Daemon Engines fluff

[Berzerker88]

 

1) Except Defiler fluff specifically mentions they don't care about who they are killing.

2) The question isn't how the Daemons are kept from bursting out of their engines, but how they are kept from attacking their handlers and masters in the first place.

 

 

The Defiler's don't care, but their handlers do.  Apparently you missed my point about how the daemons are bound to the war machines in the first place, because part of binding a daemon is that you can then control it.  As has been mentioned multiple times now, consider in the fluff the daemonhost Cherubael from the Eisenhorn trilogy.  A daemon, physically bound within a human body, that takes commands from a human because of the nature of the binding.  When a daemon is bound in a Defiler, part and parcel of the binding process is going to be a list of standing commands that prevents the Defiler from turning on its masters.  Another is going to be that the Defiler must obey the orders of its masters.  Without those precautions, the Defiler is never going to be put on the field of battle (ie, our tabletops) because it's going to activate your Point #1 and kill the pretentious fleshbags that forced it into the machine in the first place.  That conflict is going to led to either the Defiler being destroyed or it destroys all of said fleshbags and wanders off on its own in search of something else to kill.  Only successfully bound and commanded Defilers will actually be deployed as part of a warband.

But Cherubael is a Daemonhost, not a Defiler. It doesn't say anywhere that they work the same way SPECIALLY considering that the former are made by the Inquisition and the latter by the Dark Mechanicus.

 

What commands prevent the Daemon from attacking it's master? How does it tell his master from the Warpsmith that created and sold it? How does the new master communicate with the thing in the first place, specially over long distances? Why would the daemon even need to be appeased or chained up if the binding (which is literally just sealing it on the vehicle, nothing to do with behavior at least according to Black Crusade) prevent it from attacking allied forces? How do Khornate warbands even operate the things when they don't employ sorcerers?

[Kol Saresk]

How is a daemonhost different from a Defiler? What makes a daemonhost obedient and a Defiler not?

[Azekai]

Well, first off, none of this is real, it is all space hell magic; but the supposed process of binding a demon is not new. If you would like to learn about the apocryphal methods of conjuring and commanding demons, there are plenty of Goetic texts that could help you out. I am sure the specifics of binding chaos daemons is similar in terms of general principle.

Suffice to say that warp entities are cruel and murderous, but there are lots of them, and many of them are smart. It is conceivable that the warpsmith, sorcerer or magos needs to find one that is willing to negotiate, or perhaps one they could entice or even intimidate, if they have enough favor with the dark gods. In any case, parlaying with summoned djinn, dead, or demons is, again, old hat as far as binding is concerned. This is all standard stuff. None of this is groundbreaking from a mystical trope perspective. A binder need to define where they stand with regard to the possessing spirit, and spell out the terms of the indwelling... then the magic makes this process final, and well, binding.


Metal versus flesh, yes, that is the main difference between defilers and daemonhosts... but to the possessing warp entity, it doesn't make much difference. The principles of placing magical parameters on a warp creature are the same. In one scenario the ritualist is drawing chaos runes on a living body, and in the other they are inscribing them on an armored tank. Pretty dang similar. 

You don't just bind daemons to things willy nilly and expect them to do anything useful. There is a dark art and science to it.


With regards to Khorne specifically, how do you think things like Kytans and Scorpions come about? There are certainly warpsmiths aligned with Khorne (such as the conclave of Ironghast), as well as dark mechanicus elements. The rituals to subdue daemons are not the same as the psychic witchery Khorne abhors. The various daemonkin warbands that serve the Blood God have access to rites that are capable of summoning and suborning daemons so they can be bound into vehicles of war. A great example of this are the Brazen Beasts. They were once a loyalist chapter that were given visions by the Blood God, who apparently saw fit to reveal to them the secrets of controlling and binding daemons. So, no, Khorne does not mind his surly minions using their brains once in a while. Killing your enemies with cowardly witchfire is right out, but blood ritualism is A-OK.

The possessed warmachines of the Brazen Beasts are referred to time and again as a stable, which does a pretty good job of illustrating the relationship between chaos marines and their daemon engines, I think.

[Plaguecaster]

"Using complex arcane rites the adepts of the so called dark mechanicus work with chaos sorcerers to to draw forth the essence of of a daemon from the warp, and trap it within the rune bound hull of a Defilers. Enraged by this intrusion, the daemon needs to be sedated with spells of appeasement and pacification"

Source codex chaos space marines 5th

it is not only warpsmiths/ dark mechanicus who create the daemon engines but chaos sorcerers also have powers to control them since they usually bind th daemon into the shell whilst it's the warpsmiths who create the engine's shell. Through sorcery, physical restraints and other forbidden means can the forces of chaos control their creations yes they do tend to go on the rampage but that's usually during battle (most of the creators usually never fight directly alongside it) and are more likely to attack the enemy forces shooting at them driving them more crazy (not being in the way helps too I guess) after battles it would be pretty easy for a sorcerer to re-establish any spells, binding or rituals etc to subdue the daemon engine that's if they survived the engagement. How is that hard to understand????

[Kol Saresk]

If anything, the Daemonkin are a perfect example of the logic because most of them don't even summon daemons; they just bleed the barrier between realities until the daemons can just burst through on their own power. Which conversely means they also retain their own free will.

 

And as we all know from the common saying, "Khorne cares not from whence the blood flows."

 

The ultimate point is that daemon summoning in 40K uses the same tropes as WoW, D&D, and every other magic-based series in existence; magic has a formula and if the caster does not follow the formula, there are bad consequences.

 

Ahriman: Exodus is a collection of short stories featuring a daemon summoner who follows Ahriman around and features in the third book as a major character.

 

It basically goes through anything and everything involved with daemon summoning in 40K. That collection, the Eisenhorn series and Atlas Infernal are pretty much the three things in 40K that go into detail about daemon summoning and daemon binding as it pertains to the 40K flavor.

 

However, magic in 40K is fundamentally no different from magic as presented in any other genre or series. Heck, even the nonfiction books like the Lesser Key of Solomon and the Satanic Bible by Anton Szandor LaVey(which was admittedly published as a joke, not a serious magic treatise), still make decent exposes on undrstanding the concepts behind "magic".

 

But ultimately, the only difference between a Defiler and a Daemonhost is the vessel it's put into. As shown in the Eisenhorn series, there was a process to Eisenhorn learning how to properly control Cherubael and it took many, many hosts, including the body of one his oldest friends.

[Closet Skeleton]

The more feral or strong-willed the daemon, the more physical requirements may be necessary as in the example of the possessed artillery in Storm of Iron as previously discussed.

 

To be honest the problem there might just have been that the Iron Warriors are not an especially sorcery proficient legion. Or maybe they just think that since emotions power the warp being scared of your own daemon artillery is in a round about way to your advantage anyway.

 

I doubt the Thousand Sons need to physically bind their daemon engines no matter how powerful the bound spirit.

 

 

The main difference between possesing and binding is most often thought in the amount of control over the thing you are calling.

 

Possession means that an outside spiritual force has taken control, binding means that something has had limitations placed on it.

 

 

Thing with the 'unwilling' Daemon Engines is that there is no fluff explanation as to why they don't immediately seek out and attack their current master the moment they are unchained/wards are lifted.

They don't seek out and attack their masters the moment the wards are lifted because the wards are built into the engine itself and never get lifted unless a serious accident is in progress.

[MoGuy]

 

 

I doubt the Thousand Sons need to physically bind their daemon engines no matter how powerful the bound spirit.

 

In the Ahriman novels the Sons use quite a lot of Daemon enignes. And they are pretty much just dormant in the ship hangas until deployed for battle. But the Sons also managed to resurrect a Warlord Titan by binding some Greater Daemons to it so it might not be that surprising that their Daemon Engines aren't aggressive towards them, since they are bound by strong enough magic to keep them in check.

[Kol Saresk]

As the Ahriman series shows, the KSons can resort to physical restraints(Ahriman kept a Daemonhost chained up throughout the first book), but they also have more esoteric ways of keeping the daemons restrained.

 

That said, the primary reason the daemons in Storm of Iron were able to go insane was because bombs were being strapped to them, blowing up the actual engines, and the daemons were just wreaking havoc in the Iron Warriors' trenches as they were going back to the warp.

 

@MoGuy: Don't forget thag when that Daemon Titan caught sight of Ctesias, the summoner who trapped the daemon in the Titan, it did its best to murder him, not caring who got caught in the way.

[MoGuy]

 

 

Don't forget thag when that Daemon Titan caught sight of Ctesias, the summoner who trapped the daemon in the Titan, it did its best to murder him, not caring who got caught in the way. 

 

Yes but at that point the Titan wasn't controlled by Ctesias. Rather it was awoken by other Sorcerers and just let loose on the invading Sons.

[Berzerker88]

 

Don't forget thag when that Daemon Titan caught sight of Ctesias, the summoner who trapped the daemon in the Titan, it did its best to murder him, not caring who got caught in the way. 

 

Yes but at that point the Titan wasn't controlled by Ctesias. Rather it was awoken by other Sorcerers and just let loose on the invading Sons.

That's precisely my point! They are awoken and let loose, and are uncontrollable afterwards. Why else would Defilers need to be chained up if the binding process placed limitations on who it can hurt?

 

Then @Kol Sarek uses examples from other media... While ignoring the fact that in other media the act of binding an entity to an object does not necessarily restrict it's behavior when inside said object, specially when it's essentially a suit of armor they can control.

 

Then you have the fluff about Blood Slaughterers, which says yet again they are 'almost impossible to control' and 'just as dangerous for their allies as they are for their enemies'. Brass Scorpions are exempt from this, because they are summoned, willing daemons, same with Soul Grinders..

 

And I know. The most logical conclusion is that the machine itself has some kind of target identification system that not even the daemon could hijack, but there are no fluff texts that confirm this.

[Azekai]

I feel like you are only reading what you want to read and dismissing the rest.

 

 

The most logical conclusion is that the machine itself has some kind of target identification system that not even the daemon could hijack, but there are no fluff texts that confirm this.

 

 

NO. IT IS MAGIC. Magic stops the daemon from escaping the metal shell, and magic stops the daemon engine from running amok.

The 'target identification system' is chaos rites that force the daemon to attack what its makers/owner deems appropriate. There isn't fluff to say otherwise because that is how daemonic binding works! Sometimes it goes wrong, sometimes the wards fail and the daemon wreaks havoc, but hey, sometimes war elephants trample their handlers too. Nothing is ever perfect or 100% effective.

[Iron Father Ferrum]

The other thing you have to remember about bound daemons is that they are sentient. They have willpower. One of the running themes of demonic possession in 40K is that eventually bindings fail because daemons are intelligent, hateful, and strong willed enough to find ways around their bindings. Just because is bound doesn't mean it's going to stay that way. That's why you chain them up: it's a precaution.

[Kol Saresk]

I have ignored nothing exactly because other media supports my point; summoning an entity does restrict its behavior unless you are careless or you have some other assurance the entity is not going to turn on you. ie the entity is a spirit of a loved one, or you have some reason to trust it, or there is some pact in place that guarantees it won't harm you until a certain goal is acheived.

 

What you're doing is taking the possibility of something going wrong with daemon engines as a reasoning for it being stupid. While then ignoring that the background lists the same issues with daemonhosts and daemon weapons.

 

It's not a worthless trope; it's a gamble for the characters who do it. They're bettig on the strength of a daemon versus any and all comers.

 

Take Khayon summoning the Ragged Knight in Talon of Horus. Normally the daemon is trapped in a tarot card. And normally Khayon has control over it. It's one of the strongest daemons he has control of. But then one day he summons it, and its able to work its way loose of the bonds until Khayon is forced to put it back in the tarot card.

 

Loosing control was something he knew could happen, but he did it anyways because the benefits outweighed the risk.

 

It's no different than riding a motorcycle. There's a big chance something can go wrong and you will be lucky if you don't die because the only thing protecting you when you fly into that asphalt at 60 mph is your clothing and maybe a piece of plastic wrapped around your head whose sole purpose is not to protect you, but to keep your skull in its relative shape that if it breaks, its easier for doctors to start repairing the damage and having a chance of saving your life. If you're smart enough to wear a helmet to begin with.

 

That's daemon summoning in a nutshell. It's a game of Russian Roulette with not only your life, but the lives of warband. People you call brothers, sisters, and/or rivals.

 

Is it stupid to summon a malevolent entity that would love to use your femur for a soup spoon? Absolutely. But imagine the rewards if your could force that entity to instead fight your enemies? Sure, there's always the risk it might break loose of your control because it got lucky or you got lazy, but imagine the worlds you can burn with it in the meantime.

 

You'll never get anywhere if you don't play risks. And if you're too scared to take the risks in playing with daemons then you might as well be an Imperial Guardsman.

 

That's what Chaos is all about.

 

So no, Maulerfiends, Forgefiends, Obliterators Mutilators, Heldrakes, Possessed, Helbrutes, Defilers and even actual Daemons in your army is not stupidity. It's a gamble that you can control the most destructive forces in the galaxy long enough to see everything burn. Or die trying.

[Berzerker88]

I feel like you are only reading what you want to read and dismissing the rest.

 

 

 

The most logical conclusion is that the machine itself has some kind of target identification system that not even the daemon could hijack, but there are no fluff texts that confirm this.

 

:huh::wallbash:

NO. IT IS MAGIC. Magic stops the daemon from escaping the metal shell, and magic stops the daemon engine from running amok.

The 'target identification system' is chaos rites that force the daemon to attack what its makers/owner deems appropriate. There isn't fluff to say otherwise because that is how daemonic binding works! Sometimes it goes wrong, sometimes the wards fail and the daemon wreaks havoc, but hey, sometimes war elephants trample their handlers too. Nothing is ever perfect or 100% effective.

Okay then, prove it. Cite the source material that proves the binding also prevents the daemon from attacking his masters.

 

The other thing you have to remember about bound daemons is that they are sentient. They have willpower. One of the running themes of demonic possession in 40K is that eventually bindings fail because daemons are intelligent, hateful, and strong willed enough to find ways around their bindings. Just because is bound doesn't mean it's going to stay that way. That's why you chain them up: it's a precaution.

Again, prove it. I'm not saying your explanations don't make sense, but I haven't found anything in the fluff that suggests it works that way... While plenty of it supports the narrative that they are in fact uncontrollable and must be loosened on their own in the battlefield, sacrificing any nearby allied forces... Which is unpractical and grimderp, but unsurprising coming from GW.

 

@Kol Saresk You may have misinterpreted what I said. I said before that the machine itself preventing the daemon from attacking it's masters would make sense, but there is no evidence of this being the case in the fluff. Same thing if the bindings were what controlled the daemon. The narrative is fine, but the problem is that none of you have proven that this is what the source material describes...

 

And then you go on about

 

>'but other media supports my claim!'

 

And yet other media is completely irrelevant. It's like saying vampires from Hellsing Ultimate should glow in the sunlight because the vampires in Twillight do. So regardless of how much I like your narrative (which I do, it fits the whole theme of chaos) I cannot assume it to be true without evidence. If you could cite the exact bits about Daemonhosts you mentioned it would be much appreciated...

[Kol Saresk]

Dude, we already have. You're just ignoring it because it doesn't fit your idea of how the narrative works. Try actually looking up and reading(not reading about, but actually reading) Storm of Iron, Dead Sky Black Sun, the Guant's Ghost series, the Eisenhorn series, the Ravenor series, the Ahriman series, the Word Bearers series, and Talon of Horus. All of those include summoned daemons, possessed, daemonhosts, and daemon engines.

 

There's more out there I just can't think of it off the top of my head because there's a metric crap ton.

 

Mechanicus from the HH series has a daemon-possessed AI. There's also Dark Mechanicus. Those are two more I just remembered.

 

So take some time to read 40K material on daemons. Then, come back and tell us we're wrong and why if that material doesn't change your mind. But stop using a single, over-used one liner to tell us we're wrong when we have entire book series that explain the intricacies of that one-liner and why summoning barely controlled forces that want to kill you is worth the risk.

[Berzerker88]

First off, if you really have all those books it shouldn't be so hard to give a quote or two that supports your claim. I did read the Black Crusade books and the Word Bearers trilogy, still no proof of your 'bindings' restricting the behavior of the engines.

 

>'go read X!'

Is not an argument.

 

Second, at this rate you're going to have a heart attack, so calm down.

[Azekai]

I did cite material! Do you have access to the Chaos Index? It talks about how bound blight drones act! They don't just kill at random, otherwise they fundamentally don't work as a military unit. In the description of the blight drone it says they are beholden to their masters and forced to kill the enemies of their owners. This is despite the fact that they would really like to kill the warpsmiths that made them, but they can't. The fluff entry goes on to say that the binding rituals to make these cantankerous beasts are dangerous... but clearly daemonic binding with strict parameters does occur, since that is what is stopping the things from turning their weapons on the Death Guard that made them! If binding wasn't necessary and important, the chaos marines wouldn't bother with it.

Same thing with defilers; page 41 of the old Gavdex talks about how the daemons inside are made comparatively docile by sorcerers.

This entire thread is dedicated to debunking your strawman conceptualization of how binding works, but you want to hang onto that thing like it's a prized body pillow.

[Berzerker88]

Which page/section of the index?

[Plaguecaster]

Its in the death guard mini index from the dark imperium set which has unit info on the bloat drone I don't think the actual index has any unit info just stats and points

[Iron Father Ferrum]

 

And yet other media is completely irrelevant. It's like saying vampires from Hellsing Ultimate should glow in the sunlight because the vampires in Twillight do. So regardless of how much I like your narrative (which I do, it fits the whole theme of chaos) I cannot assume it to be true without evidence. If you could cite the exact bits about Daemonhosts you mentioned it would be much appreciated...

 

 

 

No.  We're not comparing background from two different franchises.  What we're doing is comparing background from different sources within the same franchise.  Black Library is just as valid a fluff source as a codex.

 

 

First off, if you really have all those books it shouldn't be so hard to give a quote or two that supports your claim. I did read the Black Crusade books and the Word Bearers trilogy, still no proof of your 'bindings' restricting the behavior of the engines.

 

 

 

You want citations, I'll provide citations.  In all cases, the emphasis is mine and added whenever bindings are mentioned.

 

 

From Codex: Chaos Space Marines (6th Edition).  "Warpsmiths," page 34:

 

 

Daemon Princes thrust lesser Daemons into the cogs of giant, mechanoid birth-factories that crank out red-hot engines of destruction from their cabled wombs.  Presiding over this infernal industry are the Warpsmiths themselve -- pioneers of mechamorphosis, grim and silent as the grave save for the occasional barked order or spell of binding.

 

 

From Codex: Chaos Space Marines (6th Edition).  "Forgefiends & Maulerfiends," page 50:

 

 

With the correct rituals, a devout Sorcerer or Dark Apostle can coax a Daemon to possess the body of a mortal man, but only the brotherhood of Warpsmiths can bind a Daemon into a machine.  Unlike the rituals of possession, the process of creating a Daemon Engine is not one of mutual assent.  Using corrupt rituals and forbidden alchemy, adepts of the dark arts can force immaterial spirits into a physical shell.  It is the Warpsmiths that bring hell-forged Daemon Engines into being, from Forgefiend gunbeasts to Chaos Titans. Beyond the soul forges of the Immaterium, Warp entities are bound in nooses of rope woven from the hair of murderers or with chains fashioned of scrimshawed bone.  These captive Daemons are dragged biting and screaming into the flame-hearted citadels of the Dark Mechanicum.  In the molten heat of the forges, the Warpsmiths trap the screaming Daemons within the rune-bound hulls of the giant metal beasts they have captured or created.

 

 

From Codex: Chaos Space Marines (6th Edition).  "Defilers," page 53:

 

 

Much like lesser Daemon Engines, a Deilfer is fuelled and guided by the Warp energy of a bound Daemon of Chaos.  When its full immortal anger is unleashed, the Daemon within drives the Defilers forwards on clanking legs, spewing death with its guns.  The Defiler rejoices in battle, for only then can it enjoy the blissful release of slaughter -- once the feeble warriors of the Corpse-god have been crushed, the Defiler will once more be bound in runic chains by its masters and dragged hissing back to the forges until it is needed once more.

 

 

From Codex: Chaos Space Marines (6th Edition).  "Chaos Artefacts," page 69:

 

 

Axe of Blind Fury: Bound within this fabled axe is the essence of a Greater Daemon.  It rages against its eternity of servitude, resulting in grievous violence against the enemy and, sometimes, its owner!

 

 

From The Talon of Horus, page 76:

 

 

Gyre [Khayon's pet daemon in wolf form] was bound to me, pacted by oath, blood, and soul.

 

 

From The Talon of Horus, pages 89-92:

 

 

Destroy my enemies, I [Khayon] sent to the Ragged Knight [a Greater Daemon of Khorne].

 

"Unbind me first," it grunted.

 

Obey me, I sent back with all the calm I could muster.  Or I will unmake you.

 

. . .

 

"You are pacted to me." [said Khayon]

 

"If the pact is binding and if you are strong enough to enforce it, then you have nothing to fear." [replied the Ragged Knight]

 

 

I can continue if you really want me to.

[Berzerker88]

 

And yet other media is completely irrelevant. It's like saying vampires from Hellsing Ultimate should glow in the sunlight because the vampires in Twillight do. So regardless of how much I like your narrative (which I do, it fits the whole theme of chaos) I cannot assume it to be true without evidence. If you could cite the exact bits about Daemonhosts you mentioned it would be much appreciated...

 

 

No. We're not comparing background from two different franchises. What we're doing is comparing background from different sources within the same franchise. Black Library is just as valid a fluff source as a codex.

 

 

First off, if you really have all those books it shouldn't be so hard to give a quote or two that supports your claim. I did read the Black Crusade books and the Word Bearers trilogy, still no proof of your 'bindings' restricting the behavior of the engines.

 

 

You want citations, I'll provide citations. In all cases, the emphasis is mine and added whenever bindings are mentioned.

 

 

From Codex: Chaos Space Marines (6th Edition). "Warpsmiths," page 34:

 

 

Daemon Princes thrust lesser Daemons into the cogs of giant, mechanoid birth-factories that crank out red-hot engines of destruction from their cabled wombs. Presiding over this infernal industry are the Warpsmiths themselve -- pioneers of mechamorphosis, grim and silent as the grave save for the occasional barked order or spell of binding.

 

 

From Codex: Chaos Space Marines (6th Edition). "Forgefiends & Maulerfiends," page 50:

 

 

With the correct rituals, a devout Sorcerer or Dark Apostle can coax a Daemon to possess the body of a mortal man, but only the brotherhood of Warpsmiths can bind a Daemon into a machine. Unlike the rituals of possession, the process of creating a Daemon Engine is not one of mutual assent. Using corrupt rituals and forbidden alchemy, adepts of the dark arts can force immaterial spirits into a physical shell. It is the Warpsmiths that bring hell-forged Daemon Engines into being, from Forgefiend gunbeasts to Chaos Titans. Beyond the soul forges of the Immaterium, Warp entities are bound in nooses of rope woven from the hair of murderers or with chains fashioned of scrimshawed bone. These captive Daemons are dragged biting and screaming into the flame-hearted citadels of the Dark Mechanicum. In the molten heat of the forges, the Warpsmiths trap the screaming Daemons within the rune-bound hulls of the giant metal beasts they have captured or created.

 

 

From Codex: Chaos Space Marines (6th Edition). "Defilers," page 53:

 

 

Much like lesser Daemon Engines, a Deilfer is fuelled and guided by the Warp energy of a bound Daemon of Chaos. When its full immortal anger is unleashed, the Daemon within drives the Defilers forwards on clanking legs, spewing death with its guns. The Defiler rejoices in battle, for only then can it enjoy the blissful release of slaughter -- once the feeble warriors of the Corpse-god have been crushed, the Defiler will once more be bound in runic chains by its masters and dragged hissing back to the forges until it is needed once more.

 

 

From Codex: Chaos Space Marines (6th Edition). "Chaos Artefacts," page 69:

 

 

Axe of Blind Fury: Bound within this fabled axe is the essence of a Greater Daemon. It rages against its eternity of servitude, resulting in grievous violence against the enemy and, sometimes, its owner!

 

 

From The Talon of Horus, page 76:

 

 

Gyre [Khayon's pet daemon in wolf form] was bound to me, pacted by oath, blood, and soul.

 

 

From The Talon of Horus, pages 89-92:

 

 

Destroy my enemies, I [Khayon] sent to the Ragged Knight [a Greater Daemon of Khorne].

 

"Unbind me first," it grunted.

 

Obey me, I sent back with all the calm I could muster. Or I will unmake you.

 

. . .

 

"You are pacted to me." [said Khayon]

 

"If the pact is binding and if you are strong enough to enforce it, then you have nothing to fear." [replied the Ragged Knight]

 

 

I can continue if you really want me to.

Seems you too either missed the point, or are doing the very thing you accused me of (strawmanning).

 

You probably already know this but I never debated weather binding daemons to objects was a thing. Feel free to quote me if you disagree! My entire point throughout the whole thread has been that there are NO fluff material that says the binding of a daemon to a Daemon Engine prevents it from attacking the owner. It's in fact quite the opossite, with Defilers having to be chained up and made kept docile through spells until the battle, and Blood Slaughterers are not even filled with a daemon until they are ready to be used. The closest thing you gave was the bit about the Ragged Knight, but then that was a pact and not an unwilIing binding. Khayon had to resort to threats, and the Daemon soon found out the pact was in fact not binding, considering it attacked him. I agree with everything you quoted, but it was never the topic of discussion in the first place.

 

@Plaguecaster Then a direct quote or a picture would be much appreciated.

[Kol Saresk]

Well I just saw your little "challenge". Give me until 10pm EST Sunday night, July 9th 2017. Shouldn't take any longer than that to dig up the few dozen novels I have concerning daemons in 40K and typing up the appropriate passages.

 

In the meantime, I'd suggest doing a search on "skalathrax" concerning posts written by me. Should give you an idea of what to expect.

 

Not gonna lie, kinda excited. Been a while since I've gotten to do a lore smackdown of this magnitude.

 

Actually the sheer volume will make this a first I think.

[Kol Saresk]

Oh, I see your problem now. Ot's not that you don't acknowledge daemon engines being restrained by the people who summon them, it's just that you don't care about anything we show you because it doesn't fit your narrative on how things work.

 

Because there's one instance of a daemon engine going crazy, you assume every daemon engine must go crazy.

 

And then, even though you sit there and type that Chaos warbands do what they can to keep daemon engines from going crazy, it must be a worthless effort because daemon engines go crazy.

 

Well, even though you won't listen to the massive lore dump heading your way because it won't fit your narrative, I'll still give it to you because you said please so nicely.

[Berzerker88]

>Because there's one instance of a daemon engine going crazy

 

It's literally the fluff description of Blood Slaughterers and Defilers.

 

>And then, even though you sit there and type that Chaos warbands do what they can to keep daemon engines from going crazy, it must be a worthless effort because daemon engines go crazy.

 

Actually, my point was that it's illogical given the available flluff that bound daemon engines would not attack their masters, since there's no mechanism that prevents such a thing from happening described in the source material. Since this would make them extremely impractical it makes for a poorly thought-out narrative, and a prime example of grimderp.

 

>I'll still give it to you because you said please so nicely.

 

My 'narrative' being simply the answer to my initial question, how are they kept from attacking their masters the moment they are free?

 

Fulfill that simple request I have been asking since the beginning of the thread, and the blessings of Lorgar shall be yours!

[Kol Saresk]

Here's what I have digitally, which is all I can get while I'm at work. I'll start digging through the novels when I get home.

 

Notice the use of phrasing such as "binding" and how Ctesias banishes daemons who are trying to kill him.

 

You know, notice the mechanism you say doesn't exist, even though you acknowledged Khayon used it on the Ragged Knight.

 

And use some deductive thinking. If it works against actual daemons, then it works against daemon engines since daemon engines are daemons who have been summoned, bound, and restrained into a physical construct.

 

The daemon rose through the night before me.

 

I knew I was dreaming. I could feel the unreal substance of it around me, as light as warm wind, as cold as deep oceans. I knew that anything I saw, or heard, was not real, and that kindled something close to fear in me.

 

Perhaps that surprises you, but dreams are not what you think. They are not your mind scrabbling through the detritus of experience. They are not the universe babbling meaning to you as you slumber. They are the point at which your soul meets all the truths you cannot see. A dream is the most dangerous place that you can go, and you go ignorant and unarmed.

 

I am not ignorant, and in the land of the mind I am far from unarmed.

 

But as I looked at the daemon I knew that something was wrong. Very wrong.

 

I have not dreamed for a thousand years. It is not something I can risk. It is not something I thought I was capable of anymore. And this was not simply a dream. It was a manifestation.

 

The daemon’s shape formed as it moved, smudging depth and substance from smoke. Its body resembled a feathered lizard. Nine short legs broke its flattened bulk, each toe tipped with a mouth and tongue. Its head was a cluster of snapping jaws, and slitted, yellow eyes. I could hear voices, laughter and pleading just on the edge of hearing. 

 

I knew the daemon. It had been my hand that had unleashed this creature upon the Silvered Host at Cvenis, and seeded its soul parasite into Taragrth Sune. It had many names amongst mortals – Chel’thek, The Dragon of the Hundredth Gate, The Speaker of Infinity – but only I knew its true name, and so only I held its chain of slavery. Given that, and where my body lay, its presence was more than just a problem. It was a sign.

 

'You,’ I said, my voice heavy with false authority, ‘are not supposed to be here.’

 

The daemon’s mouths clacked open and and shut.

 

'But I am, little mage,’ it breathed. ‘I am here.’

 

'I have your name,’ I said. ‘Your passing is at my sufferance. You rise into being at my will.’

 

It laughed with the sound of cracking cartilage.

 

'Command me then, half-mortal. Bid me back to the dark. The chains rust, and fire pours upon the days as yet unborn. The chiming of the broken bells calls this doom. The Three will defy your exodus. They will drag you apart from within, and eat your carcasses as they cool.’ It grinned with a thousand mouths. ‘You are hunted. You and your master.’

 

'I have no master.’

 

Its laughter clattered out again, its flesh shivering beneath copper feathers.

 

This is the way of daemons. Like predators of old Terra, they posture, growl and magnify their appearance to cover weakness. But, like the growl of the wolf and the snarl of the lion, it is bravado that breathes from between sharp teeth.

 

'Everything has a master,’ it smiled a wide, sagging smile. ‘But you are not mine.’

 

It had gone snake-still. I had to act now.

 

It burst towards me.

 

I began to form the thing’s name, reaching into the compartments of my mind to unlock, and combine each fragment.

 

'Sah-sul’na’gu…’

 

The syllables sprayed from my lips, but the daemon was already lunging at me, its body growing as it moved. Its skin tore, arms reaching from within its swelling form. Fingers stretched and became razors of bone. 

 

‘…th’nul’gu’shun-ignal…’

 

The skin of the dream clogged and stretched as I spoke. Sounds of tearing skin and weeping cries stole the daemon’s roar.

 

‘…g’shu’theth…’

 

Un-words poured from me. They burned in the idea of air. The daemon’s body began to crumble, skin and meat hissing to slime. Flesh stripped from its reaching claw. The last component of its name unlocked in my mind.

 

‘…ul’suth’kal!’ I spat the last piece of it.

 

The daemon froze. Shivering in place, the edges shimmering to nothing.

 

‘You.’ The daemon’s voice hissed from its dissolving throat. ‘Are. Weak.’

 

‘Not yet,’ I said, and thrust it back into oblivion.

 

Excerpt From: French, John. “Ahriman: Exodus.” iBooks.

This material may be protected by copyright.

 

Binding a daemon is not a simple matter. It is creating a prison for a creature whose being is corrosive to existence. It requires subtly, brutality, and knowledge. One misstep, one faltering instant or error, and you do not die; you become the toy of torment for a creature of infinite spite and imagination. Many fail and are enslaved by the beings that they seek to master. So when I say that binding the soul of a living creature is of another order of difficulty, you should know what I mean. Life fights to be free of the tyranny of others. Even life twisted by and shackled to lies will claw, and thrash, and shriek before it allows another being to put a collar around its neck.

 

Vile.

 

That was what Astraeos had called what I was preparing to do. He was right. It was vile.

The formulae spread through my mind like snares set in the long grass to wait for a lion’s tread, like razors set out beside a dissection table. Silently, unseen, held ready but not brought into being, it took seconds to make the bindings ready, and all the while I looked up at the unmoving, unspeaking shape of the Oracle, and knew that I was about to break what remained of its soul.

 

Excerpt From: French, John. “Ahriman: Exodus.” iBooks.

This material may be protected by copyright.

 

The shape in the corner of my eye was growing, bloating like paper soaking up black ink, like a tick feeding on blood. My skin suddenly felt very warm. I could not help it. I turned and looked.

 

+You need to run…+ said the Oracle.

 

My eyes touched the thing that I had not seen, and I saw it then. I beheld it.

 

And the curtain of the world shredded.

 

Blood-threaded pus poured from the walls. The mirrored surface crazed. Dozens of tiny hands were scrabbling at the cracks, pulling them wider. Trees of rotting iron rose from the mire forming under our feet, shaking crowns of flayed-skin leaves. Broken backed figures stood amongst the trunks, weeping blades gripped in shivering hands.

 

The whole tableau unfolded with delicate slowness, but no time passed. It had been there from before we had set foot upon the moon. Everything our minds had seen had been the dried skin of a corpse left as a mask over a skull. The power to blind us was staggering. It implied something greater and deeper than the manipulations of daemons. It spoke of the hand of a god.

 

Time returned, and we began to fight for our souls.

 

Ahriman was the first to move. He turned from the Oracle, his aura the flare of a new sun. He became flame. A lance of white heat split the air. Daemon flesh burned with vapour. The leaves of the rusting trees ignited.

 

Sanakht was the next to react, fire and lightning running down his blades as he sliced through tentacles writhing from the cracked walls. Tiny figures shaped from infected fat dropped from the ceiling, cackling as they fell. Astraeos had his own sword in his hand, the air about him blurring with storm pressure. A tentacle whipped down towards Ahriman, but Sanakht’s swords stuck it three times before my eyes had seen him move. Daemon blood began to fall, fizzing to smoke as Ahriman panned the torrent of flame across the chamber.

 

No, I thought, this cannot be right. They could never hope to destroy us like this. But it was as though my mind was watching from behind a thickening fog. Everything was all happening with a poured syrup slowness.

 

“The Rubricae began to fire into the figures advancing beneath the growing trees. Bolts exploded in flesh. Cyan and rose flames spiralled around blackening bones. The warp was a clotting mass of despair, tar-thick and oozing. More famine-wasted figures were rising from the swamp, their limbs forming from the charred soup of their burned kin. They stepped towards us over sizzling heaps of fat and flesh.

Astraeos extended his hand and a line of force razored through the air. Bloated bodies split into a shower of jellied filth and entrails.

And still I had not moved. My thoughts were stuck, like the cogs of a broken clock.

 

+Ctesias.+

 

The voice was so weak that it was just a whisper crushed by the noise of battle. +Ctesias,+ it spoke again. I looked up. The Oracle hung still in the air. Black corrosion had spread across its silver armour, while foul fluids leaked and bubbled from the helm. The eyes that orbited him still turned, but cataracts now clouded them, and black webs of clotted veins spidered their surfaces. +It is… This is not the…+

 

It could not find the strength for the next words, but it did not need to. I understood the warning, even as I cursed myself for not having understood it before. Menkaura was powerful, god-blessed and warp-favoured. The power which had laid this trap for us had overwhelmed him and taken this place into its domain, but it had not been able to overwhelm Menkaura utterly. Something of him still remained even as he was consumed, inch by inch, and that part of him was fighting to warn us that the true trap had yet to close about us.

He began to shudder. His armour split. Black fluid drizzled both downwards and upwards from the cracks.

 

+Ahriman!+ I called, but he was a pillar of brightness, his physical form a soot shadow at the core of the inferno. The daemons were falling back, and Sanakht blurred beside him, swords weaving in arcs of ghost and storm light. Bolt-rounds lashed dead flesh in a deluge as the Rubricae fired and fired. As my gaze passed over the scene I saw a bloated daemon, with the body of an insect, fly at Astraeos. The renegade turned and cut in a single movement. The daemon split in two, its momentum driving it onto the killing edge. It fell, wings buzzing as the two halves tried to lift themselves back into the air. Astreaos stamped down, mashing chitin and blubber beneath his boot.

 

+Ahriman!+ I called again, and I saw him turn, as he sensed at last what I had seen.

He was just in time to see existence turn itself inside out.

 

The Oracle’s body ripped down its centre. The sound sawed through the warp. Blood sprayed from the split corpse, each drop a liquid black hole, a splatter of negative space falling through reality. The whole chamber shimmered, and stretched upwards. The ranks of daemons became silhouettes of smudged colour, their mouths holes into another darkness beyond.

 

We were no longer straddling the barrier between the real and unreal – we were within a garden of decay. We were within the warp.

 

A psyker is a creature whose mind is a doorway to the aether, a conduit for paradox. We touch the ineffable, but we are still flesh, still made of the dirty clay of base reality. When daemons step into the real world they begin to die, just as a fish pulled from the sea will drown in the air we breathe.

 

But when we, base creatures that we are, dive into the Sea of Souls, we do not drown.

 

We burn.

 

The inferno around Ahriman spread out in every direction. His shape blurred, dissolving into bright particles at the edges. Sanakht fell, convulsing, arms and neck snapping out as though a lightning bolt had passed through him. Astraeos froze, his limbs locking even as he fought to move. Screaming haloes surrounded the Rubricae, howling with faces formed from splintered light and billowing dust. I do not know how I appeared in that moment, I only know how it felt – it was as if every thought I had held in mind was being pulled by hooks, drawn out of me, and spread across a gulf which grew wider and wider. Everything that made me was a thin sheet of ideas, and memories and will. The daemons were no longer creatures of rotting bone and skin. They were the mirrors of my despair and hope, thin-faced nightmares pulled from every regret I had ever had.

 

Into this garden of decay slid the being that had been waiting for us. Its shape and form began as a slick bulb of pale slime. Fat and muscles bloated into being, and it swelled, taking on shape and texture like the stuttering image of a plant growing and flowering, then compressed into a few seconds. Its body was a huge mound of moist and torn flesh, its head a mass of broken horns. I could taste burning, the thick, heavy stink of rendered fat and bone soot. The power radiating from it was suffocating. The other daemons fell back, sliding beneath the surface of my sight. It was all I could do not to let my soul spin away into the vast creature’s orbit.

 

I knew it.

 

I know of many daemons. Some I have bound, others I have glimpsed, many more I have only heard of. Lesser creatures often spin names and titles for themselves, cloaking their weakness in false infamy, as a beggar who imagines himself a prince will wear a coat of bright feathers and silk. Others have no need of such adornment – their existence resounds through the warp. Titles gather to them like flies over a midden, and their power is second only to the Dark Gods that spawned them. This was one such creature.

 

Maggot Lord, Lord of the Plague Pit, The Seventh Leech of Sorrow, The Crow Worm – I had heard heralds weep its glory in the depths of the Eye, and seen its shadow in death of billions.

 

It looked at me. Not at Ahriman, not at the others.

 

Just at me.

 

It had blisters for eyes.

 

It spoke, the words shaking the cloud of my mind.

 

‘Do you hope to bind me, little witchling?’ It smiled. A thick bead of blood-marbled pus oozed from its lips. Maggots squirmed in the roots of its teeth. Its tongue was a mass of dried skin and hair.

 

I simply shook, fighting to gather my thoughts back into myself, to hold on to what made me.

The Maggot Lord chuckled, and patches of its skin split as its body rippled. It turned its great head to the others. The fire had fled from around Ahriman. No other sorcerer I have ever met could truly rival him, but even he does not challenge the most exalted of daemonkind unless there is no other way. Watching him, I knew that he would be searching for a way out even as the beast loomed above us.

 

‘You do not know me,’ croaked the daemon. ‘We have never met, but I have watched you. I have seen you rise and fall, and rise again.’

 

‘Where is our brother?’ asked Ahriman, his voice cold with control. ‘Where is Menkaura?’

 

‘Gone, exiled son, gone down to the pits to feed the fresh-born. Gone down to become no more.’

 

‘No,’ said Ahriman. ‘Your kind consume, corrupt and corrode, but you do not destroy.'

 

'Do we not? The corpse mires of history and the tears shed beside graves sing a different song.’

 

‘Give him to us.’

 

‘No. No, I do not think I will,’ said the daemon, and shook its head. White worms and tatters of flesh scattered from its rolling chins. ‘This gathering is not for demands. It is for offers, for the consideration of possibilities.’

 

‘You have nothing to offer us.’

 

The daemon’s laughter boomed out, great balloons of skin pulsing in its throat. It licked its lips.

 

‘Oh, but that is a lie.’ It raised a huge hand and indicated the Rubricae, and their haloes of scattered pain. ‘You are the lord of a dead brotherhood. You tried to save what you cared for, but there is only one who can end such suffering.’ Its voice had become the glutinous rumble of mucus filled lungs. ‘We would see an end to your hollowness, Ahriman. We would see you and your brothers rise from their dry graves. You feel pain for what they are, for what you did, and for what you think you must do. That pain can end. There needs to be no more sorrow. You can save yourself, and save your brothers.’ It raised both its arms, fat fingers open, appealing. ‘All you need to do is ask. Let it go. Let the chains fall. You do not have to embrace this release. You just have to let it embrace you.'

 

Sanakht was forcing himself back to his feet. Defiance screamed in his every agonised movement. The daemon turned its gaze to the swordsman as he rose.

 

‘And you, Sanakht – broken swordsman that you are, would you not see the wounds to your soul close? Astraeos, sweet suffering child, the needles of guilt in your heart are lies. They can be plucked out. You can know hope again. Not just the promise of it, but the sweet, wet nectar of its truth.’ The daemon looked back to Ahriman, and nodded slowly. ‘All this, the Lord of All offers to you.’

 

There was no mention of alternatives. They did not need to be put into words. The hungering silence of the daemon throng told of what any refusal would mean. I was also not surprised that it made no offer to me. There is little meat on my soul to satisfy a daemon of any kind. I have bound and broken too many of their kind for them to offer me anything but retribution.

 

'We shall leave this place,’ said Ahriman, his voice clear and hard.

 

The daemon shook its head again, its tattered face heavy with sorrow.

 

‘That cannot be,’ it said. The daemons encircling us heaved forwards.

 

‘No,’ said Ahriman, his voice the ring of a hammer on steel. ‘By the terms under which we came to this temple, I deny you. This is a fane of oracles, daemon. You have corrupted it, you have made its seat your own, but its chains still bind you. You sit where the Oracle once sat. You have taken that throne for your own purposes, but it is not a seat of power. It is a cage’.

 

'The daemon’s jaw shook with anger. Folds of rotted fat trembled. It was afraid.

For just as I saw the truth, so too did the daemon.

 

The rotten bowl of the chamber shimmered back into sight. Its excrement-slicked walls pulsed in time with the great daemon’s panting breaths. It was trapped. It was a creature of power, of might, but it was blind to the greater subtlety. Those currents lay in another power’s hand.

 

‘You who sit in the seat of the Oracle, I demand truth,’ said Ahriman. ‘Name yourself.’

 

‘Sac’nal’ui’shulsin’grek…'

 

The syllables broke from the daemon’s lips. The sound ripped through the empyrean, each a broken tooth of spite. The daemon reared up, mouth moving, its face splitting as it fought to keep the words inside. Blisters of blood formed and popped in the air. Its left fist crashed down in front of it, as its right rose above its head. It had to speak its name to us, but it intended to kill us before that name was complete. A great, rusted cleaver grew in its grasp as it lunged forwards.

 

‘…ih’hal’hrek…’

 

Sanakht met and turned the blow, his paired swords hissing as they kissed the cleaver’s tainted iron. The daemon pulled its blade back and charged, liquid bulk rolling. Sanakht spun aside, slicing as he moved. Ribbons of yellow fat and congealed blood fell from twin wounds.

 

‘…nh’gul’rg’shargu…’ The bloody words poured out as the deamon’s cleaver chopped down again.

 

Astraeos’s sword was a tongue of white and blue flame as it cut the beast’s arm at the wrist. The cleaver and severed hand hit the ground. Ropes of sinew lashed out from the daemon’s arm, and tried to drag the hand and weapon back onto the stump.

 

‘…sal-hu’ne’gorn’shu’sai’sa…’

 

It reached up with its remaining hand, fat fingers ripping at its own tongue.

 

Still the links of its name came from its mouth.

Ahriman had not moved, but now he turned his head to me. ‘Bind it, brother,’ he said.

And then – in that cold instant – I knew that I should never have agreed to serve him.

 

‘…vel’rek’hul’scb’th’rx.'

 

The last syllable fell from the daemon’s lips, sliding into the air like a scorched snake. I looked at Ahriman for an instant that felt like eternity. My mind was ready. The divided cells of my memory and psyche, intended to hold Menkaura, stood open. I had heard each beat and splintered tone of the daemon’s name. It was mine. A net of chains lay in the fingers of my will.

 

I turned to the daemon. Its lesser kin had begun to move again, slithering and scrabbling forwards, blades scraping, teeth champing. The Rubricae fired: cobalt light exploded soft skulls. The daemon inhaled, its stomach and throat bulging. It vomited. Blood, bile, and shadow gushed towards us. A dome of flame met the deluge. Black smoke and yellow steam tumbled up through the air.

 

I was still hesitating, still unsure that I wanted to play the part that Ahriman had created for me in this layered deception.

 

+Ctesias, now!+ Ahriman’s thought voice split the warp-flooded chamber like a thunderclap.

I spoke the daemon’s name. The syllables tore my tongue and lips. Frost bloomed across my helmet. Blood was running down my throat, filling my lungs as I forced air from them.

I kept speaking, feeling the chain of sounds draw the daemon’s essence into my hand link by bloody link.

 

The daemon crashed forwards, hammering its bulk down upon the burning dome above us. Flesh flashed to smoke.

 

As each syllable left my lips I split it from my memory, and locked it within the divided walls of my mind. Others use grimoires, arcane ciphers or other ritual emblems to hold the daemons they bind. I use my mind, and write the keys of summoning on my psyche.

 

The daemon tilted its head back and bellowed. The rotting throng surged to answer the call.

 

I was drowning in my own blood. Blisters had grown and burst on my tongue. The chamber around me was lost in a fever blur.

 

I chewed the end of the name out, and suddenly I was on the filth soaked floor, shivering.

 

The others were still fighting, still hacking, still burning as the lesser daemons threw themselves at us.

 

Above us the daemon held still, flesh pulsing in a mockery of breathing. Its name was within me, divided and locked away, like a weapon broken into parts until it is needed, until it is allowed to be whole again. It looked down at me, hatred in its blood and pus-filled eyes.

 

‘Be gone,’ I said in a cracked voice. ‘Come not again, until I call.’

 

Its shape broke apart, shredding from the edges, reducing until it was nothing. It watched me until the last gust of the invisible wind took its eyes.

 

I passed into blackness then, unconsciousness falling across thought and sensation like a knife.

 

Excerpt From: French, John. “Ahriman: Exodus.” iBooks.

This material may be protected by copyright.