For those of you who think this may be boring, it will not. It is a story about the subtle perversion of chaos, and the way that it cares not who it attracts, so long as it achieves its end.

Champion

The Witching Night

Adem Corrage sat quietly on a handmade, wooden chair at a bad-quality wooden table, slowly slurping stew.

He was twelve years old, and was typical for someone of his age in the Empire. He had dark, black hair, pale pimply skin, and piercing green eyes. He was neither tall nor short, being around five feet tall, although that was only in his boots. He wore a sack-cloth pair of trousers, a carefully woven hemp green shirt, and a pair of clunky leather boots. The dye for his shirt was very expensive, and had cost his mother a lot of money to make. Adem looked across at his mother, washing the family's dishes in a lead bucket. She worked hard, did his ma, but then it was hard living where they were.

Adem lived with his family in a small town about thirty miles away from the realm of Kislev. The town was called Bochheimenn, meaning 'Silly Town' in the old tongue.

Adem had three sisters and four brothers. His da had long since packed up and left home, looking for a woman who could satisfy his 'needs' better. Ma had to work very had to keep all the children in the house, but then, so did the children themselves. They all had jobs, some were apple pickers, some were pear growers, but the youngest was one and the oldest was sixteen. Ma took her hands out of the dirty washing bucket and sat down on another chair as it creaked in protest of her considerable weight. She picked up Thomas, the youngest, and bounced him on her knee.

Ma was a very pretty woman. She was thirty abouts, and looked as young as sixteen. She was constantly a source of attraction for the town. She had flowing, black hair, pale, flawless, white skin, and a fine body with good curves and full breasts.

The only child that didn't have to work was Thomas, but he still helped out in jobs around the house (in his own way, which usually involved hiding family objects). The house wasn't big, but it was not small, ma would say. It was... cosy. Yes. Cosy would be a good word for the house of three rooms, the kitchen, the hall, and the bedroom. Ma and Thomas slept in the bed, along with Jill, the second youngest daughter. She was only four, and had developed a horrible fear of the dark. The rest of the family slept on the floor under blankets in other rooms.

Adem stirred again his vegetable stew, picking out all the bits he didn't like, such as the carrots. He picked up his wooden spoon and put a carrot on the end of it. He careful angled the spoon, so that he would flick it like a catapult. He turned it to aim at Mary-Anne, the only member of the family that could read. Or was learning to anyway. Mary-Ann was the oldest child, and she was sixteen. Ma had picked her out a boy to marry, because they did desperately need the dowry. Adem was glad he was a boy, he did not want to have to marry someone he did not love.

Adem didn't really know what love was. Love was... a complicated concept, especially for one of his way of thinking. He was a very imaginative child, something that always got him into trouble with the adults of the village, especially Herr Ogdenhuhrer, who someone seemed to think it was his duty to stop Adem from playfighting.

Adem hated Herr Ogdenhuhrer. In fact, Adem didn't like most people in the village. He had no friends, and his brothers always teased him, even the ones that were younger. The only person Adem actually talked to was his little brother Thomas. Adem smiled as Thomas suddenly giggled and grapped with ma with his tiny hands.

Ma suddenly sat up straight, nearly knocking Thomas onto the floor. She looked at Adem with a sense of urgency in her eyes as Thomas pouted on her lap.

'You've got work today, you blaggard!'

Adem winced. His mother swore a lot. He did not particularly like it, but she did. And she was also right. He did have to work today. Adem had a job on a wheat farm, and his job was to harvest the wheat with a scythe. Before his mother could scold him more, he ran to the makeshift door that hung oddly off its hinges and ran outside to the wheat farm.

Meanwhile...

Armand Witchkiller leaned forward carefully in his seat, intimidating the barman who stood behind the counter, nervously fidgeting his hands on his dirtied and stained apron.

'What did you just say?'

'Err... Err... I just... I don't want anyone causin' trouble... Beggin yer pardon sir... of course, if you don't want to leave, that'd be fine as well... but you're intimidating me customers... and well...'

Armand interrupted the idiotic barman, leaning further forward, the golden effigy of Sigmar's hammer dangling from his neck.

'You asked me to leave, didn't you?'

The barman looked as if he was about to burst into tears.

'It's just that you're scarin' me customers... and... you know what, forget it. A drink for you on the house, Mr...?'

Armand continued, standing up now. The entire bar was staring at him with fear-lidded eyes.'

'Do you know who I am?'

The bar had gone deathly silent. Armand pulled his jacket back slightly next to his hip, so that all the bar could see his blessed pistol holstered there.

The innkeeper tried to continue.

'Well, no sir, that's why I was askin, I mean, beggin yer pardon sir, I'm sorry, I apologise...'

Armand drew his pistol, quick as a flash, and fired it directly above the innkeeper's head. The innkeeper ducked, his wife screamed, the tavern jumped.

The innkeeper stood up, the expression of horror on his face clear to see. The bottle that Armand had just shot fell onto the floor, smashing the glass and sending tiny bits of it everywhere.

'In here.' Armand continued, raising his voice. 'I am god. I have been sent to this village by the holy church of Sigmar in Altdorf to cleanse the taint of the ruinous powers from this place!'

Collective gasps arose from the audience, and many people moaned in horror. An elderly woman, who looked to be about sixty, groaned, and collapsed. Armand continued.

'Why do you want me to leave, innkeeper? Is there a secret in here you want to keep, hmm? Something best left undiscovered? Some hidden taint that you didn't want me to see? Well?'

The innkeeper tried to shake his head, but he was trembling so badly already it wasn't noticeable.

Armand put his pistol in its holster, and leisurely walked towards the door.

'Oh, and barman?' He called, not turning around. 'Fix that glass up, will you? Somebody could step on that and get hurt.'

Armand smiled and walked out of the inn in a swagger, knowing full well that he had done Sigmar's work.

-

'No, no, NO!'

Herr Schronberg pushed Adem out of the way roughly, trampling some of his own wheat in the process.

'This is how it's done!'

Schronberg pulled Adem's scythe out of his unresisting hands, and held it properly.

'See, you hold it like this...'

Schronberg gently swung it back and forth over the wheat, cutting it down.

'This is how you reap the wheat! See! Try it.'

Adem nervously picked up the sharp scythe. Last summer, he had hurt himself with a scythe whilst trying to cut wheat. He had a scar to show for it on his right arm. Adem swung the scythe slowly and cautiously from side to side, trying not to go further out than he had to.

'That's it. Go easy boy.' Schronberg remarked, smiling, as Adem reaped the wheat.

Adem built up courage, and did it faster now, side, to side, to side, to side. Cut, cut, cut. He must have been getting a bit overconfident, because he accidentally got caught in the momentum of the swung and fell over, crushing a bunch of wheat in the process.

'Argh!' Schronberg cried as the broken wheat stalks fell, potentially useless now. No good trader would buy crushed wheat.

Adem hastily stepped to his feet and looked at the ground, his face blushing furiously.

'Sorry.' He muttered.

'Say it like you mean it boy, you just cost me money!' Schronberg cried.

Adem looked up a bit and said, in a low voice again. 'Sorry.'

Schronberg gently lifted Adem's head with a finger.

'Don't worry about it boy. We can always grow more wheat, can't we?' Schronberg grinned, and the grin passed to Adem, who could not resist Schronberg's charm.

'Now, let's try again.' Schronberg instructed. 'Gently swing it from side to side, like I told you. But this time, don't try and do it faster, or better. You have to keep consistent. You are the master of the wheat. Keep it in check. That's right. Gently, but apply power on the swing. That's right. Perfect!'

Schronberg beamed as Adem worked his way through a column of wheat, slowly but consistently.

Adem grinned at getting praise from Schronberg. Schronberg was as close to a father as Adem had ever had, his real father having left him before he was born. The other children of the family were fathered by various men who had paid ma off to satisfy their own... needs. Adem positively adored Schronberg, and although he loved him like a father, he never told him so, for Adem wisely thought the feeling might not be mutual.

So Adem kept reaping the wheat, and cutting it. Schronberg went inside, but watched from the windows, because he was still worried Adem might hurt himself or the wheat again. Adem grinned. It was a good day.

-

Adem's mother sat down on the bed, exhilarated. Tonight was one of the few nights she could call Him.

Tonight was Geheimishnacht.

She quickly sat up, and looked outside her window. She thought she could already see the dark sky warping. She almost shrieked in laughter when she saw Morrslieb, the chaos moon. It's dark greeny surface signaling to her chaos in its pure essence.

Her children were in bed. They were asleep. Most children were asleep on the witching night, and many people barricaded their houses. This was the one night ever year when Morrslieb was most visible.

She pulled out from under her bed a slab of rock, upon which there was a symbol that would chill most people to the bone if they saw it.

It was the symbol of Slaanesh.

She continued to put the slab in a certain place in the room, and then stopped. She sat cross legged before the slab of rock, and closed her eyes, while rocking herself back and forth and chanting.

'Prince of Darkness hear my plea, send that which is most valued to me!'

The symbol on the rock started changing colours rapidly. Adem's mother did not stop. She chanted a myriad of words while rocking wildly back and forth, the noise not leaving the room through some method of enchantment. The stone wildly reacted suddenly, and a mist sprayed out from the middle of the symbol suddenly. The mist circled around the room, and Adem's mother breathed it in deeply, taking exultation in the dark feeling it gave her.

A dark, dark shape materialised behind her, something that looked too evil to be human, and too beautiful to be a daemon. Some sick abomination that would be willing to cater for desires of any sexes.

A Daemon.

Jagghadun tapped her on the shoulder, ever so gently, and she stood and turned to face him.

'It has been a time, my eternal love. Come to my arms, Shiva Corrage.'

Shiva dropped her dress from her body, beneath which she wore nothing. She fell into the naked daemon's arms, and they both fell upon the bed, lost in mad ecstasy, pleasure, and pain. Shiva screamed, hard, part in pain, and part in lust, two mixes that combined to make the essence of the Prince of Pleasures.

Their bodies moved with vibrancy, entwined as they were. They thrusted and bulged, and licked, and sucked, and twisted, and bent over each other in a horrible imitation of a lover's embrace.

Suddenly, Shiva's door opened. Before either Jagghadun or Shiva could do anything, a small boy walked in.

It was Thomas.

He had his blanket in his hand, and, gently rubbing his eyes, walked to the foot of the bed. Jagghadun and Shiva did not stop, still callously thrusting. Suddenly Jagghadun pulled back, and grabbed Thomas, covering his mouth with sick, twisted claws. Jagghadun put Thomas on the stone slab, and Shiva leapt up off of the bed with delight and sat next to him. Jagghadun extended one of his claws to a monstrous length...

And slit baby Thomas open.

Thomas screamed, but no noise left the room, as the horrible enchantments and wards left by the chaos cultist Adem's mother did their work. Nobody slept soundly that night...

Least of all baby Thomas, who never slept again.