#a simple slaaneshi creature

[fourgods-nobrakes]

The six layers of Slaanesh's realm:

snacks

drugs

getting laid

praise

self-esteem

naps

We got your bases covered, humans with needs!

[ainlifun]

Though the Lord of Shadows took after Khorne more readily than his other parent, the touch of Slaanesh was undeniable. Properly subtle, but there all the same.

Such as went he finally released Freysin back into the field, only to bog his son down with a task fit for a mere Herald. The Malicious One seethed, stepping into the mortal realm from the portal he’d been sent through. Such a paltry task for one as powerful as he! And Malaneth had even been so iresome as to place him far from his goal. It would take days, weeks to reach the Badlands and then days more to “convince” the Hellsmiths to part with their best sorcerors. 

No one could bind souls to blades better than the Dawi-Zharr. And the peices of Khade were no mere shards of some luckless daemon. No, it was God-stuff, and the souls of the Dawi-Zharr belonged to the Forge Daemon-God, Hashut. What better materials could there be to see the ritual through? Freysin tried to take pride in that; as simple as this task seemed, there would be far reaching consequences if he succeeded.

...Or failed.

That thought burning in the back of his brain, the Greater Daemon secret himself among the men of Estalia and quickly sniffed out a cult of his god’s followers: worshippers, supplicants, and thralls. Tools he would use to see Malal’s will, and his own, be done. One thing they had over the cultists of other gods? Malal’s acolytes moved with a relative freedom that even the Slaaneshi could not boast. They were hailed by the common man and even tolerated by the Witch Hunters. 

The enemy of your enemy was indeed a friend...

“ The God of Shadows hungers for the talents of the Dawi-Zharr,” He hissed at the cult he had assumed command of, secreted away on the watery fringes of Bilbali. “ But they are creatures of chaos. They will not come willingly and for all my power, I am only a single daemon.” Freysin’s eyes swept over the assembled mortals, prostrating themselves.

“ You will go to the other cults who worship my father. Tell them their god has need of them and that there is Hashuti blood that need spilling. Go! Once the number of thralls is to my liking, we will trek east to the Dark Lands.”

Obediantly, the cultist began to file off. Freysin leaned back in the comfortable, ornate chair he was afforded, a glass of wine set between his claws. A spike of frustration and anger stole through him as he recalled another of his father’s edicts: To leave Xogrym and Arlaey to their task. Do not bother them with your presence. The Hierarch had spat. Freysin growled, barking for spirits to take the edge off, and the pleasures of mortal flesh to dull his frustrations even further.

[chaosprinceundivided]

The Frozen Memory

“Behold my stalwart minions, see how even with doom so close to their doorstep, the fools of Kislev throw themselves to our fangs and talons. They yearn for their souls to be given to the rightfully strong. Let us not deny them any longer. Leave their master in this assault, I can taste their witchcraft in the air. It is an Ice Maiden of the fallen bear-god. Her soul is mine.” 

Rulek’s command was ironclad and the daemons obeyed with their infernal hungry set to fall upon the enemy regardless. What is one soul to the hundreds that dare to step on the warped Norscan landscape. However, the biting cold had no fell touch upon the Kislevites. Not while the leading maiden was rebuking the chaotic weathers from touching her pawns’ skin. The Daemon Prince’s tongue watered at the thought of her agonies already, but such eager arrogance had no place on the field despite its truth. Mortals were wily things, he should know. 

Instead, he rose from his haunches and reached back to his giant-slave who dully surrendered an exquisite lance. The slaaneshi weapon hissed from its fleshmetal, being denied a creature that had an acceptable soul to torture while its master was busy observing the Kislevite army marching so foolishly. 

“Zorya,’ Rulek summoned. He did not glance down at the sitting beast at his feet. The feline-changed mutant looked up at him with a content gleam in her eyes. “Ensure her winds do not detour mine.” A deep rumble was his answer before the prince hurled his lance. The weapon was the length of six men armed with an upper blade shaped of the Dark Prince’s blasphemous claw arched over and right at the sight of spearing the bear-pulled coach. However what took his surprise was the sudden howl of winds that put his lance off-course, scarring the vehicle from crystalline rim to wheel. 

His shoulders stiffened and horned head poked down at Zorya with a baleful glare. The feline was just as surprised, eyes widened as she stared so focused enough that she did not take immediate notice of the glare. Her cold eyes looked up at him in uncertainty. His tongue stayed behind fangs when he noted the souls in her mirror-sheen back. They looked hopeful. Why? 

The Daemon looked out while the Kislevites were making vicious readjustments in formations, a company of their winged hussars was trampling for the outcrop led by another ice maiden. Over their heads, twinned spheres of burning ice flung for the same place of the attempted assassination. Instead of crushing their target, they smashed against a shimmering skin of barely visible runes dancing and cackling in their denying protection.

“Yazyid.” He summoned, a giggling fae of chromatic flames whirled and warped into an Incandescent Horror shaping as a six-armed exotic creature with a dog-like face smiling with curling fangs. A multitude of eyes almost too many for its face as they looked and focused. With a wave of an icon-mantled staff, while it's bladed disc orbited around Rulek like a songful moon, the Horror began its troublesome muse.

“Yes. Thoust be cold. Thoust be trembling. Past’s be coming. Future be near. Bodies once close, now so far. To be, oh be Master o Master. What is thou’st will?” The horror dared to riddle to Rulek, his impassioned draconic face gave a hint of wariness before he pointed a talon. “Scry for me, who lead this doomed host?” 

“Thou’st find this one most intriguing still? Fate yet gave onto me answers simple to seek.” 

“Then a game, is that?” Rulek questioned in annoyance, eyes glowing a flare of chromatic power. “Shall it be slaughter than useful answer and taking!?”  By a wave of his hand and curl of his claws, his lance was trembling and the surrounding soldiers looked at it. However, the occupant appeared from the carriage, too far to take immediate notice, touched the daemonic weapon and it was suddenly encased in aetheric ice.  It brought a gasp from the daemon prince, feeling the hateful chill in his soulstuff that made his hand recoil as if he felt it from this distance.

A pant and look of disturbance that now matched Zorya, he looked at the frost cracking his gilt claw-cover and palm, a weep of ichor before it closed. "No..."

"Yes, Master. It is her."  His precious witch whispered into their shared bonding and above it all, Yazyik Fluxsoul cackled before spinning on one of Rulek's horns and dismounted to his disc, becoming a comet that enacted the signal; the daemon siege-beasts firing their foul cannons while Tzeentchian spell-archers whispered their own malevolent bolts to bring ruin. The warriors of chaos, bearing the Ruinous Powers' marks and the unification of Undivided Chaos by banner, clad in flesh and armour, moved forward to meet the Kislevites proper.

"Doom! Doom! Doom and Ruin!" The chants roared like thunder against the Norscan winds, followed by the war-drums of ogre-leather and war-horns of daemonic ivories. "CHAOS UNDIVIDED!" The warriors of Khorne, the hedonists of Slaanesh, the blight-blades of Nurgle, and the Arcanists of Tzeentch cried as one. The armoured slayers were met by the disciplined force of Kislev, the cavalry charging with their fearsome war-bears. Yet fear did not beat in the hearts of these damned men and women. They say only aspiration for greater carnage, even as the spellfires of the daemons at their backs hurtled and turned frozen earth into crackling glass. The bears and their riders caught in the hailstorm were shifting and screaming as their bodies twisted, changed, and burned in agony. Some even grew stronger and feral, turning on their own brothers-in-arms in the maddening rapture of true power. Horns and new limbs sprouted, and a rider even melded with his beast into a horrific thing. The momentum tarnished as the wild winds manifested a line of Tzeentchian knights as if from the very fabric of thought. Their azure platemail glittering like sapphires, lances armed with fell spears ramming through bodies and trampling skulls and spines. 

When the battleline came to the ruined bear-line; blades, mutated spears and flails ensure their discredit. Kossars came in vengeance, their warcries akin to bears' ferocity. Muscled warriors thick of cloth and armour met the treacherous mortals of mankind with a stalwart fervour, it brought a sense of wariness to imagine - for the briefest moment of Mankind's fortitude. Then insult was replaced and the warriors of Chaos met with greater zealotry. At their sides, the Exalted Bloodletters of Khorne - scarred with the spurred mark of Undivided - came with their tongues lapping for sanguine and hellish blades hissing for screams.  Their foremost leader, Ghorgon, came for the next rank and the boyar that led the Witch's forces. The Bloodreaper backhanded Tzar Guard aside or swept his churning blade rowed of snarling teeth, their armor spitting white-hot shards that pierced and blinded more before it ate flesh and bone in a glorious sight of gore-filled violence. Never before had they beheld such a weapon and now, it was in Ghorgon's hand.

Heads were sent in flight, eight in total before he met the wide-eyed boyar whose ice-blessed axes crossed, pushed by otherworldly defiance to meet the daemon.

All of this and more was within Rulek's sight. The Daemon Prince waved his hand out to Zorya and commanded, "Kill." With a moan of pain that came with the horrific snap and push of joints regaining the familiarity of man-shape. Flesh rendered and reformed, her bare fur pulling in snow and weaved into clothes. Ice shaping into glittering armour with the jewelry of her master's spoiling. What was once a beast was a woman tall and curvaceous - beautiful and strong, savage and refined. Neck high and limbs fit, her clawed hand weaving as the crystalline armour collected from elbow to fingers. A sharp motion and a crystalline blade stretched before she vaulted over the cliff. Whirling once, twice before righting herself to the catch as a shrieking steed of Slaanesh manifested from the icy rockface. A beautiful rippling sculpture riding the wind and earth with utmost speed to meet her former comrades. All the while, her Master flared his wings and finally took flight. His armoured pierced wings beat, carrying his form over the trees and towards the battlefield with but his exalted shield.

"The daemon comes! Shoot it down!" An officer cried out, pointing to the sky. Eyes so intent on Rulek that they failed to catch the horror carried by the icy winds. The screaming air hiding the slicing wings buzzing. And as bullets and arrows were soaring the air, the Daemon Prince roared his contempt with his shield levelling. Its spellbound protection rippling and beating the projectiles aside whilst he came like an ashen comet, his sheer power crashing into the earth and sending mortals sprawling with broken bones and shattered hope. His presence was an affront to their senses, the wild winds carried the luscious musks of nostril-slicing grace and mind-tantalizing pleasure. Hapless at the unnatural speed that this juggernaut moved. From the moment of his crashing land, the prince rolled like any mortal warrior! Springing into a low sweeping arc, the blade-edged shield sliced torsos from legs and heads from shoulders for all before him. To those behind, they suffered the twinned whip of his pronged gilt-barbed tail. He could almost feel their ribs crushed and bodies sundered more. Rulek was an avatar of destruction and he tore through the Kislevites with a malevolent cackle as he fought for his frozen weapon.

Even as a war-bear charged for him was smashed by the clawed top of his shield, pinning it down for the flesh-metal to start clasping around its neck! Its whining cry was wheezing, and the only thing saving its head was the thick plated criniere. However, the artisanry itself gave Rulek a momentary pause in his sadism. This bear was familiar. The distraction was more than enough for a sudden spear of agony to plunge into the Daemon Prince's side. With a height of fury, he toss the beast aside and looked down at the great lance of aetheric frost embedded into his defined abdomen. If he was a mortal, death was a certainty. Even now, frost crept up along the hide.

He was no mortal and when he looked upon the one responsible for such a wound, the Daemon scolded with such intensity his teeth threatened to crack. Before him, standing among dead, dying, and wavered was the one truly responsible for the beginning of his corruption. How she stood a pale glory of Kislev given flesh; aloof, fair and adorned with her station. The winds caressed her fur coat and the frost blade held in one artful hand while her witchery was gathering in the other.

"Tzarina." The daemon's visible breath washed and she unleashed the fury of the Motherland with a throw of her hand. Rulek lifted his shield and denied her a new frozen statue as it parted the frozen torrent like a stone in water. The central jewel upon his shield's face shone, its fell energy tracing out to the trapped face of the Keeper until its woeful mouth yawned into a damning scream that shook the very mountains' resting snow! Katarin Bokha, Tzarina of Kislev, shielded herself with a mirror of purest ice that already was threatening to shatter. However, with a will as strong as her bloodline, she held out before Rulek noticed the sudden being erupting from the neighboring forest.

A great ursine element borne of earth and ice trampling for him! "Not this time." He muttered with an inhale. His corporal form regenerated over the icy wound, taking it into himself before the draconic prince's beautiful visage twisted more ferociously. His spiked collar burned more of its baneful veins over his chest and back. Belly glowing before Rulek roared a vomit of hellfire!

[fourgods-nobrakes]

I hate that i'm tempted to get the space marine scouts kill team just so that I can perv on them being prime capture-and-subject-to-Slaaneshi-corruption material. Self, we don't need to spend $65 for that! Being horny for exploited space marines is free!

[fourgods-nobrakes]

An Imperial Noble Falls to Chaos, Stephen Somers

[fourgods-nobrakes]

I hate Etsy so much. I checked a shipment status yesterday and they showed me some beautiful Goetic pendants, and then this part is my fault, I clicked on one and went to the seller's shop and they have so many of the 72 seals. I could get Sitri or Gremory, or I could get Belial (whom I got very attached to in Granblue fandom and whose seal has an extremely classy Khornate vibe) or i could get RAUM

It's so pleasing to look at and just barely asymmetrical and also, you know, Raum. Stupid etsy.

[fourgods-nobrakes]

Christmas dilemma: build a standard Keeper of Secrets, or build Shalaxi?

Both are very hot, meaning there is no wrong answer, but also, both are very hot, how do I choose.

[fourgods-nobrakes]

me a year ago: ehh warhammer art just always looks a little dumb, you know?

me now:

.///////////. help he's so lickable

[fourgods-nobrakes]

I couldn't put it in the tags because the post itself was so goddamn wholesome and adorable but that comment sure did give me some feelings that were not about pangolins and soft combs

[fourgods-nobrakes]

the dangerous thing about actually talking to other fans about the characters you like is that sometimes they have ideas and the brainrot seizes control and the next thing you know you're 800 words into a new story that doesn't get you any closer to meeting any of your deadlines

but does make your id just quietly go "eeeeeeeeee" without stopping

[fourgods-nobrakes]

Pretty much the ideal mug for iced coffee with rose syrup

[fourgods-nobrakes]

GW has made plenty of aesthetic decisions that leave me going "...er," but goddamn, whoever decided that marines should wear their long-service honors as studs embedded over the eyebrow, you have done me personally a great service and I am forever grateful

[chaosprinceundivided]

Simple Visit

Sylvilas Silkenblade emerged from the miasma of oily shadows, their unblinking eyes glinted like foul jewels as the slits within traced the Nordlanders' motions in their nightly patrol outside their war-camp. Their expedition was rumoured destroyed, none but six men managed to return a week prior. What was their bane was demanded silenced and only the Captain and his closest knew the terror that was done.

The Daemonette knew, for the stretched tortures done by their sister-kin who serve as the young Daemon Prince's hellish outriders summoned them to a campaign most intriguing.

By a ravishing introduction and banquet that lulled the Alluress to fairer tidings, they claim an interest to the ludicrous ambition that the Daemon Prince lusted for. It was so genuine and plucking, Sylvilas foresaw the chaos to be had - especially that of the ever-stubborn Kislev and the Southlands. If he is to succeed, they did not care. Only the stride towards it, as did many motelings of Slaanesh.

And so, by delicious pain of branding onto bosom and back, the searing apostate of Undivided binding, the Alluress now stalked the nightmares of their sisters' victims. The tortures done onto countrymen, the lingering deaths that are painfully slowed by the amusements of Tzeentchian witch-daemons and Slaaneshi pain-artists, the power stirred under Sylvilas' being as they moved.

An upright creature scaled of viper's malice - even wearing one's face, horned and cruel - with a silent sprint between unwary fools. Into the camp, sleeping heads were severed and weapons clipped. The stableboy with a sudden urge onto equine disdain, shame he won't live long and when Captain's pet-wizard was visited, her screams were choked in umbral cruelty until the fires within her claimed both her tent and several soldiers' more.

The sudden panic and hollering was a mild droning, soldiers stirred up and running to get buckets. They rousing into tents, only to find dead men. Murder. Arson. Even that of beasts' tainted waters and freed innards. All in a sudden night. A perfume of already fleeting release.

Sylvilas Silkenblade, draped in blackest robes and nightly amethyst's plate, stood on the edge of shadows. A fell tongue flickered, tasting every emotion before seeing the captain looking about in this madness. Their eyes met, he only saw a beautiful woman in black dress. How she stepped back with arms crossed in mourning, face barely veiled as she became one with night.