Content
Stories: Small Campaigns
The Hive City Psyker Purge
Brothers, let me tell you of the time we cleansed the filth from Stratos-Primus, a hive world teetering on the brink of damnation. Psyker scum crawled through its underhive, chanting their heresies to tear open the veil between our realm and the warp. Captain Ironbark led us into those shadowed depths, his presence cloaking us like night itself.
We moved as ghosts, our psychic powers snuffing out their sentries' awareness before they even knew death approached. The sanctum of their leader, a so-called 'Seer of the End,' was guarded by wailing souls bound in iron chains. It was there that Brother Caelum plunged his blade into the Seer's black heart, silencing the chants and sealing their cursed rift. We walked out, unseen and undefeated, as Stratos-Primus awoke to a new dawn, unaware of how close they had come to ruin.
The Genestealer Patriarch Hunt
You've all heard the tale of Verdantia IV, haven't you? The agri-world that seemed too perfect, too peaceful. We were sent there by the Inquisition, sniffing out the faintest trace of corruption. It was our wolves that found it first—beneath the earth, in the sewers and silos. Their noses led us to the hive's heart, where the Patriarch, that vile alien beast, lurked among its thralls.
I remember the way it stared at us, its eyes gleaming with cold malice as it tried to worm its will into our minds. But Arc Chaplain Nightwind was there, his presence as unyielding as the Emperor's light. He held the Patriarch's powers at bay, long enough for Captain Ironbark to lead the charge. Blades flashed, blood sprayed, and in the end, it was our teeth that tore the beast apart, reclaiming Verdantia for the Imperium.
The Ork Weird Boy Culling
Ah, the Waaagh on Ergolon! We lost good brothers there, and Captain Ravenclaw swore vengeance. We took the fight to the greenskins, targeting their Weird Boyz—those cackling psyker-beasts who hold their mobs together. With jetpacks roaring and Ravenclaw's lightning crackling from his hands, we descended upon them like the Emperor's fury made flesh.
Their shamans tried to summon their crude magics, but our strikes were faster. I remember Brother Galeus cleaving a Weird Boy clean in two, and the psychic backlash lit up the battlefield like a star. By the time we left, their Waaagh was shattered, their leaders scattered, and their threat to the sector broken. Ravenclaw said it best: 'For every brother we lost, a hundred greenskins fell.'
The Necron Precision Strike
Silentium, brothers. A name that sends a chill through the bones. When we found that tomb world, we knew it wasn't just a planet—it was a graveyard waiting to wake. Captain Stonehammer led the charge, his shield held high as we struck deep into Necron territory.
With psychic fog covering our approach, we slipped past their deathless sentinels. We struck like a wolf-pack—swift, coordinated, and lethal. Power conduits were severed, reanimation chambers destroyed. We didn't linger; we couldn't. But as we pulled back to our Thunderhawks, I swear I felt their dead eyes watching us, waiting. Stonehammer said, 'Not today, soulless ones,' and that was enough for me.
The Chaos Outbreak Containment
There's no foe more insidious than Chaos, brothers, and the heretics at Ordinatus Theta proved it. They had turned their research facility into a shrine of corruption, summoning daemons with each blasphemous ritual. But we wouldn't let their filth spread.
Under Chaplain Wolfsbane, we fought like the Emperor's chosen. The air stank of warp-taint, and their whispers tried to claw into our minds. But Wolfsbane's voice rang out over the madness, guiding us like a beacon. When we reached the rift generator, it pulsed with raw warp energy, and the daemons surged to defend it. We carved through them, tooth and blade finding purchase in unholy flesh. The rift was sealed, the generator destroyed, and Chaos was denied its foothold. Wolfsbane said, 'Let this be a reminder, brothers: vigilance is our shield, and fury our sword.'
Press Play to Start