They also dull the mind, making it harder to appreciate the ordinary and the mundane. They are the pain of failure, the agony of excess, and that which drives mortals to more daring acts to escape the ordinary. Wherever it goes, all becomes possible. But when it passes, it leaves behind anguish and agony, as real and as painful as the sharp stab of a cruel knife. There is an unclean trembling in all things, potential struggling for release.
Mortals break out into sweats, and their hearts pound against their chests. Animals become inflamed and turn violent, kicking against their stalls or tearing against their harnesses. Weapons throb with invisible tumescent energy. Wood shivers and warps.
The trees creak, and the earth yawns, gushing merry water from its depths. Inhibitions fade, old loyalties dim, and the bonds of trust weaken.
Passion fills the hearts and minds of all, and if unchecked, mortals revel in wild abandon. But the physical tingling of desire is not all that results from the hint of a Keeper. Artists become feverishly inspired, fanatically sketching and drawing, creating masterpieces far beyond their skill.
From the lips of poets come exquisite verse that perfectly captures sorrow absolute or unabashed desire. From the throats of singers spill songs of such beauty that those who hear it die from broken hearts. The Daemon fills the dreams of mortals with such visions of beauty that they thrash about weeping for the unachievable perfection of their nightmares.
When they awaken, their days are spent in melancholy, yearning for that which they cannot have and can never attain. The closer the Daemon comes, the more pronounced its effects. The artist paints with his own blood, the poet claws out his own eyes just to see what true darkness is like, the singer chokes and drowns on the lyrics as she struggles to be free from her imperfect throat. As the world softens, assuming warm colours and gentle, rounded, glistening forms, blades sharpen, emotions run hot, and madness flares in the mind.
The Keepers laugh and delight in all things, and they constantly drive their slaves to greater acts of experience. The Base One can play any instrument, draw any image, and to hear them sing is to lose your soul. Their cackle is the blend of a heartless woman and an innocent child. Witty and capricious, they indulge in every fantasy with cruel and selfish abandon, caring not one whit for those they harm. The Keeper of Secrets is awful to behold.
It takes the form of an androgynous being of impossible stature. Its four arms, two of which end in pincers, beckon and weave as it sways to the music of mortal delight and the hurt that results from over-indulgence. Its huge jewelled eyes contain the secrets of pleasure and pain, hidden lusts and terrifying impulses. Its pastel skin exudes a narcotic musk that acts to magnify the senses, enrapture the spirit, and thrust dark impulses into the minds and hearts of mortals.
Its head, sometimes human , sometimes bestial, is ringed with a nest of curved horns that glisten with an oily sheen. A number of swollen breasts cling to the left side of its torso, like vast obscene ticks.
It stands upon strong legs that give way to almost reptilian claws. It strides the earth, clad in an elaborate costume of bizarre colours and exotic materials, from iron-hard chains to the softest velvets. A Keeper of Secrets exists to destroy dreams and fulfill nightmares, growing ever more powerful on the intensifying emotions of those that fight them.
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Deathwatch vid-log of a Keeper of Secrets in combat. There is nothing so loathsome yet beguiling as the Greater Daemons known as Keepers of Secrets, the closest companions and servants of Slaanesh and the leaders of his Legions of Excess.
Keeper of Secrets - Warhammer 40k - Lexicanum
Wreathed in glamours and mind-dulling musks, this monstrous daemon masks his true form with supernatural allure. His powerfully muscled body is decked with jewels that hold the souls of his choicest victims, and his razor sharp claws are decorated with brightly coloured lacquers. A Keeper of Secrets is a highly intelligent creature, a being whose silvered words and languid gestures belie his true power. It is claimed these are the most entrancing of all immortals, and that to look upon one is to surrender every last shred of self-will.
A Greater Daemon of Slaanesh knows the most intimate desires of every mortal being, and he will use this horrific knowledge to gain power over his foes, seducing them with whispered promises they cannot hope to resist. Few who have encountered this daemon can describe the shame of their desire, nor the lust for violence and depravity that overwhelms their rational senses in his presence, but the Keeper of Secrets is more than just a master of the psyche; on the field of battle he is a graceful yet vicious killer that delights in the excessive, wanton violence he unleashes.
Ancient Keeper of Secrets
Pain and pleasure are irrevocably blended in the minds of Slaanesh's Greater Daemons, meaning that their blissful enjoyment of battle is unmatched in or outside of the Warp. However, Keepers of Secrets are only used by Slaanesh when all else has failed, for violence is but a small element of the Dark Prince's nature. When sheer, uncompromising force is the only course left, Slaanesh tasks his Greater Daemons to deliver it in excess. Keepers of Secrets take gloating, sadistic pleasure in all acts of killing and torture, considering excruciatingly painful death in battle as another form of creative expression.
They take delight in the interplay of explosions, blood and horror, feeding upon the strong emotions triggered by mortals as they are torn apart. Their limbs, at the same time delicate and hideously strong, move in blinding strikes as they eviscerate their opponents, spilling blood in pleasing patterns and spreading body parts in an exotic tapestry. The desperate pleas for mercy and the berserk battle cries of blood-crazed warriors are sonorous music to these Greater Daemons' ears, a delectable opera that honours Slaanesh.
The ways of murder are myriad, and the Keeper of Secrets must explore them all. On the field of battle, the Keepers of Secrets are rarely encountered alone. They are invariably accompanied by swarms of prancing Daemonettes , the ubiquitous Lesser Daemons of the Prince of Chaos. These cavort and dance across the killing fields, singing the praises of their master and dealing death to the armies of men. The champions are taunted and teased by the Daemonettes until the battlefield is carpeted with the corpses of the twitching dead.
And then the Greater Daemon appears, and the slaughter and corruption truly begins.