For a time, the mortal pitfalls of self-interest, wilful delusion and naivety did much of the work of concealing his influence. As he grew more fascinated by these new realms, he bent more and more of his power towards his new feeding grounds. Their whispers, these seeds of disaster, found fertile ground in which to lodge and grow – for the mortal dwellers of these new realms were no more immune to temptation, obsession and excess than the people of the world-that-was.Īt first, Slaanesh sent only echoes of sensation, strange compelling scents and lilting tunes to presage his coming. The minions of Slaanesh hunted out those individuals who would fall most easily to his influence, and softly spoke into their minds. So was the Subtle War begun, and the demise of empires put into dread motion. His command was for them to insinuate, to seduce, to inveigle and enchant – to bring about the corruption of mortals. But then Slaanesh spoke, and they fell silent, billions of daemons prostrate or sprawling as his words stimulated every nerve, every sense, to the point of ecstatic agony. He sent forth his minions in glorious cavalcades of excess, whooping and shrieking as they pressed hungrily against the veil between worlds. Together the Mortal Realms represented a prize beyond measure.Īnd so Slaanesh emerged from his digestive lethargy to leer over that which would one day be his. To the wide and avaricious eyes of Slaanesh, here was enough fodder to pass several aeons of decadence without once falling into repetition and ennui. They represented eight futures for Slaanesh to corrupt in his own image – eight never-ending festivals of sensation to sample, to devour, to sully and spit back out as twisted reflections of that which once had been pure. Here was a new beginning, a new stage for the endless acts of the Great Game to take place upon, to be performed with fresh vigour and imagination by those that would fall under his sway – and never break free from it.Įight realities were slowly spinning in the void, each linked to the others by the works of long-lost civilisations – the Realmgates. Though he was all but stupefied by his epoch-ending feast, he had minions aplenty to do his perverse work in this new cosmos of realmspheres and criss-crossing portals, for Slaaneshi daemons of every kind had sprung into being as his power had grown. The god shuddered in eager anticipation of the feasts to come, cascades of liminal un-light rippling through the aether to glimmer in a thousand skies. Tongues of solid ichor licked at tapering fingers that could feel every known sensation in the universe at one time. Metaphysical map of the Mortal Realms showing the location of Slaanesh's prison.Īs Slaanesh looked upon the Mortal Realms, he felt a yearning as never before. His appetites could never be sated, just as the stars would never cease to burn. Yet still Slaanesh longed for more, always more. Where once he might have savoured each sinful soul that fell into his clutches, by eating so many millions of spiritual essences at one time he became vast and swollen well beyond the limits of Khorne's rage, Tzeentch’s machination, and even Nurgle’s cosmic corpulence. He was all but incapacitated by the act of gorging himself so deeply. At the time of the shattering of the World That Was, Slaanesh had glutted himself on the spirits of that ancient race to the point that only a pitiful few survivors escaped his hunger. That entity was Slaanesh, at that point grown powerful beyond measure on a stolen ambrosia of aelven souls. Long ago, when the dreaming cultures of the realmspheres took form, the glimmering potential of the Mortal Realms attracted the eyes of a wanton god.
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