They are used to slice the corpses of the slain into small pieces that the flora of Slaanesh can easily devour although for the Daemonettes that are assigned this duty it is a weighty chore. As there are no emotions to feed on or amplified sensations to sample the Daemonettes grow lethargic and may even start to fade away entirely. Consequently it was mostly those that displeased the Dark Prince that were sent to crew the Hellflayers. [1a]
Yet it came to pass that a wiley and wilful pair of Daemonettes defied their master and brought their Hellflayer to the height of battle rather than waiting for it to subside. Daemonic ichor was soon splattered across the steeds and crew as the blades sliced through necks and limbs. The metal of the blades, attuned to the sensations of the living drove its crew into a impassioned frenzy and battle rapture that they had never known before, their strikes becomming faster and faster until no eye could follow them. [1a]
Slaanesh was pleased by the power of the Hellflayer on the battlefield and declared that crewing one was no longer a punishment but a station of war. However he was also angered by the flouting of his authority and the two Daemonettes were transmuted into unfeeling marble statues, forever with their backs to the decadent glories they had once enjoyed and as a warning to his other followers. [1a]
They are known as the Decadent Reavers, Scented Harvesters, Shred-Chain Sisters. [1a]
|Three of the wretches were slaughtered instantly, dragged into that maelstrom of Daemon-steel. The fourth, though some laughing fate, became snagged on the central chain. For a moment he hung there, his heels scraped bloody as the machine charged on. One of the Daemonettes reached out a claw. At first she caressed the wretch's cheek, like a mother soothing a frightened cild. Then, as I knew it must, her dotting smile transformed into a leer of pure wickedness. The claw was a blur as it snipped at the victim's wrists. A moment later all that remained of the fellow were his severed hands - still clutching the chain - and an empty scream echoing through the night.
~ Liber Malefic. [1a]