04 Jan 2006
What does it mean, to be a daemon? What does it mean, to have fought so long, so hard, to please your wicked gods, that you yourself have risen almost to their level?
This is not a subject I welcome with open arms. Believe me when I say this, were it not for your request I would never even go near the subject of daemonhood. But I am Your Holinesss humble servant, and I shall do as you wish.
We all know of the dread beings of Chaos. Champions of men who gain unimaginable power by serving blasphemous gods. The Four Greater Gods of Chaos are by their common names: Tzeentch, Khorne, Nurgle and Slaanesh. Each of these gods has different ways of showing their favour; but all are gruesome.
Nurgle in particular is known for his foul gifts. His followers are pock-marked, lice-infested, plague-ridden sons of Northern whores, and yet they look upon their every affliction with great love and affection. We may count ourselves lucky that Sigmar does not give such terrible gifts!
The greatest of all mortal Champions have two paths which spring from beneath their feet. One leads to eternal damnation, whilst the other leads to immortality, the ability to ravage the world of many generations of man.
The first path is the one that most take, and for that we can be thankful. For every gift the Gods grant to any one mortal, a certain amount of dark magic flows into his veins. All but the mightiest are soon overcome by this torrent of darkness, and they become Spawn of Chaos.
But the second path? Only the toughest or strongest ever live to follow this path. It is the path to daemonhood; the path to immortality, albeit at a terrible price.
May Sigmar watch over me as I write the following; I have heard of too many scholars turning to the Dark Powers merely through knowing of them
A Champion may become overcome by magic and yet survive the ordeal, and come out the other side in a newer, far more powerful form. His body is rent by the force running through him, and it is not unknown for bodies to explode into tiny fragments of ash. These then reformthey come together in the shape of a Daemon.
Each God has his own preferred form of Daemonkin. Slaaneshs daemons shall be figures of deceptive beauty, neither male nor female, but an odd mix of the two. Many have fallen under a Slaanesh Daemons spell, and none who do live to tell the tale.
Nurgles daemons are grotesque monsters, their very innards spilling with tiny pox-creatures called Nurglings and their breath granting disease and famine to all who feel it.
Khorne is the God of Blood, a vicious warrior with a disturbing similarity to Ulric, Sigmars own deity. His daemons are thirsting for blood, and most go insane at the thought of it. Some have even clawed violently at their own faces in an attempt to taste the blood of a life long forgotten.
Tzeentch is, perhaps, the oddest of them all. His daemons are shape-shifters, never staying in one definite form but changing eternally, blasting his enemies with magic.
I can not even imagine travelling to the Realm of Chaos, the centre of which swarms with these creatures. Already I find my mind assailed by images great and horrific; I fear they may even take control over me. I must rest before I continue.
***
I am returned. My dreams were plagued by thoughts of those vile creatures leering up at me. Only one dream can I remember particularly, which I shall now recount for you.
I was in a dark room. Well, I assumed I was. I could feel the ground beneath my feet, and yet I could not see it. A bright light suddenly flared about one hundred paces ahead of me, and when my eyes adjusted to it I saw I saw a woman of such amazing beauty. She was almost naked, wearing only a deep purple loincloth, but her arms were not human arms.
Her delicate shoulders ran down onto sharp, hardened claws like a crabs pincers. They clicked together repeatedly, and then the woman spoke.
Come to me, good sir, for I have been waiting for you.
It became clear to me that this most beautiful of ladies was a daemon, and I turned and fled into the darkness. I tripped, and she was upon me in an instant.
I do not know truly what happened next, for my servant awakened me and told me that I had been screaming in my sleep.
For me, this is more than enough to prove the corrupting power of Chaos. I have written this essay, and I hope you never request I dapple in this subject ever again.
- as written by esteemed author and historian, Gabor Haas.
SM
This is not a subject I welcome with open arms. Believe me when I say this, were it not for your request I would never even go near the subject of daemonhood. But I am Your Holinesss humble servant, and I shall do as you wish.
We all know of the dread beings of Chaos. Champions of men who gain unimaginable power by serving blasphemous gods. The Four Greater Gods of Chaos are by their common names: Tzeentch, Khorne, Nurgle and Slaanesh. Each of these gods has different ways of showing their favour; but all are gruesome.
Nurgle in particular is known for his foul gifts. His followers are pock-marked, lice-infested, plague-ridden sons of Northern whores, and yet they look upon their every affliction with great love and affection. We may count ourselves lucky that Sigmar does not give such terrible gifts!
The greatest of all mortal Champions have two paths which spring from beneath their feet. One leads to eternal damnation, whilst the other leads to immortality, the ability to ravage the world of many generations of man.
The first path is the one that most take, and for that we can be thankful. For every gift the Gods grant to any one mortal, a certain amount of dark magic flows into his veins. All but the mightiest are soon overcome by this torrent of darkness, and they become Spawn of Chaos.
But the second path? Only the toughest or strongest ever live to follow this path. It is the path to daemonhood; the path to immortality, albeit at a terrible price.
May Sigmar watch over me as I write the following; I have heard of too many scholars turning to the Dark Powers merely through knowing of them
A Champion may become overcome by magic and yet survive the ordeal, and come out the other side in a newer, far more powerful form. His body is rent by the force running through him, and it is not unknown for bodies to explode into tiny fragments of ash. These then reformthey come together in the shape of a Daemon.
Each God has his own preferred form of Daemonkin. Slaaneshs daemons shall be figures of deceptive beauty, neither male nor female, but an odd mix of the two. Many have fallen under a Slaanesh Daemons spell, and none who do live to tell the tale.
Nurgles daemons are grotesque monsters, their very innards spilling with tiny pox-creatures called Nurglings and their breath granting disease and famine to all who feel it.
Khorne is the God of Blood, a vicious warrior with a disturbing similarity to Ulric, Sigmars own deity. His daemons are thirsting for blood, and most go insane at the thought of it. Some have even clawed violently at their own faces in an attempt to taste the blood of a life long forgotten.
Tzeentch is, perhaps, the oddest of them all. His daemons are shape-shifters, never staying in one definite form but changing eternally, blasting his enemies with magic.
I can not even imagine travelling to the Realm of Chaos, the centre of which swarms with these creatures. Already I find my mind assailed by images great and horrific; I fear they may even take control over me. I must rest before I continue.
***
I am returned. My dreams were plagued by thoughts of those vile creatures leering up at me. Only one dream can I remember particularly, which I shall now recount for you.
I was in a dark room. Well, I assumed I was. I could feel the ground beneath my feet, and yet I could not see it. A bright light suddenly flared about one hundred paces ahead of me, and when my eyes adjusted to it I saw I saw a woman of such amazing beauty. She was almost naked, wearing only a deep purple loincloth, but her arms were not human arms.
Her delicate shoulders ran down onto sharp, hardened claws like a crabs pincers. They clicked together repeatedly, and then the woman spoke.
Come to me, good sir, for I have been waiting for you.
It became clear to me that this most beautiful of ladies was a daemon, and I turned and fled into the darkness. I tripped, and she was upon me in an instant.
I do not know truly what happened next, for my servant awakened me and told me that I had been screaming in my sleep.
For me, this is more than enough to prove the corrupting power of Chaos. I have written this essay, and I hope you never request I dapple in this subject ever again.
- as written by esteemed author and historian, Gabor Haas.
SM