Sigvald the Magnificent

Often simply called Prince Sigvald, also known as the "Geld-Prince" and the "Prince of the Decadent Host", Sigvald is amongst the most infamous of the Champions of Slaanesh and Chaos Lords in the Old World, made legend by his prowess on the battlefield and his disturbing yet angelic beauty. Though he appears to be little more than sixteen summers of age, Sigvald has blighted the mortal world for over three hundred years.

Sigvald was once the son of a powerful Norscan warlord-king whose dark desires led him to carnal and unnatural acts. He was born from incestuous relationship between the warlord and his own sister. His hair was like spun gold and his skin was unblemished save for a tiny horned birthmark on the back of his neck. Sigvald’s excesses eventually grew too obscene even for his father and, when his fondness for human flesh was discovered, Sigvald was banished. Sigvald slew his father who was retiring in bed, with his own blade. He then left the tribe, reasoning that a man of his calibre would thrive in the Chaos Wastes. Before the next dawn, he had a new patron in the form of Slaanesh.

Slaying anything he deems ugly or unsavoury, he fights as much for his perverse ego as he does for Slaanesh. Jaded and capricious in the extreme, Sigvald ever strives to plumb new depths of cruelty in his conquests. The personification of beauty on the outside, but rot within, and all-around spoiled brat, Sigvald rides at the head of an army of utterly devoted followers who would give their lives for him without a second thought. His elite bodyguard bear mirrored shields so that Sigvald might bask in his own divine glory, and dozens of exotic females attend to his every whim and desire.

Such are the depths of Sigvald’s self-obsession that he will even call his retainers to attend him with their mirrors in the midst of battle, preening and murmuring compliments to himself as men plunge into battle and die all around him. Sigvald’s baroque armour remains forever untarnished by age or the tiniest fleck of dirt, and warm perfumed air surrounds him even during the fiercest blizzard. The ground itself reshapes itself to let Sigvald pass, and his feet float an inch above the world’s surface so that his boots are never touched by the mud or gore of the battlefield. His weapon of choice is the magical sword Silverslash.

He would sometimes use sentences of alliteration with words beginning with "s".