vizn3r/warhammer40k-lore huggingface dataset:
Razorwing Jetfighter - Wargear: Twin-linked Splinter Rifles (Nose-mounted)2 Dark Lances (Wing-mounted)2 Disintegrator Cannons (Wing-mounted, as replacement for 2 Dark Lances)Splinter Cannon (Nose-mounted, as replacement for twin-linked Splinter Rifles)4 Razorwing Missiles of any of the following types:Monoscythe Missile - The Monoscythe Missile is an anti-infantry missile designed to release a wave of directed energy at head-height upon detonation in its area of effect, decapitating nearby foes.Necrotoxin Missile - A Necrotoxin Missile is an anti-infantry munition filled with deadly neurotoxins. When it detonates it unleashes shards of toxic shrapnel, killing and pinning the enemy in place as their central nervous systems dissolve under the effect of these chemical weapons.Shatterfield Missile - A Shatterfield Missile possesses two, separate detonation chambers which explode one after the other. The first detonation of the missile sucks away all thermal energy in its area of effect, transforming the targeted foe into frozen statues covered in ice. The second detonation sends out a powerful force that shatters the now-brittle flesh and/or armour of the enemy into frozen shards.Night Shield
Razorwing Missile - Razorwing Missile: A Razorwing Missile, also called a Voidraven Missile, is a type of Drukhari missile specifically created for the Razorwing Jetfighter and its heavier counterpart, the Voidraven Bomber, in their role as ground assault aircraft. A Razorwing Jetfighter or a Voidraven Bomber can deploy four of these missiles, drawn from four sub-types, whose effects are described below.A Razorwing Jetfighter cannot deploy an Implosion Missile, while the Voidraven Bomber cannot deploy the Monoscythe or Necrotoxin Missiles.
Razorwing Missile - Monoscythe Missile: The Monoscythe Missile is an anti-infantry missile designed to release a wave of directed energy at head-height upon detonation in its area of effect, decapitating nearby foes.
Razorwing Missile - Necrotoxin Missile: A Necrotoxin Missile is an anti-infantry munition filled with deadly neurotoxins. When it detonates it unleashes shards of toxic shrapnel, killing and pinning the enemy in place as their central nervous systems dissolve under the effect of these chemical weapons.
Razorwing Missile - Shatterfield Missile: A Shatterfield Missile possesses two, separate detonation chambers which explode one after the other. The first detonation of the missile sucks away all thermal energy in its area of effect, transforming the targeted foe into frozen statues covered in ice. The second detonation sends out a powerful force that shatters the now-brittle flesh and/or armour of the enemy into frozen shards.
Razorwing Missile - Implosion Missile: An Implosion Missile is a heavy and menacing-looking missile that emits a field of molecular dissonance. Those caught in its path implode, instantly collapsing in upon themselves and leaving nothing more than a scorched silhouette to mark their demise.
Realm of Chaos - Realm of Chaos: The Realm of Chaos is the name given to that portion of the Immaterium where the Chaos Gods and their Daemonic followers make their homes, if such a concept even has meaning within the formless extradimensional space that is the Empyrean.Beyond the boundaries of physical space, unrestricted by time or causality, there is a dimension incomprehensible to mortal minds. It lies on the other side of dreams and nightmares, infinite in scope but without form or structure. This realm is composed of the psychic energy of love and hate, fear and hope, ambition and despair, and yet it is an uncaring, emotionless void.The Realm of Chaos exists far outside imagination; an impossible abstraction made real only by metaphor and the roiling emotions of mortal minds. It is constantly reborn but has never changed, eternally shifting though endless in potential. No mundane sense can see, smell or hear it, and even the most powerful psykers cannot glean the Warp's true nature, lest they be driven insane.It is a place where gods thrive in constant war, fighting over the raw stuff of Creation that birthed them. In this unknowable realm, titanic hosts clash, locked together in a conflict that is as old as the universe and can never be truly won. Vast Daemonic armies rage and scream, each warrior formed only of the psychic energy of emotion, and each driven onwards by the whims of their dark creators.Sometimes, this dread realm shatters its boundaries and spills into the territory of mortals in so-called "realspace." Nightmares and terror are unleashed upon the worlds of Humanity and aliens alike, as armies of slavering fiends and cavorting warriors pour forth alongside regiments of blood-red soldiers and batteries of brazen Warp-forged war machines.While the skies burn with magical fire and rivers of blood drown ravaged cities, the hosts of the Dark Gods slaughter and maim all in their path, feeding upon the souls of their victims. The Realm of Chaos has been made manifest, and there is no escape...
Realm of Chaos - Dark Gods: In the Immaterium, the psychic reflection of similar thoughts and emotions from sentient beings in realspace gather together like rivulets of water running down a cliff face. They form streams and eddies of anguish and desire, pools of hatred and torrents of pride. Since the dawn of time, these tides and waves of psychic energy have flowed unceasingly through the mirror realm of the Warp, and such is their power that they forced into being creatures made of the very stuff of dreams and nightmares.Eventually, these instinctual, formless entities gained a rudimentary self-consciousness of their own. The Chaos Gods were born -- vast psychic presences composed of the fantasies and horrors of mortals. These are the Ruinous Powers, and each one is a reflection of the mortal passions that formed them.First amongst them is Khorne, the Blood God, possessed of towering and immortal fury. Tzeentch, the bizarre and ever-changing Architect of Fate, weaves powerful sorceries to bind the future to his will, whilst great Nurgle, the Lord of Decay, labours endlessly to spread infection and pestilence. The last of their number is Slaanesh, the Dark Prince of Chaos, indulgent of every pleasure and excess, no matter how immoral or perverse.As the intelligent species of the Milky Way Galaxy prospered and grew, so too did their hopes and dreams, their rage and wars, their love and hatred. This burgeoning flood of raw emotion fed the Chaos Gods and nurtured their power. Eventually, the gods reached back, into and through the dreams of mortals, eternally working to influence the physical realm and its myriad sentient species.A Chaos God can only grow in power through the actions and thoughts of mortals. Those who worship a Chaos God, and behave in a way that feeds it, are rewarded with strange mutational "gifts," extraordinary powers and potentially, immortality as a Daemon Prince.As the Chaos Gods battle in the Warp, so their mortal followers wage war in the material universe. The victors of the battles earn more power for their unworldy master, though the twisted plans of the Chaos Gods are such that often victory is not necessary; merely the acts of sacrifice and battle themselves.When devotees of Chaos die, their souls do not fade in the Warp and disappear like the spirits of other mortals to some unknown and unknowable fate. Instead, their immortal psychic energy is swallowed into the greatness of their gods, their souls sustained forever, bound to the eternal power of Chaos.
Realm of Chaos - Realm of the Gods: Through the dreams and nightmares of mortals, the changing tides of the Warp are moulded into a fantastical landscape and populated with legendary beings. Timeless and ever-shifting, this psychic expanse is known as the "Realm of Chaos," "the Empyrean," "the Warp," "the Immaterium" or "Warpspace," depending upon which facet of its existence one is seeking to comprehend.It is a dimension parallel to our own, a universe devoid of consistency and unbound by the physical laws which govern space and time. It is a random, unstructured panorama of pure psychic energy and unfocused consciousness. It is Chaos in its truest sense, unfettered by the limits of physics and undirected by intelligent purpose and will. The Warp is Chaos, Chaos is the Warp; the two are indivisible.The Chaos Gods and their dominions are one, for both are formed of the same basic psychic Warp energy. As a Chaos God gathers energy from the thinking beings of reality, it expands in power, its corresponding influence upon the Warp around it broadens and its territory within the Realm of Chaos grows larger. No two visions of these divine realms are ever the same, but all are founded upon the same fundamental themes and feelings.As extensions of the Dark Gods, the appearances of their domains are formed upon the same emotions that created their masters: Khorne's realm, the Blood God's Domain, is founded on anger and bloodletting; Tzeentch's lands, the Realm of the Sorcerer, are scintillating constructs of pure and ever-shifting psychic magic; Nurgle's territory, the Land of the Plaguelord, is a haven of death, decay and regeneration, and Slaanesh's dominion, the Dark Prince's Realm, is a paradise of damning temptations and hedonistic pleasures.Though realm and god are as one, the Chaos Gods each have a form that embodies their personalities and dwells at the heart of their territories. Surrounded by their attendant Daemons, the Chaos Gods watch over their realms, seeking any disturbances in the pattern of the Warp that signal intrusion or opportunity.
Realm of Chaos - Formless Wastes: The Warp has no physical dimensions and the Realm of Chaos is without limits or true geography. The areas of influence controlled by the Chaos Gods form their realms and the rest of this roiling landscape is often referred to simply as the "Formless Wastes," the "Land of Lost Souls" or the "Chaos Abyss."Much of the Formless Wastes is random, constantly churning and reforming: rivers of tar flow through petrified woodlands under crimson skies; great stairways lead into the heavens and join themselves from below in an ever-lasting loop, castles made of bones and fortresses of ichor stand amidst copses of limbs, and the departed spirits of titanic god-machines slump in graveyard heaps. Every dream and nightmare, every lunatic vision and deranged fancy of Creation, finds its home in the Formless Wastes.The Formless Wastes are home to the Furies -- Daemons created by indecision and random chance. They are heralded by disembodied voices, lacking anything but the most rudimentary awareness and instinct.Greater Daemons and Daemon Princes grown powerful enough to instill a small measure of control over their surroundings also create their abodes in the Formless Wastes -- each of these small islands of structure is a petty domain in comparison to the vast realms of the Chaos Gods within the Realm of Chaos, but each embodies the whimsy of its creator, a small shrine or temple to a niche of belief.
Realm of Chaos - Chaos Daemons: The Chaos Gods are not alone in Warpspace. They have created servants from their own essences -- the entities that mortals have named "Daemons" based on their ancient legends and religious mythologies -- who are not so closely bound to the Warp. Daemons are entities of a somewhat different nature to their masters, and are the most numerous of the creatures to be found in the Empyrean.A Daemon is "born" when a Chaos God expends a portion of its own power to create a separate being. This psychic power binds a collection of senses, thoughts and purposes together, creating a separate personality and consciousness that can move within the Warp. The Chaos God can reclaim the independence it has given to its Daemon children at any time, thus ensuring their loyalty. It is only though the loss of this power that a Daemon can truly be destroyed, its mind dissolving back into the whirls and currents of Warpspace.Daemons have no physical presence within the Warp. The Realm of Chaos is anathema to the laws of physics and the starships that navigate its depths do so by taking a skin or bubble of "reality" with them in the form of their Gellar Fields when they enter using their Warp-Drive.Instead of possessing a true physical form, Daemons project a form conjured from raw psychic energy that is essentially a lesser interpretation of their divine master's own fundamental nature. Hence, the bizarre and inhuman appearances projected by Daemons indicate their presence, status and allegiance to a Chaos God. Though it may appear to be made of normal matter when it materialises in realspace, a Daemon's form is no more physical than it is in the Realm of Chaos. In fact, they are beings of pure Warp energy given shape and depth.When manifested in the material universe, Daemons have particular invulnerabilities and weaknesses, as well as many strange powers derived from their Warp-born nature as psychic beings. Slaying a Daemon's physical projection does not kill it, but only severs its presence in reality; its true essence in the Warp remains unharmed.When a Daemon is "killed" in the material universe, it is banished back to the Warp. If not simply re-absorbed by its creator as punishment for its failure, it must remain there to regain its strength that it eventually might manifest itself again.Legend has it that a Daemon banished in this way cannot return for a thousand Terran years and a solar day, though it is of course impossible to prove such a belief through study, and the concept of time itself is meaningless within the Warp.The slight to a "slain" Daemon's pride is considerable, however, and the Daemon is forced to endure the mockery of its fellows until it can return to corporeal form and avenge itself. The most powerful Daemons will call upon any servants and tributary Lesser Daemons to help them achieve their revenge.If it has many allies, it may also request their aid, though all Daemons are cautious in doing so. Such favours must inevitably be returned, and no Daemon welcomes the dominion of another creature, be it mortal or Daemonic.
Realm of Chaos - Khorne's Rage: At the outermost edge of the Blood God's Domain there lies a ring of volcanoes that scholars of the profane have come to call "Khorne's Rage." Reaching hundreds of kilometres into the air, they belch their thick black smoke and molten brass skyward, creating an impenetrable border that can neither be seen through nor navigated.Darkness and ash hang there, lit ominously from beneath by gouts of flame that incinerate the loose debris along the sides of the volcanoes. Within the ash clouds, blood storms roil. Red lightning dances across the clouds as thunder cracks and rolls, like the snap of a Bloodthirster's whip followed by the sound of the hooves of a thousand charging Juggernauts.These peaks stand as a bastion against invaders, their toxic ash and scorching brass flows enough to deter all but the most determined of forces. Those who are arrogant, or foolish, enough to make the attempt to cross the torturous border are met with more than barriers of heat and jagged rock. The very rock and brass of Khorne's Rage itself rises up to crush the attackers. Pieces of the rock break away from the side of the mountains, molten brass flowing into them in a hellish semblance of life blood. Daemons of stone and liquid metal take form, born of rage and defiance.With mindless fury and unadulterated violence, they bludgeon and scorch their foes. Once their grim task is complete, they fall back into lifeless piles, waiting for the call to reform and defend the borders of their master's realm.
Realm of Chaos - Daemon Forges: At the base of the volcanoes are the forges of the lesser furnace Daemons. In these sweltering workshops, weapons of war are crafted. All manner of axes, swords, hammers, and armour are created to supply the Blood God's eternal wars. Here, too, the components of Khorne's Daemon Engines are made.Assembly of these huge constructs of war is conducted elsewhere, but the cogs, blades, housings, and armaments all have their beginning here, at the foot of Khorne's Rage. It is a dangerous place to reside, even by the standards of the rest of the realm. At any moment a volcano could erupt, flooding the forge with molten brass. It is of no concern to Khorne if a few Daemons are incinerated in such mishaps; others rise from the Blood Pits to take their place, and the forges continue.Despite the risks, the furnace Daemons are able to take advantage of the dangers of Khorne's Rage. Across the plains of battle, it is almost exclusively Khorne's own minions that do battle and perish. At the fringes of the realm, however, other warriors die agonising, terrible, bloody deaths.Using tools of fiendish design and rites that even the most depraved Chaos Sorcerers would dare not undertake, the masters of the hell-forges enslave the souls of those mortals who would dare invade the Blood God's realm and fuse them with the anvils of Khorne. The tormented screams of those thus eternally imprisoned blend with the ringing and clanging of each falling hammer that strikes the forge. When white-hot metal is placed on the anvil and pounded into form, the bound soul feels the scorching heat.Thus, as each new weapon or piece of armour is crafted in the Daemon Forges, it is born to the sounds of Khorne's enemies suffering the god's everlasting wrath.
Realm of Chaos - Blood Pits: Warp energy, the raw stuff of Chaos, constantly swirls across the realms of all of the greater Chaos Gods. Its currents and eddies shift and meander seemingly at random, causing mutation within the very land itself and everyone and everything they touch. In most cases, this power does not linger in any one place for long.There are, however, locations throughout the Blood God's treacherous domain where the power of the Warp collects and stirs. When this happens, great craters are often gouged into the blasted plains. None can say if it takes moments or millennia for these pits to form, for time is meaningless within the Realm of Chaos.Eventually, the Warp Storms break apart, sometimes seeping into the very pits they created. When this happens, Khorne commands his minions to intensify their efforts to harvest blood from the mortal world, using the most violent, destructive, and devastating methods they can possibly bring to bear. The souls that perish in such a campaign give their blood to a special, dark cause. Their crimson essence is collected in the pit, where it is mixed with molten brass and a measure of Khorne's own murderous bile. The resultant lake is a new Blood Pit.It is from the Blood Pits that new Daemons of Khorne arise. Bloodletters, furnace Daemons, and many lesser fiends steadily emerge from the Warp-and-bile-infused blood, ready to do their master's bidding. The soldiers that vomit forth from that pit will be charged from the day of their creation until the day they fail their master in combat with claiming more blood to refill their pit. Eventually a pit goes dry, but without fail, soon after it does a new storm begins to brew, restarting the cycle of bloodshed.
Realm of Chaos - Rivers of Blood: Dividing one region of Khorne's realm from another like jagged crimson scars on the scorched land are the rivers of blood. These kilometres-wide flows are filled with the blood of those who have fallen in service to Khorne, be they victims or followers. Nearly all blood that is shed on the god's behalf on the mortal plane finds its way to these sanguine canals. The blood itself is hot to the point of boiling.Steam made of vaporised blood hangs in the air all along the length of the rivers, creating a palpable red cast to the regions through which they run. Gigantic bubbles rise to the surface, carrying with them occasional remains of something that was unfortunate enough to have fallen into the river.As the bubbles burst, globules of steaming, hot blood launch hundreds of feet into the air, coming back to the ground and landing on the shores in splatter patterns that often resemble the spray of an opened artery.
Realm of Chaos - Lake of Slaughter: Thousands of blood rivers cut through the land and end up emptying over a bleak precipice kilometres high, plunging downward in waterfalls of gore. The lake that forms at the base of the wall is larger than any ocean in the mortal realm and populated with creatures that cannot be.Leviathans of brass and bone swim through the lake, devouring all as they pass. Soaring above the lake, Bloodthirsters fight with dragons of pure, solid blood. Those that stray too close to the surface of the lake risk being snatched out of the air by the very lake itself, so hungry is it for carnage.Rising waves on the surface take the shape of warriors and do battle, crashing violently into each other and falling back to the surface in a rain of scattered blood.
Realm of Chaos - Brass Citadel: On the far shore of the Lake of Slaughter, the ground is littered with skulls, so many, in fact, that whatever foundation may lie beneath them cannot be touched. For kilometres these skulls stretch away from the shore, and in the distance there rises a great black wall. This is the outer wall of Khorne's Brass Citadel.Upon the wall stand guardian Daemons, with eyes as sharp as their fangs and swords. They watch for any intruder, ready to defend their master to the last. Within the walls there are thousands of Flesh Hounds patrolling the skull-yard, sniffing out the blood scent of any who would dare attempt incursion.In the skies, flying between the outer walls and the inner keep, elite Bloodthirsters listen for sounds of invasion on the wind. It is rare that any force musters the strength to assault the Brass Fortress, its guardians deterring all but the most foolish or daring of Khorne's rivals from even trying.When the attempt is made, the might of the Blood God's personal host is brought to bear with a fury and rage that threatens to rip a hole between realms. While Khorne's brother Chaos Gods could gain much power should they defeat the Blood God in its fortress, the risk of counter-invasion is too great for such wars to be waged without dire cause. It is said that if Khorne itself should rouse from its throne and personally go to war against the other Dark Gods, its favoured blade would end them all in one mighty sweep, but that such an act would have calamitous results that not even Tzeentch could predict.It is said that Khorne was once consumed by such rage that it took up its sword and smote the ground, splitting it asunder for eternity. This fell sword is known by many names including Warmaker and The End of All Things, and is capable of laying waste to entire worlds with a single blow. Because of this, an uneasy state of balance exists between the Ruinous Powers.When Khorne does obliterate the invading armies of its brother gods, they do not exact retribution directly. When the threat is ended, neither does Khorne press the advantage, but rather turns back toward its inner sanctum and reclaims its place atop the Throne of Skulls. Thus is balance maintained in the eternal Great Game.
Realm of Chaos - Throne of Skulls: In the very centre of the Brass Citadel, beyond the Bastion Stair and the eight Iron Pillars, Khorne watches over all its minions from the god's seat on the Throne of Skulls. From there it commands its Blood Legions and mortal servants to bring war to the distant corners of the galaxy. Every victory it witnesses leaves it thirsting for more blood. With every defeat, Khorne takes the blood of a failed champion and adds it to the rivers of its realm.Blood will be Khorne's; if the god must harvest it from its own minions, so be it. Surrounding the Throne of Skulls on all sides is a mound of skulls that holds Khorne aloft on its perch. Khornate Chaos Champions and fallen enemies alike contribute to the mass of bone. Could these skulls speak, some would tell tales from before the Long War against the Corpse Emperor of the Imperium, when the Primarch Angron had yet to swear his oath to the Blood God.Others would speak of grave mistakes that caused their entire species to fall to the axes of legions of berserkers. The skulls closest to the god, those of its favoured Champions who have perished in service to their lord after hundreds of violent campaigns, would call out across eternity, once more bellowing their war cry: "Blood for the Blood God!"
Realm of Chaos - Daemon-Killa: Tuska the Daemon-Killa is the name of the Ork warlord who is the leader of an Ork WAAAGH! that currently battles eternally before the Brass Citadel, the heart of Khorne's domain in the Realm of Chaos in the Warp. The original Ork invaders of the Immaterium attracted the gaze of the Blood God when they plunged headlong into the Warp/realspace interface known as the Eye of Terror with the aid of many Weirdboyz in search of fresh carnage.Their dangerously unhinged Warlord Tuska, the self-styled "Daemon-Killa," had already made his mark upon the Eye by bringing battle to several Daemon Worlds devoted to Khorne's rivals. The Ork Warlord proved unstoppable until his WAAAGH! crash-landed on a flesh planet belonging to a mighty Daemon Prince named the Blood Prince who stood high in the standing of Khorne.The Greenskin warlord's vast horde was eventually slain to an Ork by the wrathful Daemon Prince and his minions, but the god's joy in the murderous spectacle was such that Khorne himself ensured the Greenskin crusade rose once more on the very next dawn.History repeated itself over and over again as the Orks fought tooth and nail, never once showing signs of surrender or despair. The Blood God was so impressed by their limitless battlelust that he took the Orks into his own domain. In the shadow of the Brass Citadel, Khorne's elite Bloodletter generals battle against the Daemon-Killa's undying Greenskin horde on a daily basis.Each cycle, great clouds of fungal spores are released by the dying Greenskins to take root and flourish in the bloodstained foothills of the Osseous Peaks. Yet more Orks are born, grow to maturity and charge into battle once more. Such endless cycles of bloodshed are most pleasing to the Blood God. After all, the one true constant in the galaxy is that of endless war -- Khorne himself has made sure of it.
Realm of Chaos - Mansion of the Plague Lord: There is a house of decay at the centre of Nurgle's Garden. Its wracked and twisted structure creaks and groans under the influence of baleful toxic winds. Shutters cling just barely to window frames only half filled with broken panes of filth covered glass. Sewage drains spill forth beetles, maggots, and twisted centipedes with only tongues for their bodies and human fingers for legs. Paint continually cracks and peels away from the wood beneath, yet the house never loses it grey-green hue. Along the roof, hundreds of chimneys bellow out dark clouds that, upon close inspection, are composed of millions of floating, buzzing flies.All around this house, trees made of bone bear fruit that rots even as it swells. The leafless boughs of these ancient trees provide shelter for Daemonic birds that sing the funeral dirges of any unwelcome visitor. It is a house of pestilence, rot, and death. This is Nurgle's Mansion, also called the Mansion of the Plague Lord, and that means that it is also a place of hope and renewal. There can be no explanation for the strength that keeps this structure from collapse save that it is the dwelling place of the Lord of All, whose boundless energy, sense of eternal purpose, and limitless joy for his work finds perfect peace with the inevitability of decay.Nurgle himself often sits in a massive chair just to the side of the mansion's front door. From there he entreats visitors, both summoned and unexpected, to approach, share tales and questionable libations, and explore the countless rooms within. Inside the vast structure, a guest could easily become lost. Rotten floorboards send many to a doom of slow consumption by the carrion feeders that dwell in the lower levels. Grand staircases decorated with moth-eaten rugs beckon to wandering souls, leading them to chambers where Daemons are glad to receive new, fresh flesh.Should the guest bypass these rooms and continue upward, they might find their way to the attic, where Nurgle keeps samples of his multitudinous works of decay, catalogued and counted over and over again by attendant Plaguebearers. In this attic are jars containing the viscera of plague victims from across time and space. Souls are trapped within apparently simple glass containers, left to slowly dim and fade as maladies of the spirit waste them to the bone.If the visitor walked past the stairs and pushed deeper into the mansion, they might stumble upon the kitchens and larders of the Plague Lord's home. Every foul ingredient, every pestilent component imaginable (and some that defy sanity) rests on shelves here, neatly labelled and ready to be combined in the great cauldron. A wise guest moves on quickly from here, knowing that to linger is to become flavouring for the noxious stew, for this cauldron is among Nurgle's prized possessions and he likes to keep it full. It is in this great black crucible that the Lord of All brews the many plagues he pours into the mortal realm. Nurgle is a creative being, and he will take inspiration for experimentation where he finds it. Seldom can he resist the temptation to add nearby visitors to his virulent concoctions.
Realm of Chaos - Realm of a Million and One Plagues: In addition to the mainstay regions of the Land of the Plaguelord, there are many others that enjoy a less permanent existence, coming and going with the ascendancy and passing of one of Nurgle's many plagues. Some of these likely only exist in the nightmare visions and untrustworthy hallucinations of disease-ravaged minds. Still, the Garden of Nurgle is near-infinite, and it is not so unbelievable that a recipient of one of Nurgle's great gifts might be blessed with a fleeting glimpse of the Plague Lord's realm. With their last dying breaths, some mortals gasp and choke out words saying that they hear faint bells tolling. Perhaps they refer to the blossoms that grow in the Deathbell Lily Fields. When a mortal dies as the result of one of Nurgle's many diseases, one of these pallid flowers opens up and emits a tinny chime to mark the success of Nurgle's handiwork. The ringing is incessant.The Hanging Gardens of Thush'Bolg are a sight to be seen. This remote slice of Nurgle's realm was given to the Great Unclean One Thush'Bolg as acknowledgement of his use of a choking plague to wipe out an Ork infestation on Hurax, a planet that Nurgle coveted. To commemorate his victory and to demonstrate constant thanks to his lord for his reward, Thush'Bolg used his own intestines to hang every single Ork from the colony in the trees of his domain. There they dangle and rot, slowly dying but never quite finding release.Plaguebearers toss organs from the bodies of disease victims into sorting pools, making it easier for them to count the numbers that have died from each ailment. Beasts of Nurgle frolic in fields where planted spines yield crops of dementia-inducing foodstuffs. Nurglings cackle with glee as they roll down hillsides that form spontaneously when Great Unclean Ones vomit up regiments they consumed thousands of standard years ago. The Land of the Plaguelord is a wondrous place filled with vitality, mirth, and experiences beyond mortal comprehension. It is a playground for the minions of the Lord of Decay, a laboratory for his work, and a comforting home for a god that knows his realm is the shape of things to come.
Realm of Chaos - Caged Maiden: The Aeldari believe that when Slaanesh, the Lord of Pleasure, awoke in the early 30th Millennium, their gods were destroyed outright. Yet there is one myth upon a single craftworld that tells of how the Maiden Goddess Isha was not slain by the Dark Prince and absorbed by Slaanesh like the rest of the Aeldari Pantheon after his birth during the Fall of the Aeldari.Slaanesh vanquished her as he had all of the other Aeldari gods within the Warp, but only took her prisoner rather than absorbing her energies outright. What foul purpose Slaanesh had in keeping Isha alive, none amongst the Aeldari now know, but the Prince of Pleasure was ultimately denied his spoils: for some reason Nurgle, the Plague Lord, waged war against Slaanesh to "rescue" the Aeldari goddess.Why Grandfather Nurgle intervened is unclear, although some Aeldari scholars believe that one of the oldest of the major Chaos Gods wanted to give the youngest amongst them a good lesson about his proper place in the order of things. What is known is that Nurgle's Daemonic forces proved victorious and he took the Aeldari goddess back to his domain in the Realm of Chaos. A goddess of fertility and rejuvenation and a god of decay seemed an odd pairing, but Nurgle came to adore his new companion like no other being in the universe.Yet the adoration of a Chaos God is a strange thing, for Nurgle shows his affection in cruel ways. Nurgle keeps Isha imprisoned in a rusted cage in the corner of his cauldron chamber within his personal manse. It is there that he keeps the cauldron where he mixes the elements that create all of his plagues and pestilences. When the Plague God creates a particularly pleasing brew, he forces Isha to imbibe the putrid mixture, watching with building excitement for the symptoms of his latest contagion.Though as the goddess of healing, Isha can cure herself of the disease's ravages, the speed with which she is free from its grip allows the Plague Lord to evaluate his creation's virulence. If Nurgle is pleased, he returns to his cauldron and empties its contents into a bottomless drain, the noxious liquid falling as rain upon one of the mortal worlds. If the concoction does not meet with Nurgle's approval, he gulps down the contents of the cauldron, vomits it back into the pot and starts afresh.While the Plague Lord is busy at his cauldron, Isha accepts her lot stoically, and fights back against the Lord of Decay's evil in the same way she once fought against Khaine, whispering the cures to these new diseases into the universe so that mortals might know them and resist the hideous designs of Grandfather Nurgle.
Realm of Chaos - Excess of Riches: The Ecclesiarchy use stories of wayward souls like the Heretic cardinal to try to warn their servants of the dangers of temptation, drawing from the crazed descriptions of the Dark Prince's domains and minions that are related in such tales. It matters not if these accounts have any basis in real experience or if they are purely mad ravings brought on by fever or drugs. Real or imagined, they are powerful tales for protecting the simple-minded from, among other things, dreams of wealth and the pleasures it can buy.In the first of the rings of the Dark Prince's Realm, day turns to night and the golden hues are replaced by soft blue, the sky shimmers ceaselessly. The heavens are filled with diamonds that seem as if they could be plucked from their place in the sky if one could but reach just a little further. Indeed, many try to do just that, forgetting themselves as they do, not paying attention to their surroundings.Higher and higher they reach, climbing trees made of pure gold, even leaping from the boughs, only to plummet back to the ground, fracturing skulls and rupturing organs when they crash. The end comes to them then, but it is a joyous one, for in their minds they see only handfuls of glittering jewels. It is a temporary joy, however. In exchange for a fleeting moment of false elation, they forfeit their immortal souls.Scholars of the Ruinous Powers collate tales of the impossible realms of Pleasure and Pain, and often describe the first of Slaanesh's treacherous domains as confronting visitors with a spectacle of riches beyond the wildest dreams of even the most avaricious merchants. They tell of trees, grass, and other plants made from living gold. Gentle breezes cause the grass to shimmer like the waters of an ocean under a noon sun. As the wind passes over the blades of grass and through the branches and leaves of the trees, it takes on a voice that beckons all to take as much as they want and more. The mountains that rise up on the horizon reflect a glorious warm light, letting all who see them know that they too are formed from gold.Pathways through the fields are paved with cobblestones not of granite or shale, but of ruby and emerald. At the edges of the paths, loose gemstones and gold nuggets sit, waiting for anyone to pick them up and slip them in a pouch. There is always room for one more glittering stone, one more pebble of gold.Wandering souls ensnared by this domain would do well to recall the legends that say that if those who lined their pockets with these treasures were able to take their eyes off the objects of their desire, they would note that not all they see was shining. Dull bits of bone and other remains are plentiful here as well. These are all that is left of those who filled their pockets, pouches, sleeves, and boots with so much gold that they collapsed under the weight of it. Unwilling or unable to let the riches go, they died where they fell, smiles on their faces despite their impending ends.
Realm of Chaos - Excess of Sustenance: Mad ravings from those who claim to have seen into the beyond say that if an intruder is able to pass through the ring of golden fields without succumbing to greed, he is next confronted with a lake so vast, its shorelines fade to nothing in the distance. The only other land to be seen is a smattering of pale islands, connected to each other by a network of bridges.The finest wine serves as water in this lake but no cups wait to be filled. The bouquet of the wine is strong, pleasant, and enticing. Words from fiery sermons begin to fade in the face of such serenity. Most visitors take very little time before they give up on the idea of cups and fall to their knees to drink directly from the lake. Heads swimming with delightful intoxication, many continue to drink until they slip into the waters and sink below the surface, never to be seen again.Those who are able to lift their heads from the wine cast their gaze more closely on the islands and see them for what they are -- hunched giants holding aloft great tables heaped with extravagant feasts. Exotic fruits, rich breads, and meats of every kind are present. Swimming to these islands is perilous, and many whose senses have become wine-addled sink beneath the waves, joining the countless others who have slipped beneath the carmine liquid. For the ones that make it, the reward is astonishing.Each bite is better than the finest meal they have ever experienced. Each morsel is a decadent delight for the tongue. Faster and faster the wayward consume the food. The voracious eater forces handful after handful down their throat. In their blind need to consume, they do not notice that some of the meat comes from carcasses with an all-too-familiar form.Even if they were to somehow stop forcing food into their own stomach long enough to recognise the fate that awaits them, they could not stop. Given completely over to gluttonous indulgence, the mortal only stops eating when their body fails and they finally collapse into the feast, awaiting the next hungry diner.
Realm of Chaos - Excess of Bodily Delights: There is perhaps no easier way to corrupt a mortal than to appeal to their carnal instincts. Entire Imperial libraries are filled with tales of lurid corruption on one side and manuals with instructions for fighting it on the other. In his heart, a Preacher knows that his congregation is most likely to fall because of the indulgences of lascivious desire than from any other temptation.The Dark Prince surely knows this as well, and it is why the legends say it fills the third ring of its domain in the Realm of Chaos with visions, scents, and experiences that overload the mind and body of anyone who makes it this far. Rich fields of pleasingly textured grasses fill this ring, lit with teasing, golden hues. Soft tents made of spun dream-threads reflect visions gleaned from the deep subconscious of those who gaze upon them, forming sinuous corridors so narrow that a traveller cannot help but brush up against them and feel their cloying embrace. From one vista to the next, visitors travel through a series of decadent tableaus, each more twisted and inviting than the one before it.The crude flesh dens of the underhives or the elegant shadowed parlours of the hive spires of Imperial hive cities cannot present anything close to what the Lord of Endless Delights offers. Daemon and mortal bodies entwine until they become one. Forms so beautiful they are difficult to look at lie couchant, beckoning. Resisting is all but impossible.The sights and sounds of the offered pleasures are sufficient to enthrall most who see and hear them. The assault on the senses does not end with these things, though. The air hangs heavy with an intoxicating musk so rich and pervasive that it penetrates the flesh of all who pass through it, quickening the heart and opening the senses further than thought possible.Thus stimulated, flesh becomes hyper-sensitive to even the most gentle breath of air or tender caress. Scents waft from braziers in which smoulder the embers of an incense that triggers memories of amorous encounters of the past. A mortal in this state is easy prey for the purveyors of delights that surround them. Closing in on their now-willing victims, Daemonettes offer comforts with softly voluptuous flesh, kisses from razor-fanged mouths, and embraces from piercing claws.
Realm of Chaos - Excess of Adoration: Within the ranks of the militaries of every starfaring species, talk of glory is common. Troops are motivated to achieve more than they believe they can by speeches from commanders who exhort the ranks onward to glorious victory. When battles are won, the returning heroes are held high and showered with praise and adoration.This effect on the hero can be profound. More is possible, he thinks. More can be achieved. More glory can be his. Insidiously, this can also lead to fears of letting it all slip away, of failure and derision. In these thoughts, a path to Slaanesh is laid at the feet of the hero. This path is not restricted to the military. Leaders of government, churches, and cults all seek approval as well. Even fathers want their children to look up to them. The path described in the Heretic cardinal's confession is crowded with wayward souls -- a path that leads to the fourth circle of the Dark Prince's Realm.For each visitor here, the experience is unique, though there are commonalities for many. Massed throngs may greet a soldier, cheering his name and erecting statues in his honour. Planetary governors may see themselves establishing such complete order that they gain control of an entire star system. Whatever the scenario presented to him, the victim of these visions finds it incredibly difficult to pull themselves out of the pleasant dream.Unlike the dreams experienced when a person sleeps, these illusions do nothing to seem impossible. A soldier has seen others elevated and has been trained for acts of glory. Histories are filled with tales of governors who have carved out greater realms among the stars. These and more offer solidity to the visions encountered, drawing the dreamer farther and farther into illusionary depths.Only self-doubt gnaws at some, and these are the ones who break free. When they do, the dream shatters, revealing, if only for an instant, a vast plain of black soot. Upon it heaps of bones are buried beneath the bodies of millions of others, standing and lying in the burned ashes, still trapped in their individual delusions. The unsettling image flashes by in an instant and the traveller is confronted by the traps of the next circle.
Realm of Chaos - Excess of Achievement: When the Corpse-god of the Imperium created the Space Marines, legend has that He faced the difficult task of engineering a warrior that was eager to serve Him through great deeds of heroism and by achieving the impossible in His name. At the same time, these soldiers needed to be humble enough to realise that victory earned in the name of the Emperor is not personal, that they are simply weapons to be wielded in His hands, unquestioning and obedient.As is known to those who have studied those ancient times, He failed. Half the Space Marine Legions rebelled, led by prideful primarchs who questioned the Emperor's plans and thought they could do better. All the while, the Prince of Chaos whispered encouragement in their ears, as it does to all visitors to the fifth circle of its domain, if the blasphemous tales are to be believed.What appears to be a grand forest, with dense clusters of majestic trees that house secluded glades is, of course, a trap. The sound baffling effect of the trees puts the mind in an introspective position. The long walk gives it time to wander. The glades are inviting and serene. In the centre of each glade is a perfectly still pool that invites the traveller to sit and reflect upon their thoughts. As they stare into the pool, they recall their accomplishments and dwell on what more they could achieve. Sitting there lost in thought, the undergrowth of the glade begins to creep in on them. Thorny branches reach toward them. Strangling vines descend from the trees and gently coil around their neck.As they close their eyes and imagine themselves striking down legendary foes, conquering galaxy-spanning civilisations, or negotiating heavily favourable Warrants of Trade, the waters of the pool rise up and take the shape of whatever represents defeat for the dreamer. Sensing something is amiss, the ensnared visitor opens their eyes and is confronted by a vision of shame and defeat just before the branches and vines rip at their flesh and choke the air from their lungs. The sound of their final scream, stifled by a lack of air, is a delight to the Dark Prince.An incredibly small number of travellers resist the temptation to dream and are spared the torment of confronting their failings. They rise, exhausted by their trials, and pass into the sixth and final circle that stands between them and the Palace of Pleasure.
Realm of Chaos - Excess of Repose: Life in the 41st Millennium is hard, short, and brutal. For many, each day is a struggle to simply survive to the end of the day. Even species that do not suffer the oppressive yoke of Imperial rule are not without burdens. The Craftworld Aeldari, for example, must ensure that their craftworlds are supplied and ready to repel invaders, all the while haunted by the knowledge of the terrible fate that can await them should their souls fall to She Who Thirsts.Still, bodies need rest. Surely any wanderer who has made it to the last of Slaanesh's defensive rings must be weary, and especially deserving of repose, even if only for a moment. Upon emerging from the delightful torments of the previous five circles, anyone who could resist the seduction placed before them at this point would surely become legend. Awaiting the beleaguered traveller, say the whispers of those depraved wretches languishing in perfumed palaces and pleasure dens, is a vision of sublime peace.All struggle is surely a thing of the past. All torment a distant memory. Here is a beach of softest sand, warmed by the rays of a golden sun. Gentle breezes push scattered clouds through a perfect azure sky. Music is carried on those same breezes, soothing the spirit. The ground itself rises up and caresses the body of the weary wanderer. Cherubs begin to remove armour plates and burdensome belongings.Coalescing from the salted mists of the waves that break upon the shore, figures with placid features and soothing hands approach and rub tired muscles. The memories of an arduous journey fade into nothingness. Peace is the wanderer's at last.It is peace eternal if the will is not strong enough to snap consciousness back to reality. Determination sends the placid apparitions screaming back to the seas. Resolve collects displaced armour and other possessions. Herculean effort forces the few strongest invaders to rise up and approach the final destination. The Palace of Slaanesh lies ahead, and surely any who could pass through the six trials is prepared for what awaits.