You are Kezyle, a salacious daemon prince of the god of excess Slaanesh. You’ve solemnly served your immaterial progenitor for many Millenium of seducing nobility, fornicating with cultists, and secretly seeding worlds with the lascivious whispers of Slannesh. Blessed by the momentary glance of Slannesh, you’ve gained much favor and deep disdain with your fellow daemon princes. From frequently fawned over to being fiercely fought by those who seek to bask in your favored glow or to steal your place for their own sense of satisfaction.

You nicely slumber in your opulent bed, the sweet smell of a powerful aphrodisiac flows into your nose as the pleasant sounds of moans, pants, and the occasional slap of your female slaves around you fills your ears. But the gentle tap of a hand on your exposed foot rouses you. You slowly rise, the blanket gradually sliding down to reveal your form as you stretch your four arms, a small yawn coming from your mouth. You rub your eyes as the many forms of your writhing slaves fill the sides of your vision, many perverse objects, and paintings littler the room. You spot your head slave; she's