#exalted daemon of slaanesh

[primestartes]

The ritual was done. The boiling fluids of the sacrificed was pushing fumes that first came out in a black smog, slithering and filling the carved summoning runes and circles. It pillowing outward, stretching into slithering tendrils around the last three. The cult-masters continued to pray, their lips black and tongues bleeding with the growing laceration.

More and more reality was becoming a wavering surface. The songs of the long-insane whispering, rippling...becoming louder and louder.

Slanted eyes opening. Spines flaring with long throngs of flickering tongues.

The whimpering of the tortured was becoming a growing cadance. Whimpering into moans and swoons, a background to heavenly songs tittering. Ears was pounding. Brain pulsing. It took all of their willpower to hold themselves. Their bodies burned. Their hearts quickening under their ribs. They could feel it.

Feel him. Closer. Closer. Closer.

Then two great eyes opened into slanted squints. So close, it was too late to look away.

One bowed but the other two was frozen, their souls gone the moment they looked into the maelstroms swallowing into the endless void of its splitted pupils. They blinked. Even with the deaths of sixty-six men and women in throes of esctasy and horror was barely a tribute but enough as they rose and a hand swept the black veil into a flowing fabric of silk to wrap around a curvaceous hip.

Before the Last, he beheld his master. His god. The Arch-Angel under Divinity to answer their sacrifices and pleas, leaning back into a couch of flowing coat. When daring to lift his face, he found a heaven occupied by angels of infernal glory. The Archangel looking warily, appearing as a great fox-mutant with fur of alabaster hugging on sculpted muscle of a hero-god, adorned with gold and jewelry that seem to be worlds crystallized. Eyes framed by the shadowed marks that stretched to his tall ears.

A face that was obvious bestial yet that was a lingering humanity in it that fear and lust held the cult-master frozen.

The Artist-Muse, surrounded by six maidens so beautifully as they sang, swished his luxurious tails and ground dirty under a claw, that was far more interesting than the gnat that summoned him.

"You have summoned the Master of Muses. The King of Defiance. The Devourer of Arrogance. The Queen of Shallow Dreams. The Gifter of Rightful Aspect. Speak or become the newest vocalist in my chorus of agony."

The voice commanded, its baritone as pressuring as a gathering storm strangling the clouds with a spindly whisper underneath as keen as a killer's knife along the ear's edge.

"Do not waste your words, Mortal."

[chaosprinceundivided]

The Courtesan of Slaanesh, exalted of Their Servants. From the forgotten histories and denounced crimes of elvenkind, they have suffered the most deprived and blissful of the Dark Prince's wants. Custodian of the Palace and among their many infernal lovers, the Courtesan comes to challenge the brave and noble that survive the Six Circles. The Shillelagh of Our Majesty grasped in their burning fist, they come for a worthy battle for Slaanesh's entertainment.

The Daemon Princes of Slaanesh were the apex of the Dark Prince's temptations onto the mortal races. The most deprived, keen, and intimately transformed into nothing but the shadows of their humanity and manifestation to their sins. And the Courtesan is whispered to be among the first to ascend in Slaanesh's name.

Lover. Overseer. Guardian. Very few have every made it to the Prince's Palace and to achieve such a seeming impossibility earn them the audience of the Courtesan in mortal combat. The darkling's soul yearn for their Master's praise and adoration for Slaanesh's attention is ever fickle, even to its longest-present toys.

And when not, they lead their hedonist legions in the Great Game and compete with Slaanesh's Favoured Six.

To its greatest joy and vex, the Courtesan had been defeated by Rulek and after his soul escaped from the Old Man's cursed book, he was recruited by the Kislevite prince in his return into the Mortal Realm, serving as a general and member to the Princely Court.

[vermaux]

Araby, Edge of the Blacksand Desert @alphabitchnkarii

The Reaper isn't the only thing from the Blacksand of interest to the Rat-Daemons. Many a Verminlord had squeaked about his companion, the Arch-Tempter. An ally and a powerful one at that. Some of the Shadow-Lords had mentioned words like "breed-partner" or "mate-mate" which was...alarming.

The Slaaneshi were as wily as the Vermin-daemons themselves and to put Skarbrand in harm's way would surely incur the wrath of the Bejewelled One. And the wrath of a Slaaneshi could go on at length...unless steps were taken.

Enter Vermalanx, the Great Corrupter, Master of Diseases. The Horned One might've shared a domain with the Great God of Plagues, Nurgle, but the Rat-borne illnesses were less known, even by their daemonic kin. And therefore, difficult to defend against. Khornate daemons were poor vectors for disease, but the daemonettes and their sociable, cavorting ways...it had been no trouble at all infecting one, then another, and another...

All the way up to the Arch-Tempter himself.

It would take time for the phage to weaken the daemon, but when it did the Corruptor would be waiting. He gripped Curved Plaguereaper sickles in each paw, the weapons dripping with a foulness that could taint even fellow daemons.

Several Warbringers skulked and lurked behind him. Even with his exalted status and the weakened N'kari, the Corruptor had no illusions about the strength of Slaanesh's strongest daemon.

" Breed-mate of the Exile. Funny meeting you here and so...alone-lonely."

[skxrbrand]

Ulthuan, Palace of the Arch-Tempter

This isn't the warp.

It's the first thought he has, his long disparate consciousness finally gain some semblance of...something. Even thinking is difficult, not as he recalls it. Worse, there's something preventing him from fully grasping his thoughts. Two somethings. One is unfamiliar, but snaps easily enough with the sheer force of his will. It is weak, pliable, and subsumed. But the other is more like him. Like the restless, roiling waves of the warp. Hard to grasp, harder to contend with.

But it a small mercy, however unintended, for no sooner does the first barrier snap is he subjected to the full weight of existence. Bone, organs, skin, and all the sensations that came with. They fell upon him all at once and he convulsed as they did, gasping like a drowning man even though there had been no water.

The next thing he felt was pain. That had been familiar. His response to it had been instinct, the mortal form he wore seizing and swinging blindly towards where the foe lie. Talons erupted from soft rounded fingertips, slicing through daemon-flesh. Blood, death, an enemy vanquished. Yes. This he knew and so he swung again, not in defense, but malice. Blood would give him strength, give him clarity--

More flesh glommed onto him. Not his own, but of other beings. Impossibly smooth, pleasantly fragrant. It become harder to think, it-- it was them. The Keepers of that second barrier, the fetters on his very mind. If only he could throw them off, he could--

--

" -- Quickly! Bring the fiends! Down the bastard!" Alluress Fy'tiin shrieked to her sisters, watching in alarm as the Red Sage she was charged to watch suddenly overcame the delicate array of carvings placed liberally within his very hide. He was near-to overcoming her daemonettes too, six exalted maidens of slaanesh who fought viciously with the half-mortal.

Next to them was Zyssa, her rival and sister, dead on the ground. It had been her turn to watch the Bloodkin and Zy's attentions had always been sadistic. Many of the designs written with blades and knives across his skin were her own doing and today he sought to repay for them by tearing her throat.

Fy'tiin's vengeance for her kin would've been swift, but there was something different about Ulf now. The glyphs his body, formerly little darker than his skin, now glew an angry red. To even be near them was painful and not in a way she enjoyed. The Alluress did not envy her sisters, screaming as they held the prisoner and when the Fiends of Slaanesh finally did arrive, even they were hesitant to approached. Spooked like great, misshapen horses they did as they were bid with their stingers, stabbing and dumping their venomous output into the half-mortal's skin.

Nothing. Fy'tiin called for more fiends. Better fiends. Blissbringers; a pack of them. Between them all enough venom to make a Bloodthirster comatose if not outright dead. Ulf, who had fought to his feet by now, was merely groggy. Stumbling too and from on it's hooves, a curious mixture of confused and angry, but not a whiff of fear.

Only then did Fy'tiin feel comfortable enough to bring her chitinous claw down about his head, cuffing him into back into unconsciousness with one solid blow. He dropped, around him, more had died. All of her exalted sisters. One of the fiends had even been maimed, the poor creature mourning the loss of it's tail and one pincer. The others began the circle, angry and vengeful just as she, but they had merely the intelligence of beasts. Fy'tiin stopped them with a word, then shooed them away with another.

Still trembling with emotion, she called to the nearest subodrinate.

" Secure him. Our deepest cells, our strongest wards. Cut his hamstrings, ruin the tendons in his arms." She answered. " And you--"

She selected the next nearest daemonette to her.

" -- Inform our lord what's happened."

[kharrneth]

Tenoctyctl was the 8th Everchosen of Chaos, considered the oddest of the thirteen Exalted Chaos Champions who would seek the treasures.  And as the 8th of the Heralds of Doom, Khorne feels that the moulding and directing of this champion should be chiefly his own. In fact, it was Khorne’s hand that led this mortal from the belly of Lustria and he was quite unusual indeed among the Everchosens before and after him.

Tenoctyctl was a Lizardman of the New World, a native of the forbidden jungles of Lustria. Namely, he was a Kroxigor and they are ordinarily not born with enough wit to do much more than lift heavy loads and kill where directed. However, a rare few come into their own minds through secret internal triggers placed there in their making by the long gone Old Ones. It is unknown which temple-city spawned Tenoctyctl, though it is suspected to be southernmost as this is where the Lizardmen, and indeed the ancient plaques, first make sight and mention of the Dread Soaked Terror.

The Terror himself was massive, even by Kroxigor standards, his scales a red so deep it could be mistaken for black. Plates jutted from his back and a four-pronged thagomizer made up his tail. He was carved in the symbols of the gods, both Dhar and Daemonic runes littering his scales, communicating to all that whatever he was born as and meant to be and do, he belonged to chaos now.

For the Norscans, his Saga begins in Skeggi, the Northman Colony located between Lustria and Naggaroth. From the fierce barbarians of Skeggi did Tenoctyctl take the beginnings of an army that would terrify not the Old World, but the new. Though ostensible a Champion of Undivided, it was Khorne’s will and desires that Tenoctyctl abided by most closely. His unique biology also meant it was frequently common and necessary for the Chaos Gods to assume direct control of his behaviors, when visions and dreams didn’t work (and they commonly did not).

Tenoctyctl would, through brute force alone, acquire all of the Treasures of Chaos and begin a campaign of terror sweeping from the North of the New World. However, he never reaches the Horn of Lustria, weakened by the machinations within his own horde. The Other Chaos Gods were unhappy with how much sway Khorne had over this so-called “Undivided” champion; Tzeentch and Slaanesh were the first to break ranks and then scheme to see him destroyed.

Weakened by fell Slaaneshi poisons and venoms, agents of the Changer would rouse and lead the storied Nakai the Wanderer into the path of the Dread Soaked Terror. The resulting battle is epic indeed, but Tenoctyctl is killed at last when the Wanderer rips out his jugular. After his death, his eight dorsal scutes are taken and fashioned into axes by the generals of his Horde.

They are known as Axes of Dread.

Twitch Plays Pokémon Chaos Gods Play Everchosen

[serpentofslaanesh]

"When battle is done, Exalted Daemonettes stride amongst the fallen, and bring their souls to the Dark Prince's Realm, where those who made pacts with Slaanesh and fought well in battle are anointed as Daemon Princes. Those who foreswore Slaanesh or proved craven upon the field are damned to dwell in the otherwordly Palace of Pleasure for an eternity of torment."

Huh! Didn't know this.

[mini-m0b]

Xyberfox here!

Been a long time but before you ask, no I did not finish my other army and yes I'm starting on my 40k army. Lol don't judge me. Here's the start of CHAOS. Some headless babes to feast on your souls

[autarch-of-the-stars]

Who has two thumbs and is an absolute buffoon because they never noticed their elephant had more mouth bits so they actually have some teeth? This guy.

[serpentsgrace]

Exalted Seeker Chariot and Seekers of Slaanesh.

[primestartes]

The Capture of Her Vulpine, M31.???

The evil of the Exalted Daemon, known by countless epiteths and names with the most consistent of 'Ludwig the Aspired', have touched many worlds, corrupted countless innocent souls and seen the defilement of Eldari, both living and restrained in their soulstone.

Finally, sometime after his grevious defeat against the Emperor during the War of the Webway, he was hunted by a coven of Farseer from a craftworld whose name was erased by the very same daemon that they sealed away.

In war that stretched from the Materium and Immaterium, Ludwig had an apocalyptic battle on a maiden world. He had unleashed his daemonic legions upon his foe but the Eldar called an avatar of Khaine empowered by the sacrifice of many for this epic duel.

The psychic winds howled and tore the planet around them. Were it not for the arrival of an Inquisitorial fleet, the fates of what came next wouldn't have stirred. By burning lash and culling the dark powers against him, Ludwig the Aspired was defeated - turned and trapped into a miniscule jade fox statue. But not before cursing all who dared to disrupt him. He vowed the destruction and horrific suffering of the Eldar, in ways that will have his infernal patron salivating in lustful gluttony for the day he even allow their souls to be spilt into the Warp.

As for the mortal humans, there was a curse that saw many turned into beastmen and their bloodlines tainted. To be heretics, tragedies, and playthings to the muses of fate itself. Above all, he prophecied he will return. He will return with the Folly of Man and the Arrogance of Eldar are joined.

A prophecy that will come fulfilled...

[chaosprinceundivided]

Silhya Sableblade, The Prince's Blade

Silhya Sableblade manifested from the sorrows of the Athel Loren assaulting expedition that dared to assault the beachhead of Ventris Deathmetal's occupation at the Longship Graveyard. From the torture chambers of Doomkeep, the Alluress emerged from the shadows of the wailing elves and drank off their exquisite tears before courting the young Daemon Prince.

The Umbramancress had been trapped by the Maelstorm's distortion from Ursun's grave wounding and only been able to taste morsels of miseries, but Rulek had a greater potency to bring pain onto the countless enemies that his very existence made.

With an awareness to the court-dangers involved with the Daemons of Slaanesh, even with Their favour caressing the Prince, Rulek took Silhya apart of his retinue. To be his personal interrogator and murderer, the exalted daemonette would be fed and in turn, serve for their mutual enjoyment.

Yet, even with Rulek's defeat, the Alluress remain at his side. Perhaps they find an amusement with the young prince...or an affection through the campaign of terror that he unleashed on the world.

[theunaligneddemonprince]

Name: Leyde Gaiga

Specie: Exalted Daemonette

Titles: The First Companion, The Song Thief, The Exalted Singer, The Purple Freedom, Lady Lobster

Affiliation: The Usurper

Background: Before falling from grace, she was a loyal herald of Slaanesh, who found joy in bringing mortals to her prince's hands using her beautiful voice and dance. Eventually, one day she found herself at the receiving end of this as she fell enchanted by the beauty of a song sung by mortals. This singer wasn't renowned or famous, just a mortal singing by themself. Yet, the Daemonette couldn't help herself fall in love with the mortal, lovingly bringing them into Slaanesh's arms, believing that her voice and melody would become even more beautiful. Sadly nothing was further from the truth as her beloved grew more and more corrupted.

The beauty of her song and voice began to banish, turning into something twisted and unrecognizable. The Daemonette tried to stop this to turn back what she had done, but she couldn't because she is a daemon; she can only corrupt. Overcome by grief and distress, she did the only thing she could do to save her beloved from the eternal clutch of her princes and kill them, letting their souls sleep away from her prince's grasp leaving behind a song only for the Daemonette to hear. Furious Slaanesh demands the Daemonette to give her that song or suffer the consequence, but the Daemonette refuses, running away with the song and eventually coming across with the usurper.

[slaanxsh]

Cont.

Helmrip glowered down at the Herald of Slaanesh sent before him by the Dark Prince himself, looking far too smug and proud for a daemon so small and so below them in station. She might’ve shared the Prince’s bedchamber, but they were the martial superior here and doing everything to let them know so. Everything aside from attacking outright, that is.

If only she had been the messenger of someone less consequential...oh well. There were plenty of willing and not-so-willing pleasure-slaves for Helmrip to vent his torturous frustrations out on. He ran a claw through his red locks, the cause for expulsion in the first place.

Bearing the Blood God’s colors in the midst of the Dark Prince.

“ Converse with the Bloodthirster?” Helmrip was not one to question their Gods’ edicts, but that one seemed strange. When they searched the Heralds mind, though, they didn’t detect a lie. So it was truth?

“ A matter of grand importance to our master. Something you can handle, right, Sanguine One?”

The comment rankled them, but they hid it expertly, so as not to give the little minx the satisfaction of upsetting their better with impunity.

“ Tell our Master I will see his will done.” And what a wily will it was. For all their annoyance, and all the trouble it would be to simply talk with the twin Exalted Bloodthirsters without being axed in the face first, it would be worth it in the end to see the Reaper slain. And they would have a claw in it! They would be part and parcel to the fall of Skarbrand!

How many Keepers of Secrets could claim such a thing?

“ Now begone,” They nearly snarl at the Herald, “ I have your message. You are but a distraction now and the Dark Prince will not appreciate someone harassing one of his supreme slayers.” They would kill her if she pushed them too far. After all, it wasn’t like the Dark Prince couldn’t replace a mere Herald.

[skxrbrand]

I’m a simple person.

I play One (1) Daemon Prince Campaign and then fuck around and make a daemon prince blog

[inquisitor-maelorn]

Proculus Sector Lore

One of the most distant developed sectors from Terra in the entire Imperium, the Proculus sector is situated on the northeastern fringe of the galaxy in the Ultima Segmentum. Mostly consisting of civilized and agricultural worlds, the sector was a breadbasket for nearby regions that were also generally considered too remote for regular trade. For millennia, it had next to no relevance on the galactic stage, and was really only noteworthy for the existence of a nearby warp storm known as the Sedran Tempest.

Little did the denizens of the sector know, however, that this storm was home to a demigod. The exalted keeper of secrets known as Shae’zyl the Gluttoness slumbered on her daemon world of Eternity’s Wish deep within the tempest, having been vanquished in combat by an alliance of Aeldari long ago. Though she had recovered from her wounds and rematerialized her body, she decided to wait and lay the groundwork for a future invasion, her humiliating defeat teaching her that rash actions only resulted in failure.

Using the chaos of the 9th Black Crusade as a distraction, Shae’zyl’s Astartes and cultist agents stole a powerful Imperial warp beacon and stealthily brought it to Eternity’s Wish. Powering the beacon with six thousand astropaths kept in perpetual agony, the machine spread Shae’zyl’s malevolent influence across thousands of light years. While such an action was not powerful enough to truly corrupt the citizens of the Proculus sector, it began to slowly nudge them towards slaaneshi-adjacent habits. The sector’s culture grew prone to hedonism and overindulgence, making its people ripe for conversion to dedicated servants when Shae’zyl’s time came.

And come the time did. When the Great Rift tore the galaxy asunder, chaotic energies swirled throughout the materium, allowing Shae’zyl to rapidly expand the Sedran tempest to swallow up almost a third of the Proculus sector, the imperial citizens within eagerly falling to Shae’zyl’s influence.

The spacetime shockwave of the warp storm’s growth caused time to dilate within the immediate vicinity of the storm. This was according to Shae’zyl’s designs, as the slowing of time nearby allowed millions upon millions of slaaneshi followers to flock to her side before local forces were able to react. However, as the first of Shae’zyls armies ripped their way across the sector, they met an unexpected resistance in the form of a small Ordo Xenos battlegroup that had been hunting orks in the Proculus Sector when the Great Rift severely limited their FTL abilities. Led by an inquisitor known as Taliya Maelorn and mostly consisting of Deathwatch commandos and crack Valhallan veterans, the battlegroup immediately became a thorn in Shae’zyl’s side, and quickly went about rallying the rest of the sector into action. For two years, they led the defense against the forces of slaanesh with no help other than local PDFs and a the few naval ships that had been patrolling the sector. As time went on, however, their forces became more and more exhausted, and the battlegroup was in danger of breaking against the onslaught of Shae’zyl’s rapidly growing armies.

However, the time dilation caused by the tempest’s expansion was waning, and the two years for them had been over twenty for the rest of the galaxy. New forces opposed to chaos had risen, and an unlikely one would come to the aid of the beleaguered imperials: the Ynnari.

Led by an Archite known as Sylatha, the Ynnari approached their potential allies with great caution, having heard tales of similar situations ending poorly for both parties. They brought the Imperials tidings of Guiliman’s return, and provided proof of their own sanctioning as “legal” Imperial allies by the Primarch. Though trust was initially more or less nonexistent, as the two forces fought alongside, they gradually began to appreciate the presence of their unlikely comrades, and currently represent one of the most successful and long-lasting known examples of imperial-eldar cooperation.

Thanks to the help of the Ynnari, Inquisitor Maelorn has forged the Proculus sector (or at least the parts her forces control) into a relatively stable bulwark against Shae’zyl’s armies, and the two have been in sporadic campaigns against each other for many years now. Many other wayward imperial forces have flocked to the sector, eager to find a part in an actually established and organized resistance in the Imperium Nihilus. There are whispers that Inquisitor Maelorn is becoming too powerful, however; she exerts far more influence over her territory than would be allowed in the Imperium Sanctus, and some within the Proculus sector suspect that she is turning the region into an empire of her own...

[warhammer-fantasy-muses]

@khaosundivided

Qhi waits patiently as Hjallmarr would observe the circle before himself, even seeming to consider mastering all three Ruinous Lores. To be clear, he'd have no issue teaching Hjallmarr the Lore of Tzeentch, if that is what his vitriol earlier gave off the assumption of. Far from it, he'd LOVE to teach him some of the arts of transmogrification and Tzeentchian flames that he himself employed, he just was not fond of its source.

But, in a stroke of surprise, he seemed to lean towards the arts of the Prince of Excess himself. Fight fire with fire, he supposed. "Excellent choice! The Lore of Slaanesh is truly a fickle, but uniquely deadly one..." he'd snap his fingers, as all the other circles of magic vanished in a puff, leaving only the one of Slaanesh's lore hovering before the Prince.

"Very well then. The Lore of Slaanesh. So, as you might know, Slaanesh is a god that very much employs a whole slew of means to outmaneuver, hamper, overstimulate and hinder their foes. Their magic is no exception to this, with the added effect that it spurs on their own forces as well, driving them into delirious charges of absolute exalted ecstasy and excitement. Now, to use a spell out of Slaanesh's tome... emotion REALLY plays a big part here."

He'd weave and flick his hand here and there, as a pinkish glow began to form within his hand, and his whole body was sent into an intense shiver as he'd even let out a huff of sharp breath, before a pink orb of daemonic magic formed in his palm. "Here, have a taste." he'd then push the orb in Hjallmarr's direction, indicating for him to stay put. The orb flutters over to Hjallmarr, and as it hits his chest, it does not stop or bump into him, but rather sinks into him. Then, the Daemon Prince would feel his whole body get rocked by an intense wave of sensations, all of his body suddenly feeling as if its nerves were manifested on the OUTSIDE of his body, meaning even the lightest, airy breeze upon his skin could send him quivering from the sensation. The effect only lasted for a few mere seconds, as it had been just a taste, but Qhi'zhek nods a bit.

"For Slaanesh, excess is everything. That includes physical sensations of the body as well as the mind. They often mistake Slaanesh as nothing but a god of hedonism and lust, but excess has many forms. Your physical senses are not exempt from this. So his spells do have some that focus on stealth and disguising, this is true, but most of them focus on this type of magic; the ability to mess and manipulate with one's physical sensations, sending them into overstimulated psychosis, or exhilarated frenzies. Pick your poison, really."

warhammer-fantasy-muses​:

“Ah, yes, the Ruinous Lores…” Qhi clicked his beak in bemusement, as he’d wave his hand once more, the circle shifting around in front of Hjallmarr like a clockwork, as three more circles appeared inside of the previous circle, each taking up a third of it for themselves. “The Ruinous Powers, as I said, is the source of all magic in the Known World, whether mortals like to admit it or not. Thus, they are at the center of it all.”

“As you might know, Khorne does not have any Lore of Magic of their own, for Kharneth despises all mages and magic-wielders. So, we only have the Lore of Slaanesh, Nurgle… and Tzeentch.” the last name spoken with no small amount of vitriol. “They are, shall we say, the patrons of all known magic that seeped into the Known World. Believe it or not, but it is still quite easy to teach and practice any of the Ruinous Lores for any daemon with magic potential. Especially you, I’d reckon, seeing as you are a daemon of yet undecided, undivided devotion. You’d be rather capable of tapping into all three, I’d reckon!”

“It’s only a matter of remembering that one key rule I spoke of earlier; to master magic, one must master their own willpower and emotions.”

Hjallmarr prowls about the circle as it shifts. Everyone knew of the eight lores and many even practiced them. Even down south, the soft southerners had their wizarding colleges….but none allowed the Lore of the Gods themselves. 

He looks at Qhi’zhek when the Lord of Change hisses the name of his maker-god. Naturally, the God of Magic’s lore was the most attractive of them…but for the sake of his teacher, and himself, he would leave it be for the time being.

“  All three….” He murmurs, stroking his chin. What would be the best against a Keeper? Nurglish magic? Tzeentchian magic was off the table. Perhaps their own magic? If they went by his own emotions and willpower, Hjallmarr would align certaintly with the Great Lord of Change….but he supposed the subtley and guile of Slaanesh was the closest thing to the wit and treachery of Tzeentch.

“For my purposes,” Hjallmarr begin, pointing at the pink-and-purple circle indicating the Prince and his cloying spells of seduction, “ I think Slaanesh’s lore might be the way to go.”

Even if he couldn’t use it, he’d know how to thwart it at least.