Editing Slaanesh (section)

==The Wandering Knight in the Palace of Slaanesh==

(AKA [[Kaldor Draigo]] becomes a sleeper agent. Probably. Other things are possible, but this would slap down the Mary Sue, so really, why argue?)

While the other Chaos Gods rarely welcome intruders to their lands within the immaterium, Slaanesh loves to tempt visitors to his unnatural domain, and those that dare enter the Lord of Pleasure's territory risk becoming trapped in its warped delights for eternity.

Slaanesh's realm is divided into six domains, arranged in concentric rings about the Palace of Pleasure. Each of these is a celebration of Slaanesh's desires, and while they might be mistaken for paradises, nothing in the lands of the Dark Prince is as it seems. An intruder can only reach the Palace of Pleasure, in the very heart of Slaanesh's territory, by passing through all six of the circles-- an act of will beyond most souls, both mortal and demonic. One amongst the mortal visitors to his realm still looms large in the memory of Slaanesh, however-- a wandering knight of the Adeptus Astartes whose resolve was as strong as silvered adamantium.

The first circle the knight pushed through was richly appointed beyond the dreams of kings. Mountains of stacked gold reached towards rainbow mosaics of gemstones in the marble vaults high above; glittering ingots and diamonds beyond count littered the ground. The knight marched past many a starving wretch attempting to count the innumerable gold coins, their sallow faces twisted with mounting greed until their piles toppled, and, weeping, they had to start over again. At every corner of the crossroads stood gilded statues, some of beautiful Slaanesh, others of Daemons and mortals trapped in blissful ecstasy. The trails in the diamond dust underfoot betrayed the fact that the statues were once flesh and blood. The knight had left notions of material wealth long behind, and he strode on without touching a single coin.

Crunching his way across a beach of golden teeth, the knight came to the shores of a vast lake of dark wine. The lake was dotted with pallid islands formed from the backs of giants, each linked by crisscrossing bridges. The backward hands of each giant held up a table that groaned under the weight of a lavish feast. There, he saw mortal men gorging themselves on the banquet, wide-eyed and desperate in their hunger; others frantically tried to gulp down the lake itself. The bloated and the obese moaned in pain as they crammed ever more food into their wine-stained mouths. The knight pressed on, distaste twisting his features as he passed the grisly remains of those who had consumed so much that they had physically burst apart.

The wanderer made his way through fields of golden light and soft hay, where lissome maidens and beautiful youths frolicked near-naked in the hallucinogenic musk of the lithe beasts that cavorted with them. The faces and fertile forms of the dancers were impossibly sensual, moulded to the perfect desire of the heart. The knight held his breath and closed his eyes, for though mortal pleasures were forbidden to his order, part of him was still a man. The crooning nymphs gathered around the knight, stroking his silvered armour and whispering of the sweet carnal pleasures they would give him, but he yielded not. The severed limbs and heads that lay underfoot spoke of the truth behind the honeyed lies. Eyes shut, he cut down the daemonette seductresses around him one after another, letting revulsion guide his shining blade.

After fighting his way through the feminine contours of the foothills ahead, the knight emerged onto a balcony where he was greeted by roars of adulation and approval. An army of Space Marines vast beyond counting awaited him on an endless plain, listening in fevered anticipation of his commands for conquest. Planetary governors nodded in obsequious anticipation, and the High Lords of Terra smiled up at him from smaller balconies of their own, motioning him to speak. The knight recognised one of the rulers from his own mortal life; he stood before him, looking deep into the Philosopher-King's eyes. Behind the mask of power and self-assurance, he saw eternal, nagging paranoia, gnawing suspicion and hidden doubts that were acid to the soul. The knight shook his head sadly and walked away.

Wearied by his ordeals, the wanderer strode on through a mesmerising woodland paradise, its maze of pathways thick with flowers and heavy with thorns. The gentle, fragrant breeze whispered to the knight of past glories, reminding him of the executions he had performed in the Emperor's name. Mirrored pools reflected the knight as a shining saint, his face serene but his sword bloodied as he artfully carved apart rank after rank of red-skinned Daemons. The warrior turned away, troubled. In the distance, he could make out tortured figures staring intently into mirror pools of their own, each held immobile by the undergrowth as whispering thorns insinuated themselves into their flesh. The wanderer turned his mind to the humility of the cell he once called home. As he did so, the path through the maze writhed and straightened out before him. So the knight trudged on.

An endless beach stretched away from the knight, and heavenly choirs sung soothing lullabies as the perfumed sea lapped at the fortress walls of his mind. The wanderer's bones cried out for rest, even if only for a moment. The warmth of the golden sun above calmed his soul, and the tide began to erode his will. His tired eyes could barely stay open, but his vision was still clear enough to see the horrible truth: the bone-white sand was made from the remains of those who had rested here and fallen into a coma of blissful indolence. His resolve hardened, the knight strode on toward the shimmering palace in the distance.

It was there, beneath the elegant spires, that the wanderer came before almighty Slaanesh. Statuesque and divinely glamorous, the deity visited him in the form of a youth possessed of an androgynous beauty, clean-limbed and fresh with vigour. The knight unsheathed his rune-etched sword and made to strike him down. To his horror, he found that he could not, for the god-prince was disarming in his innocence and utterly beguiling in his manner.

Even the purest flame can be extinguished by the tide. In that single moment of doubt, the wanderer was lost. He knelt, bowing his head at last, and a single touch of the being's glowing sceptre on each shoulder sealed his fate for eternity.