Jaz'mahnn, the Hoary Lotus

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.

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.

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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.

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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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.