Gods of 40K
Slaanesh
I sought oblivion and calm respite, my path forged through sensation and blinding excess. I explored depravity, ventured into the darkness never mapped, until I swept past Experience, witnessed only by the gods.
Thus became I a voyager upon delights unknown, my ship named only, "Sweet Departure".
The Sin Serpentia
For you see, Sin, and its more extreme counterpart, Addiction, are inherently lazy concepts. Many people talk about the temptations of Vice, the lure of decadent bliss, but mostly that is just an easy excuse. Sin doesn't try to tempt... It just does.
We all know what it is to thirst, to hunger for more. We have all stared upon our work and sought perfection even as its image fled our grasp. We have all needed... And so there we begin our story. Not where we'd like to, but where we must.
This is Slaanesh, She Who Thirsts, He Who Craves, the Mad Prince of Obsession and Perfection. It is her will to ever experience what cannot be defined, and by his word are boundaries broken, for to be denied is poison to the Serpent's Chalice, venom upon her racing mind.
Thus are his followers expected to act always, with plan or without, she cares not. The rush of battle, the thrill of art forbidden and acts obscene, one must not pause to ponder. Onwards and forwards forever until at last cessation
brings that final sensation that can only ever be felt once.
This is the Path of Excess, to live without limit, to
reach without constraint. All must be abandoned, for to
love with anything less than obsession is a crime, to care with more than the briefest glance but a waste of time divinely spent.
So then calls upon you those darkest desires and most bitter of pains. Abandon thine morality, steer clear of philosophies left restrained. Slaanesh has only one lesson to teach you, oh believers of perfection...
It does not believe in you.
Cry Havoc
To start in the
beginning... Even here
does Slaanesh strive to
differ from his kin, for though their pasts
are locked in mystery, hers are known
well by those who fear her most.
Raised upon the embers of decadence, kept warm amidst the flames of hedonistic collapse, Slaanesh first saw light as the vast empire of the Aeldari cannibalised itself in jaded apathy. So depraved had these scions of the Old Ones become, that their excess took upon form divine... And malice most dark and foul.
The winds within the Warp howled, let loose shriek and moan. Some fled, some waited, some watched, nascent thought glut upon the fell crimes of immortal sin. A crack then, a splinter, and out forth came incarnate vice wrought by tragedy and denial.
The Aeldari were devoured, their gods but candle flames before the tempest darkness that stormed into reality. Cegorach the Trickster would vanish, Kaela Mensha Khaine would be shattered and scattered throughout the void, and a legacy more ancient than near any other would meet the most terrible of fates... Extinction.
Left behind were only those refugees outrunning the storm and mad heirs to a crime without forgiveness. Where once a kingdom had started, risen high in majesty, hung now only a tear into the Abyss, a violent abomination against rational and reason.
So was born Slaanesh, the Eye of Terror his cry for attention, the flame of countless souls her nourishment. Impossible to contain within a single form, in repose upon the tides of madness does he rest, appearing ever as she wants dependent on whim and mercurial humour.
Favoured by the Mirror Darkly however, is to appear as a little of everything at once. One half a man, the other a woman, two horns of gold adorned by hair of palest silk. This is the Prince of Pleasure, manifest within us all.
Valiant Vice
Thus are Slaanesh's followers encouraged
to try all things that they can, even as their patron dances with damnation. Obeisance through obsession, praise through pursuits of perfection, service in sin, these are the hallmarks of the Dark Prince. Many claim he just wishes for your happiness, but in truth she savours only the flames of your self-destruction.
The number six is of specific significance to her, and those who wish answers find joy in the occult complexity of his devising. This is but a trifle however, for the Sin Serpentia demands offering not to his self, but to you.
One must experience something new, create something wonderful, devise upon the world that which has never before been witnessed. An art mastered, a weapon of fell design, anything will suffice, provided it suffice only once.
Then offered are these sacrifices, within dens of iniquity and vice. Brothels and studios, drug dens and opera houses, Slaanesh does not discriminate on your choice of poison.
So serve those slaves to sensation. The match lit, the spark set free, the flame roars into life as desire forms fuel for it to burn. Watch it roar, they are told, feed it higher... Never realising that the flame will inevitably feed on them.
Devotees of Discordia
You might then wonder, and rightfully so, how one would choose to walk this path so clearly marked with danger. Alas, like addiction, the dark touch of Slaanesh festers and pulls upon the soul.
The artist, barren of muse, facing ridicule and self-loathing, the dilettante bored now with their life of ill-repute. The craftsman surrounded by competition and superior talent. All these souls, driven not by rage or pride, but by desire...
The artist paints a picture, delving into styles esoteric and forgotten. The dilettante ventures deeper into the shadows, abandoning now his mundane pleasures for something else. The craftsman abandons family and food, focussed now only on furthering their work.
So is the first step taken, selfish in their selfless harm upon themselves.
The artist finishes their masterpiece, blood dripping from the easel as alien eyes of unearthly beauty stare back. The dilettante tastes human flesh and delights, before once more growing grey with sorrow. The craftsman, alone and poor, completes his task, its quality unequalled even as the last embers of a life forgotten fade away.
This is how so many fall into the Dark Prince's clutches, and so many do so without ever knowing. Rare is it to find a cause more alluring than ones own gratification, rarer still is it to find those who can turn such worship down.
From this simple message do a thousand cults across a thousand worlds thrive, insidious and sinister in their sly corruption, effecting debased change in a universe so tightly repressed. Numbered amongst these are some of the most foul mortals to ever draw breath, the likes of the Pirate Princes of the Spiral Helix, and the Hollow Cult whose enlightened deceptions destroyed an entire Grey Knight Company.
The most fearsome of her living servants however, are the Emperor's Children. Once the brightest of the Angels Astartes, now they are sick parodies of honour and virtue. Wielding weapons of shrieking sonic and discordant doom, they destroy only to taste death in its cruellest form.
Spawned of Sensation
With such darkness amongst the mortal mind, it is scarce possible to believe that those figments of his own desire could be any worse. Alas, even the supple Daemonette, capricious and beautiful in equal measure, is a creature wrought of the most profane and wanton acts.
Besides these succubi both intriguing and repulsive come the Fiends and Steeds of Slaanesh, a horrific mirror to the fae charm of their lesser kin. They are monstrous in totality, an honest view at the heart that beats only jealousy and greed.
Above them from palanquins of skinned flesh and enchanted incense ride the Heralds, their siren song calling once more for the thrill of battle to commence. Masters of magic that twists the mind and plays with illusion, their mere presence can stop a heart in delight.
Only the Keeper of Secrets rule higher, and they are truly magnificent. Depraved like none other, reeking of sin and delicate ruin, they move like shattered glass and give battle like music upon the page. These are the servants of She who Thirsts, as dangerous in dream as they are on the fields of war.
The Princes Perfidious
Though mighty is the force that swears fealty to his dark name, Slaanesh values competence and mastery above near all else. As such, competition is rife, violence an art form in her fell realm. Those who succeed then, become beloved in the Prince's eyes, gifted further by his overwhelming passion.
Fulgrim, the Phoenician, once Primarch of the Emperor's Children, now father to a Legion of shattered oaths and mercurial loyalty. Obsessed with himself and only himself, he sips upon the chalice of war, like a noble upon their wine.
Lucius the Eternal, arrogant "master" of the blade, scarred warning against the sins of hubris and denial. A wanderer without loyalty to any but his own ego, searching forever to prove his skill against all others.
Shalaxi Helbane, Blade of the Dark Prince, Serpent Queen of the Sable Sword. She is a hunter, a killer and a warrior without equal amongst the Daemonic Legions. None can stay her blade, not even those blessed by gods more ancient than she.
Zarakynel, the Angel of Despair and most beloved of Slaanesh's servants. Her delight is corruption, her poison of choice those souls of the Eldar who still live in fear and dread of his shadow.
And lastly, the Masque, banished from the court of She Who Thirsts, doomed to dance through existence bringing misery and woe to whomever hears her tune. Even the Harlequins cannot match her grace, nor stand for existence so similar to theirs.
The Realms of Repose
Unlike his kin, whose homes stand as vast bastions protected both by nature and artificial design, Slaanesh's realm is open for all to wander. Guarded only by tests to ensure the worth of those who set forth, it is shade cast bitter upon the soul, harrowing and empty in its riot of life.
Of these tests there are six, each one a realm in their own right. The first is of Avarice, the Excess of Riches, and here lies a dragons horde in gemstone and gilt. The sun burns bright a ruby light, the trees covered in gold leaf, the bones of those who took more than they could carry crunching below.
The second, Gluttony, the Excess of Sustenance.
Here amidst the oceans of delicate wine lie
islands scattered far and wide. Should one
survive the delicious seas without drowning
themselves, they will find a bounty of food cooked
to perfection, intoxicating in their aroma. Alas
do many surrender here, eating their fill and then
eating some more, never realising just how familiar
a form such food takes.
Third is Lust, the Excess of Bodily Delights, and no mortal brothel nor den of iniquity could match this shrine to physical gratification. The air hangs thick with enraptured musk, and those that succumb find every sense heightened, every pain inflicted by the waiting Daemons magnified a thousand-fold.
Then comes Envy, the Excess of Adoration, and to follow this path is to walk upon dreams held in the darkness. Each experience within these halls is unique, portraying the adoring crowds and loving family that could be yours were you to only reach past loyalty and oath and into damnation. Suffice to say, few awaken from this dream.
The Palace of Pleasure
What comes next then, past the outer realms that catch upon the weaker soul, are those torments and challenges devised to bind those whose arrogance is too great for mortal pleasure.
Pride, the Excess of Achievement, and here does the lonely soul reflect upon their deeds, heightened through the lens of what if and possibly. Think too long however, drink too much of such bittersweet dreams, and you will find yourself devoured by the failures that await you coming forth.
Finally however, is that most dangerous of things. Peace, the Excess of Repose, the very air calming the fires of ambition and desire. In truth, it is the most toxic of traps, for in the grim darkness of our world, what more could one ever crave than an escape from the constant horror.
Should one successfully navigate there way through all six realms, prove themselves so self-obsessed that no trinket nor divine gift could lead them astray, then at last may they enter upon Slaanesh's own abode.
No warriors guard these halls, only statues of coloured marble and impossible design. No traps, only art and music so lovely as to draw passion from even metal and rock. No soul save one in this shrine to dark deplore...
The Prince of Darkness themself.
The Fifth Cronesword
Said to be legendary swords hewn from the fingers of the Eldar Goddess Morai-Heg, they are relics of a dying empire and the last embers of hope for a race already dead. Though four of these have already been found, the last lingers now within the halls of Slaanesh, seemingly forever out of reach.
The Eye of Terror
Though by no means the sole domain of Slaanesh, it is a ruptured hole in reality formed by the screaming birth of She who Thirsts. A land where gods meet mortal in kind, it is the seat of damnation within the galaxy, the gate through which hell makes rampant abandon upon those still clinging to false hope.
Art
1: Unknown
2: Tome of Corruption by RalphHorsley
3: Broken Realms Art
4: Slaanesh Marine by Adrian Smith
5: Unknown
6: Wrath and Rapture Box Art
7: Slaanesh Symbol2 by SlaaneshG
Afterword
I hope you all enjoyed this installment of the 40K Lore by Jackeyblob. If you have any feedback or criticism, please don't hesitate to let me know. The next chapter will be taken from the suggestion most interesting to me, so I look forward to hearing from you then.