The Ruination of Imperfect Beauty

[MolotovKraken]

Slaanesh sends ripples of raw sensation across the Calixian Empyrean. Strange and obsessive daemon breeds crystallise where those ripples meet the psychic ebb and flow of decadent pleasure worlds. One such breed is the Ruination of Imperfect Beauty, named by savants of the Schola Impermissus before their final purge at the hands of the Ordos Calixis. A Ruination of Imperfect Beauty arose upon the pleasure world Kinog in the early 8th century M41. The sinful of Kinog consorted in illicit pleasure, in the creation of extravagant art, and in ornate conspiracies—it was a pale and sordid reflection of corrupt Malfi, composed at the surface as a floral garden within which courtly love might bloom. Thorough decadence and exacting sin called a Ruination from the warp to complete the blackening of noble souls. The true form of a Ruination is a bloated, repulsive combination of toad, crab, and corpulent woman, but it rarely manifests itself until its plans reach their conclusion. Even then, it hides behind a delightful, lustful appearance. It is a potent daemon, yet is driven to do no more than quietly build a coven of just six decadents: wastrel artists, lovers, or conspirators. It whispers in their ears, steering their dreams and hopes to the construction of perfect works: the perfect painting, the perfect love, the perfect conspiracy of murder. All of the members and works are interlinked within the coven, and each nearly perfect work is marred by one deep flaw.

The Ruination is pleasured by these undertakings and the human emotions—frustration, anger, delight—resulting from them. Perfection is a harsh taskmaster, and the daemon is obsessive in its manipulation and arrangement of lives. In the end, however, when the pattern has run its course, the Ruination must draw its coven together and manifest to destroy it, so as to feed upon their souls and empower itself. A Ruination has power to lay waste in the Archenemy’s unholy name and drive men insane with a glance—but instead, its mad daemonic nature compels it to cajole, threaten, and bargain as a whisper on the wind. It achieves its aims by manipulative subterfuge and seeps warp–taint into the spires of wealth almost by accident. Tomes of the Schola Impermissus reveal further secrets of the Ruination breed, scattered between the ramblings of broken minds—if the tomes can be found at all, that is. For example, a Ruination abhors incompetence with the conviction of a zealot. Obviously poor goods or inept artisans can act as a ward, and credible accusations of imperfection can achieve banishment of the daemon.

Definition: Daemon,
Malleus Minoris Explication: The Ruination of Imperfect Beauty (also called the sensate daemon breed of Kinog) is a corruptor of schemers, artists, and artisans. It builds covens of weak men who seek perfection, and empowers itself by the ruin it works upon their souls.
Admonition: The daemon is a whisper upon the air, a taint upon some few amidst the many. Force its manifestation by tearing down its coven, or await its final act of ruination brought upon the weak. There, it might be banished by force of blessed weapons and prayer of the faithful.

Adventure Seed
A daemon of the Kinog breed has been banished by the Acolyte’s lord Inquisitor. Yet the sixth of the coven of seduced conspirators, a deluded and unrequited lover, escaped death and fled into the mid–hive. She is the last link that binds the daemon to the Materium, and whilst she lives, it may yet manifest once again. The Acolytes must find her and slay her…but what if there are further links, in the form of flawed works left undestroyed? What if slaying her completes the interrupted work of the daemon? The Acolytes must be careful lest they find themselves doing the daemon’s bidding.

††Mask of Seduction:
When the daemon so chooses, it masks its hideous appearance. While clothed by seductive, shifting forms, the Fear 3 effect does not apply.

†††Scourge of Sensation:
The daemon unleashes a directed flood of the most terrible visions, torments, and ecstasies. Victims standing in the direction of the daemon’s attention must succeed in an Opposed Willpower Test each Round in order to act. With each failed Test, a victim gains 1d5 Insanity Points.

††††Desire Beyond Reason:
If the daemon becomes convinced that it is imperfect in its arrangements, it must succeed in a Hard (–20) Willpower Test. If the test is failed, the Ruination attacks itself and ignores any other enemies for one Round. At the beginning of the next Round, the Ruination may attempt the test again. If it succeeds, the Ruination may act normally.

†††††Slave to Refinement:
The daemon must make a Hard (–20) Willpower Test to touch obviously ugly and unseemly constructions, or a poor craftsman, or inept conspirator. It is repelled by that which falls far short of perfection. However, creating too terrible of an appearance risks achieving a perfection of intent, which bodes ill if the daemon realises the game that is being played and views the unseemliness in that way.

From the journals of Inquisitor Felroth Gelt: 3.581.719.M41

The stench of incense and viscera poured forth from the shattered portal. I entered alone, sealed within power armour of ill appearance and poor function, each of these aspects a defence in itself greater than the ceramite layers and cleric Albere’s carefully inscribed ward sigils. Beyond the portal, the six high–born heretics lay rent, scattered in blood and pieces across the gilded marble like so much spilt wine and meat. Their creations of art and conspiracy lay similarly in ruins beneath smoking censers. The warp–beast that had wrought such intricate destruction lay in its midst, atop piled silk and rare, broken woods. Its aura was potent indeed, scratching at the soulshield erected by my vat–psykers; pain and tongues of pleasure slipped about me, though I knew it made no earnest attempt. The appearance of it shimmered between a spread mass of utter foulness and slim, noble forms of lascivious beauty. The daemon flickered in shape, seeking a reaction, seeking chinks of desire in the armour of the righteous.“You are too late, Faithful One,” it gurgled, then sighed. “Such a resplendent feast their efforts made. I am empowered, and yet so many more are to be had upon this world.” All the while it reclined upon the wreckage of the noble suite and contemplated how best to tear me from my unsightly armour—or whether such an act was beneath it.“Then you have achieved perfection in your aim, fiend?” I asked it.“Yes. You would not understand the pleasure it brings.” It laughed, horribly, and swells of nauseous pinpricks swept me with each new sound. The voxlink brought me quiet sounds of my vat–psykers’ distress—for all I felt, they suffered tenfold. But I could not have hurried, even with their lives in the balance.

I stepped forward into the unwelcome sensorium and readied for what might be my end. “I dispute your perfection, for I stand here before you, the will of the God–Emperor incarnate ruining your final configuration. The scene has not ended, and I have smeared the ink. Does that not make you imperfect, fiend?”The scream was hideous, erupting from a heartbeat of nothingness in which even the daemonic presence was withdrawn. The beast attacked me with such images and sensations—the joy of labour to perfection, the anguish of a perfect work laid waste, the pain of the flaw revealed, the vicious pleasure at being he who destroys it—all repeated in a thousand voices. I cannot but imagine the fate of an unprotected soul. “Now!” I cried through the daemonflood. “Now, in the Emperor’s name!” and the militants of my retinue were upon the golden stairs outside, bearing thrice–blessed weapons. I had fallen to my knees and struggled to even raise my hellgun. My bonded psykers babbled and screamed across the vox, their very souls in acid.The clacking dartguns of Mamin and Balthas pierced the daemon with inscribed wands, whilst the armoured bulk of Kotheme aimed a lascannon draped about with prayer–scripts. The daemon rent itself in inarticulate rage—or perhaps horrified pleasure—and Kotheme fired, vapourising its warp–matter. The entire far wall shattered about the iridescent las–line, a sudden gale bearing masonry and every loose remnant of destruction into the thin spire air beyond. “Inquisitor!” shouted Balthas above the noise, as he helped me from that cursed place against the pull of the gale, but I had not the strength to reply until much later.