Hey all, took a break from frantically painting grey knights for ultimates and decided to write up some background for them. Before anyone says anything yes the grey knights are OP here because it's fluff and it's allowed to be
anyway here you go, if there's any glaring mistakes let me know please, C&C welcome
Daemons walked the world. Insect thin bloodstalkers, gibbering things that dribbled aetheric flame, swollen plague-carriers, monstrous brute-hulks, all of them twisted and distorted beyond sane comprehension. Daemons. A nightmare catalogue of monstrosities had swept across the planet. An army of them even now swept towards one of the last few fortresses mankind had on the world. The swarm of insanity swept down into the valley, a jagged scar of shale in the landscape a kilometre across. There the monsters paused, not in need of respite, nor for shelter, they were clothed in the skin of the warp and such concerns were beneath them. They paused because they were opposed. An unwavering line of silver armoured warriors stood before them, white of helm and carrying blazing halberds. Daemon-slayers, incorruptibles, Purifiers. Grey Knights.
The world was paramount, the crusade launched from the Ocularis Terribus was unprecedented in strength and this bastion could not, would not fall. Nearly every Grey Knight had heard the call and had set out to defend the Imperium. Here now stood the elite of even that lofty chapter. Purifiers, warriors untouchable by chaos, an unblemished order of warriors that stood at the forefront of a chapter designed for daemon slaying. All but a few of those that existed in the galaxy were present here at the mouth of the valley. A thin line of thirty-two warriors backed by the colossal forms of three sacred dreadnoughts, war-tombs of fallen heroes allowed to continue to fight. Thirty-five silent warriors stared down thousands of nightmares without flinching.
The daemons screamed, roared and shrilled their fury, a wall of sound and psychic malevolence swept down the valley. Rocks cracked, plants withered and died, the ground itself warped. The wave hit the line of warriors. It did little more then ruffle the oath-papers and scrolls that adorned the Grey Knights limbs. The daemons charged forward a tidal wave of horror, skittering and stomping forward. The Purifiers were silent as they raised there weapons. Wrist-mounted cannons and heavier man-portable assault weapons opened up. A juddering, flickering carpet of destruction spread out from the Purifiers. Daemons lost limbs, lost heads, lost lives, ichor and inhuman screams filled the air. Still they came, no hesitation, no doubt, an unstoppable inhuman wave of corruption. The pumping bolts of light like shooting stars from stormbolters and sooty blurs of hard ordnance from the psycannons not enough to stem the tide. A slaughter-mob of stamping bronze behemoths thundered ahead towards the silver line and a lone figure charged from the line of Grey Knights to meet them head on.
I AM THE HAMMER
The words were felt by every living thing within two-kilometres. Bronze-clad monsters and shrieking horrors were engulfed in white fire. The daemons could endure any mortal flame; they had liquid fire for blood and metal for skin. They crumbled to ash and molten slag in the face of this maelstrom.
I AM THE SWORD IN HIS HAND
Whatever didnâ€™t die to the fire died to a sweeping blade, the warrior moving with impossible grace. Four seconds had passed and the entire pack of eight monsters died. The warrior stood alone amidst the scorched and blackened remains. The daemons hissed and spat at him unwilling to go closer. They whispered his name, words overlapping and repeating in a frenzied tumult. Executioner. Flame Lord. High Castellan. Anathema Priest. Keeper of the Blade. Garran Crowe. He charged. One warrior charged. Thousands of daemons remained. He charged and the other thirty-one Purifiers charged with him. The daemons faltered. Beings of pure malice and hate, warp-spawned monsters and eldritch horrors faltered.
WE ARE THE HATE. WE ARE THE WRATH. WE ARE THE VENGEANCE
All the Purifiers spoke now, their psychic voice manifesting in billowing waves of flame. Where the daemons fire was eldritch and corposant, this was cleansing and pure. Horrors with dozens of eyes and alien nightmares without faces screamed and died. Blazing halberds and chattering cannons laid them to ruin. Outnumbered a hundred to one the Purifiers slaughtered the daemons. The valley becoming a plane of molten sand and fused bone as an inferno of cleansing flame swept out. It took eleven minutes and six seconds for every daemon to be sent screaming back to hell. The Grey Knights paused. The ground trembled. A new horde approached utterly dwarfing the previous in size. The entire valley mouth seemed to ripple with movement as a living tide of daemons charged into view. Millions upon millions of horrors skittered, bound, shambled and leapt forward, entire coteries of slaughter-lords and pleasure-kings stamped and loped forward. Oceans of lesser spawn scurried around them, scores of heralds led their courts, and herds of beasts writhed along the ground or tore through the air.
The Purifiers reformed their line. Cadia could not and would not fall. Not while a single Grey Knight drew breath. Flame licked out from the silver armoured forms as they prepared for the foe. Weapons were checked and fresh ammunition packs clipped into place. Crowe strode forward leading the prayer-chant, as one the Purifiers charged forward a tidal wave of flame and faith opposing one of abomination and nightmare.
WE ARE THE WOES OF DAEMONKIND. WE ARE THE ZEALOT WATCHMEN.
WE ARE THE GREY KNIGHTS