He is a tall man, bronzed by the sun and clad in black silks and golden war-plate which is engraved with the sixty-six verses of Slaanesh whilst his massive, two-handed sword which helped him gain his name is carried in a sheath of tanned human flesh. Havocwild is powerful enough that a troupe of Daemonettes dance for his pleasure in his vast Pavilion of Roses. This immense and luxurious tent is decorated with the skulls of all those he has killed, gilded and decorated with flowers and fine gems, of Roses Thurn. 
When the Necroquake swept through the Mortal Realms his revels were interrupted as the Daemons of Slaanesh in his camp were maddened by the phenomena. He was irritated by their screaming but found the subsequent eradication of stars in the sky entrancing. 
|Enough! Either cease screaming, or cease being – but do so swiftly. Whatever game this is, it has become tedious. Stop. Stop!
~Havocwild to the Daemonettes.