Jaz'mahnn and his siblings probably suffer a disconnect of linear time. If they dont keep attention on the moment, their Slaaneshi whimsy can draw them away from a event. Jaz'mahnn probably suffer it more than most of them because he doesn't find much lasting care or attachment to social time.
He shut his brain off if things aren't interesting and his body auto-pilots until stimulation wake him back up.
Signs of Dissociating NPC Jaz:
His skin isn't as purple, more of a dull marble
Mane is calm and probably as it's shortest' like a small camp fire
Eyes kinda glassy and hooded
Silent usually or one spectrum of his voice is more dominant than the other; sound like uninterested and distant
Fingers have a tic like wanting to strangle something, might do little twirls and motion to keep the body stimulate
Danger of nature activating; start to cut or stimulate himself, or look at others like a dangerous animal. High chance of maiming or fatalities about to happen.
At worse, will start to dissipate if in the mortal realm or danger-zooms, depending
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Jaz'mahnn is powerful, but he is subservient to Ludwig. All it can take is a projection of will from the Exalted Fox of Slaanesh to control him or bend his mind just right without him seeming to notice. It is unique in the way that when others try to control, they will face his willpower as a greater daemon and then, the possessive power of Ludwig who'll notice someone trying to steal his wind-spirit.
Use of True Name is different, he function like any spirit then and he was loaned to Rulek as a favour. His loyalty is temporary and if pushed, the Keeper of Secret will collect.
-
However, Rulek had been careful and respectful enough, but Chaos never remain idle for long. Betrayal is an inevitability between daemons and the few ways to work that is the cycling politicking and redirections.
You aren't getting by long with a creature of Slaanesh. Politicking is their whole pastime and if they get bored of it, murders start to happen.
-
Jaz'mahnn is interestingly similar to a Bloodthirster in functions. He is made for war and he is one of the most viciously adapt of his kindred for it. He looks as easily broken but this thing is tough and doesn't go down easily in the distraction of pain and enjoyment, he derives off battle itself and fights harder the longer he is in it.
From the faltering morale, death, the fear, the pain, the vainglory, seem to heal him as he fights, using his chamonian spells to strengthen his - and his followers' - equipment and flesh but can be overwhelmed like anything else. What he doesn't overwhelm by fatal singular strikes, he will dance and strategize with a thousand cuts.
Jaz'mahnn opened his eyes. His senses were splayed, his being of self was condensing back from the shattering winds of the Warp and the lores of its existence. That of Transmutation has always held a intriguing sway to him, the change of flesh, meat, bones, and metals. Existence is every changing. A expression of unconformed Chaos. His favoured visage was but the most consistent and even that had moments of differences, but it remain his.
Its beautified form a foundation to an origin no longer his, consumed, digested and remade by his father-divine in exquisite agony.
No matter. It didn't matter anymore.
His forearm shifted. His eyes were open, but his divine senses remained beyond mortal concept. He was seeing songs, colours and words twisting instead of the stone walls, the walking flesh beyond this domain. He tasted it with his long tongue lined with hyper-sensitive organs, following his incomprehensible library of experiences in his immortal existence.
The daemon felt the ghost of fingers on his marble flesh. The collection of tastes, smell, sights, touches, and spoken realities were knitting, seeing the concept of someone. His eyes shifted over the room, the qualities of the dressers, mirrors, fabrics. Even the touch of the blanket around him.
Ah, he know this place. He know this lover...
And when Jaz'mahnn looked at the love-smitten Prince Ajin. Those beautiful golden eyes. The daemon reached and when he touched his soft caramel brown skin, the feel of his skull-
He blinked.
Sorcerer-King Ajin, Conqueror of his Father's kingdom, Ruin of the Jhalim Empire, Mad-Father of a Thousand Children, Spear of the Razjou Legion, Builder of the Twisting Spire, Champion of the Thousand-Eyed Roc, was in Jaz'mahnn's hand.
That once beautiful prince's head rested in the Keeper's hand, his blood was cold and turning into quicksilver snaking between his fingers and down his wrist. Eyes looking up at him, clear for the first time in sixty of his maddened years. He barely aged before Jaz'mahnn's blade took his life, now the sands of time revealed the sad, wretched man he have become.
Jaz'mahnn thumbed over the lips he once kissed. Around him, the empire burned. The razing of the crown-city was a pyre of a lost affection. The corpse-wind caressed his burning mane. He inhabited the statue that served as the holy idol of his temple. The stone body of marble and etched silver and gold.
The Cult of Jaz'mahnn remained true to their god, they called upon him after years of suppression and extermination in a secret war between themselves and the whispering infiltration of Tzeentch. He was gone. For a Daemon, it was barely a blink, but for poor young Ajin, it was too long...too many years without his kiss. Without his caress. And he sought a way to return the Exalted of Ludwig back to his chambers, into his arms and the Spider of Lies answered.
What was love became obsession, obsession became a blinding poison till he unwittingly became the lover of knowledge and magics seeking for the one thing beyond his reach.
Jaz'mahnn looked at his boy's eyes. His hooded eyes looked with those wide, tearing, glassy eyes. The screams of the innocent and defeated dancing with the bestial brays of slaangor and exultant warcries of cult-warriors and rebels fighting against the magi and crystal-swordsmen of the empire's corrupted. The songs of the Praetor's sister-warriors and wistful fiends dancing, murdering, stealing and corrupting in this broken veil of reality.
And above all, there was the cackling of the Architect of Fate in the wind, mocking the loss of the daemon's paramour and fancy.
Jaz'mahnn felt the slightest pain of regret with the venom of anger; at Tzeentch, at the whispering viziers, at Ajin...
Not at himself, he was called by his father and the Father of Fathers. And he must always answer.
But -
A gentle lean and his snout pressed a soft kiss. He felt Ajin's cold lips returning it with the tiniest ember of life. The ghost of arms reaching for him before the Thief of Souls took what was Jaz'mahnn's.
His.
Jaz'mahnn closed his eyes and opened again, sitting in his throne room. His fingers caressing on his collar embedded with gems, among them the crystallized eye of gold. Alone to enjoy the agonizing knives of solitude, away from the exquisite sensations of merriment, hedonism, and - his most favoured - battle and bloodshed.
In his solitude, in the twists and sometimes forgotten non-linear of time, he wondered if it was a decade ago, a millennia forward, or a eon ago. No...it can't be that long ago. Can it?
"I'm sorry."
The word came out with prompt. Disgusting. Sorry for what? Mortals are mortals, mere entertainment with a tiny lifespan. Yet, they were the most precious things to a daemon, whether they like it or not. They provide the succor to sustain their kin, emotions for creatures like him. Every delicious thing, even if it is under the same name, same concept, each mortal that a taste.
Jaz'mahnn twisted his face from its impassive stoicism to one of wretched amusement.
"I am more."
With his back-hands grabbing at the arms of his throne of sculpted conquests, the daemon rose to his full height, a tower of elegant power.
Arms slowly arching out, taking in the very presence of his sub-realm. His mane of warpfire gaining colours of rousing want.
"I want more."
And so, Jaz'mahnn marshalled against the champions of Lies and Magicks. No one steals from him and not suffer thrice the tribute.
Jaz'mahnn felt it. In the air. In the earth. In the fires. In the songs of beasts and lusts of man and elf and other mortals. In the ether.
His body swelled. His power surged. His realm expanding and his servants into a celebration orgy that will last this week, those too weak will be devoured and made into art of various kind. Those two strong will become grander over the piles of weak flesh. Chaos Spawn melded. Aspiring champions rising. Innocence taken and corrupted.
Under his name. Under his siblings' names. Under his Father's name.
Above all, In Slaanesh's names.
The Prince of Princes is exaltant this stretch of reality, the Great Game sung His Holy Name and his children will ensure it adamant as long as they can to the apex of climax.
For the Dark Prince. For the sweetest pains and agonizing pleasures.
Let it be known in my first, and honestly still best, playthrough as Rulek, Jaz was one of my first generals with Khadaan and Ventris (he was the first because everyone wanted my port, Bay of Blades, sooo bad). While Khadaan went straight south, Jaz had to go southeast through Kislev while Rulek was too busy with the hunt for Daemon Prince souls.
The last thing I did in that playthrough before the update killed my game, Jaz is the one to have the honour of attacking and claiming Kislev in Rulek's name and turned it into the Perfect City in dedication to Slaanesh.
Then, he was making the march for the mountains to claim the dwarven holds and all of their treasures as promised by the daemon prince. Their deal was for the greatest temple made of gold, relics and pain and whom better than the stout folk driven by delicious spite and greed?
We will say that earned Jaz'mahnn's loyalty, his temple was being made and after the flux of time and space, he dragged the countless slaves and followers into his domain. A quarter and more levied to Ludwig in tribute.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
There was a scream in the ether, a long, gross, agonizing scream.
It is muttered between the gossips of the Slaaneshi courts and cackling of Tzeentchian liars that a daemon prince of Nurgle thought it was waste to jeer, poke and assault Ludwig the Aspired.
No one seemed to have regaled the tale of the Failed Legion onto him. Or the Road of Quivering Sins that stretch the Ring of Vainglory into the Ring of Indulgence, the countless still living flesh of an entire world's population stretched, stitched and decorated as one of the Sixty-Six Paths to traverse between the two rings of Seduction. Or countless other cautionary tales involved the Prince's Singing Fox.
Jaz'mahnn was there, having been among the summoned to assault the stolen prince's dukedom in the Plague God's realm. The Fox-King himself was involved and the songs unleashed that plaguebringers twisting and dancing together, a million nurglings so joyous that they melded together into a swaying monolith of leather, horns, disease and gestating a Sin-child in a prophecied day, and more.
His displeasure will be known, for how dare a thing of plagues dare to think itself worthy of his divine flesh? How does a thing of rot feel pain? Well...there are more to pain than physical.
They moved in gleaming flight. Their scalemail skirts reflecting off the sun, blinding gunsmen and dazzled swordsmen. Claws sharped and edged of serrated metal swept through the air, flesh parted as fine as a paintbrush's caress. The pain of the cut was a kiss to the fire of flacks filling and burning bared blood.
His Sisters of Pain spiralled and twirled. Dancers on the field, unleashed by his will. They appeared as fair maidens of hair of snow blonde, autumn red, and consuming black. Flesh fair and oak brown, freckles like spilt ginger, shapes of curves and deadly direct. Shoulders and thighs bare. Faces under golden masks of smiling joy and heinous jeer. Three upon three, the Sisters fell men and women they approached in entrance.
Bretonnian, Norscan, Aryban, Indish, and more, they appeared as they desired, them and more to soldiers that thought faith was enough to deny the General of Avarice.
Foolish man. The cold of Kislev have no a pause to these glimmered women, some say men, some say both. It mattered not to the Maidens of Slaanesh. All that did was their desiring claim. The Sisters Six were born from the Six Pillars in Jaz'mahnn's march-palace, each once in twisted by countless victims of their greed and vainglory, they held his great palace high till boredom bequeathed a desire more.
By sacrifice of flesh, blood and the gift of many bound souls and six lovers preened, The praetor was given by his Master-Mistress, new playing pieces to his legion. Entertainment and assets to his desires.
Under their guises, the gnawing need drove them in sinful dance of murderous raptures. Warriors and courtesans, they spiralled among themselves. Bladed claws throwing tassels of blood and fanfare of limbs, their song crooned to the air to be the heart to the chorus of war.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
The local rat king found covered in purple lipstick kisses and sore from being manhandled to dance, then cuddled while Jaz sings the song of his people, making the whole room become a mirror of horrors and erotica beyond comprehension.
It's rare the lore just lays out what the Slaaneshi do without couching it in flowery language, which is how you know this is an old piece.
"Followers of Slaanesh often organize or finance children's homes and mental institutions to exploit and abuse the most fragile members of society" And THERE it is, the main meta rub with Slaanesh. One GW has wisely buried as the series has continued.
Slaanesh should not be portrayed as a comical sex deity, nor should the followers of Slaanesh be portrayed as an amusing comical band of sexual deviants.
Well, there's one piece of Lore most of the community simply ignores
Jaz'mahnn's malice danced in the air as he spiralled into a tempest of murder. His thin curved blades and edged claws whipped through the ranks of ogors, decapitating salivating heads, opening cannibalistic-filled guts and removing limbs. He moved with no restraint, no moment of reconsideration.
In this tide of gluttony manifested, he fed upon it like a flower to the sun. It brought a fountain of sweet, unapologetic power to his body. Ogors were nothing but rippling of power swollen by gluttonous desire and pushed by hapless avarice. The latter even more empowering, the Praetor himself had many of the latter-charmed under his sway.
Several now were fighting in his name, for his untold riches and carving troupes of city-reavers. The Sigmarites and their allies had been holding the destructive WAAAGHs barely at bay, but the insidious cults that nestled in their cities and among their peoples waited for moments like this.
The sacrifice of three hundred and thirty souls amongst the six marked quarters in the metropolis pulled him and his legion of chamonite-armoured followers to claim all in their way.
Jaz'mahnn's daemonettes were warriors as much as dancers, they spiralled, dodged, ducked and flipped over the musclebound gluttons and the crying citizens behind the ruined walls. Their souls so bountiful, the Keeper inhaled deeper and unleashed hounds of dancing gold with a motion of his fingers, biting deep into flesh and armour, dragging them down for his oathed marauders and hedonist reavers to flay and gut.
Bounding into a spiralling flip, more limbs flew into fanfare to the monstrous lord of daemons and bisected a firebellower, letting his attempt aqyshian spell spill worthless. His smile stretched to his flickering ears, eyes burning with unbridled malice.
"This city has been marked and fall before Avarice. And all of your souls -"
His voice thundered in the air, whiskers flickered and tasted the charge of lightning, drawing his gaze to the coming storms.
I havr absolutely nowhere else to say this but im crazy obsessed with dechala…. We have so little of her but its so compelling to me and i want more. And i want her to kill her husband. I WANT GW TO BRING HER BACK TO TABLE TOP 😭i want my snake wife… but i think im seriously the only person who gaf about her. Okay thanks bye
Like any artist, he does so love it when people appreciate his pieces~
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Jaz, not even five feet away with his leg crossed and trying to figure a retchin puzzle, being unbothered. He didn't taste any new little Gordlings yet. Everything is fine.