Summary:
Vel'Thara, one of the many Lords of Change, seeks to crush and overtake a Slaaneshi cult on a planet before it blooms fully. However, she finds that her most recent glimpses into the future were mere falsities by Tzeentch, stifling her many schemes. Frustrated with her inability to make any headway, she strikes at the very heart of the planet, its assigned governor.
Like all the other worlds in the Imperium's rusted chains, this one was a ball of strife begging to be guided by hands far greater than any mortal. Indeed, its denizens sought escape from the endless toil of work, prayer, and hardship that painted their life. It was no surprise that a spattering of hedonism was all that was needed to sway the populace, even with their flimsy sworn oaths to a corpse surrounded by insane worshipers.
Vel'Thara looked out at the expanse of tired, gothic buildings and its plodding populace. All strings of fate waiting be plucked by a skilled hand at just the right moment. Such delicate playing, however, had lost its effectiveness in the past century. Despite all the nudges, the puppeteering, the seeds of doubt, and the more firm whispers, the planet had slipped from the grasp of her patron deity, Tzeentch. Naturally that was impossible. Every move was planned, and every action intended, meaning all of her false visions were intentional.
It was not Vel's place to question her creator, but failing in a grand scheme had struck at her very core. Her false hands gripped at an ancient stone railing. Tzeentch had thought it pertinent that she fail, even now as a storm in the immaterium let Slaaneshi degenerates tend to this world with glee. The Imperium was powerless to stop them with that obstacle, leaving it to dip further and further into the lust and overindulgence of the Prince.
Vel moved back into the sad crowd in her false visage, appearing like any other miserable human waiting for fate to drift them along to more pleasant pastures. While other Lords preferred to be as far away as they could be from their quarry, Vel relished watching the pond ripple from up close. Every second of a plan shifting into action was an absolute delight, and, were she not Tzeentch's own creation, no doubt her enjoyment would have gorged Slaanesh himself for centuries to come.
The populace wasn't openly under the Prince's leather boot, though the not-so-subtle signs of worship had already proliferated among them with their erotic jewelry and touch of color on their vestments. Amusingly, it livened up the dreary planets humans inhabited, but it was not something Vel'Thara could tolerate.
Humans were Vel's favorite creation of the universe. They were so eager to expand and improve upon themselves in such strict, conflicting ways. Until they received a taste of chaos, and they broke, eager to receive more blessings of the Aether. It was Vel's intent to make certain that the desire for more lied with Tzeentch. Humans were so strong, and yet so vulnerable to a guiding whisper or the simple curiosity that tugged at their thoughts in every waking moment. Cute, almost, to think that they could sit upon a throne and rule over everything they surveyed.
The dreary gray sky of pollutants cast down on battered streets and buildings. Vel passed by all sorts of souls, open books ready to have their pages rearranged in every which way. Some had grander plans than others, and others had the stench of that lustful deity. It would be indeed trivial to tear this planet asunder and claim it with the raw force of overflowing sorcery, but that wasn't entertainment. To watch every part of the grander whole slowly succumb was the raw enjoyment she sought.
Even still, Vel had to admit her plan of action was more direct than what was normal for her. She strode forward, rippling the pond of souls, past the grand, rotting architecture, into something slightly more pristine. By human standards, in any case. That was to say, it had less of a stench about it, more guards, less pedestrians carrying their pain about. This was the quarter where their faux-royalty ruled with a militaristic fist. Vel might have turned heads there without a dab of her own powers to hide her presence. Fortunately, their upper-class did not take kindly to the psychically-inclined, another amusing weakness presented as a strength.
The citadel, the home of the governor of this planet, and one that could be considered de-facto ruler of the star system, was Vel's target. She casually walked in with a glance to any guard that stepped in her path.
The dingy palace was a slightly more pleasant affair than the dirty atmosphere outside. The touches of royalty in its grand carpets, displayed weapons, and gaudy furniture were amusing. Vel thought there was something charming about their material weapons being so proudly shown off. She cast aside those thoughts and -- indulging in her abilities -- used a short trip through the immaterium to cast herself into the heart of the citadel, the governor's office.
"I had not expected a daemon so soon," a gruff voice said. "Perhaps something that my successor would tend to, but not myself."
"Kol Tharn," Vel said. "A pleasure to see you in your material flesh."
He was a proud human, showing off his petty royalty with glee. A dress uniform that only vaguely resembled something military in style clung to Kol's frame. He was a commander of his own little world of pleasures. Kol sat behind a large desk with all sorts of papers, trophies, and of course, a laspistol. Even if Vel'Thara were blind to the souls of man, she could tell everything in his office was a masculine display made to intimidate and impress in one fell swoop.
"No pleasantries needed, then? I pray you do not think my name holds power over me," he said, cracking a small smile.
"You speak calmly in the presence of a daemon."
"I would be dead already if you deemed it, correct?"
"Most true." Blatant observations were another of her favorite aspects of humans. She smiled, letting her false form drop.
From that weak human sprung the full form of Vel as a perfectly crafted creature of Tzeentch. Proud wings bursting from her back, scaled hands and feet equipped with deadly claws flexed, and golden eyes pierced into his soul but for a moment. She flapped her wings, rippling her blue feathers.
The display caused Kol to ease back into his seat, one hand firmly gripping an armrest, and the other loosely hanging near the laspistol. Impressive how he managed to keep some semblance of calm.
"You seem far more durable than the other humans who share your title." Vel slammed her staff into the ground, hoping to spark some more amusing fear from him. "I admit, I have never been shot with a pistol, but I doubt you would gain much from it."
Kol's hand slithered back to his armrest, seemingly understanding how pointless it would be to go against her. He gave a bow of the head. "Excuse me. Old habits, you must understand. I ask what brings a creature such as you to my domain, though I have my guesses."
"Indulge me, what are your guesses?" Vel's fleshy beak curved into a smile as she approached his desk, leering down at him.
Kol's eyes narrowed. "While I appreciate your whimsy, I must say, experiencing it firsthand is worse than I expected." He glanced to the heavy doors to his balcony. "I imagine the deviants, the lack of worshipers for your supposed god, some long lost deal someone of my lineage signed." Kol shrugged. "Perhaps you simply want some shred of entertainment."
"Some answers ring true. Perhaps all of them. Look to the first two for now."
Kol nodded. "You want me to exchange one poison for another. Change their degeneracy for your secrets and knowledge."
"I would hold my tongue on pretty terms such as 'poison,' " Vel said. "But in simplistic terms, yes. Tossing out your cancerous polyps for progress and intelligence." She pointed her staff at those grand doors, causing them to swing open instantly, bringing with it the poisoned air. "Come."
Kol furrowed his brow but followed all the same, standing from his grand seat and following Vel to the balcony. She stretched her wings and presented the decrepit city to him.
"Has lust provided anything more to your populace? Gluttony? Perversions of the mind? Your Imperium will return to this space and crush it, given time. The Prince can provide nothing other than fleeting pleasures." Distant pillars belched fire and smoke to the tune of crushing machinery.
"Cancerous, perhaps, but the populace has not been so productive since the degenerate god set foot here. Provided they stay in-line, I have no interest in changing one hand for another."
