish had laid claim to most of those who had pledged their souls to almighty Slaanesh, leaving S'ríash with scraps. But the oft underestimated and overlooked youngest was nothing if not resourceful. All were potential followers of his father, all could be his, provided they were properly lured and sated...

And S'ríash saw no reason why this could not be true for those already bearing the marks of the other gods. Such was his rivalry with his sister that the pair of them all but forgot to search for their wayward father, Ishtaran. Only news of a Great Red God put any kind of damper on their contest, both godlings taking evasive maneuvers. S'ríash had hidden himself and his followers away. Ïéxiish had fled completely, unwilling to be anywhere near what sounded like an incarnation of that Angriest of Gods, Khorne. She would slither off, leaving her followers to be snapped up by the victorious S'ríash, and the feast to celebrate the youngest's final supremacy had been raucous indeed.

Debauchery; a typical sort that grew more atypical as the night wore on. Gleeful murder descended into rabid carnage, more fitting to a cur with distemper than the followers of the Dark Prince. Perhaps the Khornate Incarnation's appearance had further reaching consequences than the six-prince could have imagined? Perhaps Ïéxiish was wise to leave when she did...

Whatever the reason, S'ríash found himself in the middle of countless broken bodies, foaming at the mouth, viewing the world through a patina of bloody red. Most of the crimson belonged to his followers, but some of this was definitely his own, rent by his own claws and fangs. He lay now in the aftermath, exhausted, this physical vessel spent. There was movement. Felt more than seen, but even through the haze of red, he could make out figures and twisted up his pretty features at the reek of magic. They chuckled as they took him into hand.

" God-Pox indeed." Hissed the voice.