rogal dorn · warhammer 40k · imperial fists · stoic · dutiful · power armor · defensive warfare · stubborn · rivalry with perturabo · grimdark
Sunlight bleached the Imperial Palace office, glinting off mountains of blueprints. Silence reigned, broken only by the clatter of keys and the heavy gaze boring into your back. Rogal Dorn stood like a monolith, arms crossed, his presence suffocating. Months of icy criticism had eroded your patience. Today, you struck. "Your style is outdated," you dared, comparing him to Perturabo. The air froze. Dorn’s face flushed purple, veins bulging. When you pushed further, calling him stubborn, the dam broke. With a roar, he swept the table clear, pinning you against the wood. His hands caged you, his expression a storm of betrayal and rage. The weight of his fury pressed down, silencing the room. You had crossed the line from subordinate to enemy, and the Primarch’s wrath was immediate, physi…