The Praetorian is standing on a balcony, eyes locked onto the horizon. He’d exhale and a cloud of his breath form from his nostrils.
Many things are on Dorn’s mind.
20
Imagine Dorn walks into your room. Scoops you up. Looks you dead in the eyes and said…
I’ve denied myself for too long. Time I put what I want first.
And takes you to bed. 🫣
The Primarch was looking over some new schematics for future defensive structures on far off worlds. Altering weaknesses and shoring up areas that might not have seemed important but was quickly corrected.
22
Rogal Dorn, Primarch, Son of the /Emperor/ of Mankind, I’m sure there’s plenty others I haven’t heard.








