My Thoughts on Dorn

[Darrell]

Recently, in a thread in the Horus Heresy section, I took an opportunity to put some thoughts to paper regarding Rogal Dorn and the Imperial Fists. I thought it would be appropriate to share it here, as well, and open it for discussion beyond the scope of the original thread.

 

It is lengthy.

 

I like the Imperial Fists and Rogal Dorn, although they haven't gotten much attention from the Heresy books. But, I like the idea of Dorn and his Legion. I like what I've read about them, and the image I have in my mind.

 

There was a post in the thread that said the Fists were boring, and Dorn was a [jerk]. It's not an uncommon sentiment and, while everyone is entitled to their reasons, I'd like to talk about mine. Been wanting to write something like this for a while, and this seems like a good excuse.

 

I guess you could say the Imperial Fists are boring. They're boring in the same way that a family man who works a 9-5 salary job every day is boring. He gets up early and goes to work like clockwork, and while he's there he works hard. A quiet worker. You don't hear much from him, unless it's related to something you need his help with or vice-versa. He puts in a lot of hours, he doesn't take many sick days or vacation days, and he never complains. He doesn't demand a raise, but he takes one when offered if he feels he earned it. He accepts gratitude and acknowledges it, but he does not expect it. He likes the work he does, he enjoys it, it gives him purpose. To his coworkers, he comes off as cold and distant. You never see him shooting the breeze at the water cooler, he's not on the company softball team, he doesn't come to the after-work parties. But he's not aloof, he doesn't think he's better than anyone. He's just busy. The boss gives him a lot of work to do, and he keeps at it until it's done. And he's doing work for others, too, because he has an unbreakable will to complete his projects. Where others throw up their hands in surrender, where others say it can't be done, he finds a way. It's not always a pretty solution, or an elegant one, but he will get it done because that's what he does.

 

When he goes home, he spends time with his family. He loves his sons. He works as hard with them as he does for his boss. He teaches them how to be good men, how to succeed in life, to never stop trying until you find a way to get it done. Never give in, never surrender, never stop fighting for what you believe in. As cold as he is at work, he opens up when he's with his sons. Not too much, because they crave an authority figure, but he cares deeply for them. He helps them how he can, imparts all his wisdom. He has high expectations of them, but he doesn't need to point out their failures. His sons know full well their weaknesses, and they are harder on themselves than he could ever be. They're just like him, in that way. Then he gets up the next morning, and does it all again.

 

To his coworkers, to his neighbors, to you he is boring and dull. To his boss, he's the man you can count on, rely on, depend upon to do any job you ask him. Even if he doesn't know how, he'll figure it out. To his sons, he's an inspiration, a loving father, an immovable foundation for their lives. To them, he's anything but boring.

 

It's unfortunate that the Imperial Fists are known only for their siege warfare, because they were good at so many other things. They were just as fierce in close combat, boarding actions, armor assaults and drop pod formations as anyone else. But not all combat can be glorious. War sometimes requires dirty, grueling work. The other Legions thought it beneath them, that it should be left to lesser beings. But Dorn would never ask someone to do something he, himself, would not. So when the siege work and grinding urban warfare came to him, as it inevitably did, he accepted it. Dorn was happy to do whatever his father, the Emperor, and the Imperium needed him to do. He was just happy to do his father's work, as were the Imperial Fists. They would have been content to mop floors and wash windows, if that's what was needed of them. They welcomed the burden of duty.

 

There was another Legion that was similar, of course. Perturabo and the Iron Warriors were also known as siege specialists and urban combatants. They, too, willingly fed themselves into that vicious meatgrinder where others would not. But Perturabo did not do it for duty, or for loyalty; he did it searching for glory. He thought that taking the jobs no one else would do would bring him glory and favor. But when it didn't come, his heart grew bitter. Unlike his brother, he expected gratitude. He felt ignored, cheated, denied, forgotten. This was why he and Dorn bickered. For while Dorn may not have often smiled, nor did he frown. He simply did what was asked, with his jaw set to the task, unable to smile and laugh in the most recent victory because his mind was already turned to the things that needed to be done and those things that could have been done better. Dorn thought his brother should have been happy to serve the Emperor's will, as was Dorn himself. He did not understand why Perturabo felt he needed more.

 

Dorn was many things, but a glib speaker was not one of them. He loved his brothers dearly, and the only thing he loved more than his brothers were the Emperor and the Imperium. Rogal was the sort of man that knows what he wants to say, but has difficulties expressing his thoughts the way he wants to. He always admired Horus and Sanguinius for their speaking ability and charisma. It was this inability to express himself, and a perspective that was stubbornly rooted in his own place, that caused friction amongst his fellow Primarchs. He never meant to quarrel with Perturabo, for there was a deep kinship there, but Dorn could not understand that, for some, duty was just not enough. When he said the Imperial Palace could withstand an Iron Warrior attack, he meant it as a general who was defending a structure he, himself, had built. Dorn would have greater insight than Perturabo into the layout, its strengths, its weaknesses. If Perturabo had built it, Dorn would have said he could not take it for the same reasons. But his brother had already taken insult, and it cut deeply that Dorn had inadvertently hurt his brother so.

 

He had a similar problem with Konrad. Dorn knew his brother had led a difficult life prior to being found by the Emperor, and he knew the Night Haunter was deeply troubled. Rogal did not pity him, because pity is reserved for those things seen as lesser than yourself and Dorn did not see himself as superior to anyone--especially not his brothers. But he did care for Konrad in his own way, and hoped his brother would find peace for his troubled mind. When Fulgrim shared Konrad's disturbing vision, he did not intend to fight with him. Dorn was wounded that Konrad would think so little of the Emperor, who was the only being Dorn loved more than his brothers (Konrad included). He only wanted to remind Konrad that the Emperor loved them, that He would never do such things. Dorn wanted to say he was sure Konrad's visions were horrifying, but that did not make them true and the Haunter should know the difference. But, Dorn could not express himself that way. He came across as accusatory, aggressive, hateful. It came as a complete shock when Konrad attacked him and, as with Perturabo, Dorn would look back at his words and actions with a heart full of regret. If only he had his brothers' way with words, he would have known the right thing to say.

 

But, Dorn was a soldier first, foremost and always. While his brothers pursued other things like art, governing, crafting, magic, religion, Dorn focused on being a warrior and a general. In his mind, that was what the Emperor needed them to be at that time. Books, politicking, forges and statues would not reconquer the galaxy. This was a sticking point between himself and Guilliman, though the two otherwise got along well. Guilliman liked to argue they could not be soldiers forever. When peace came, they would have to be leaders. What Dorn saw was his brother putting his cart before the horse. Peace had not yet been won. Humans still existed in darkness beyond the Imperium's light. Aliens continued to defy Mankind's destiny. There would come a time for Astartes to do other things, to be other things, but this was not that time. Now they needed to go forth and conquer, with minds free of other pursuits that would only cloud their judgement. It was a problem with Lorgar as well. Dorn understood Aurelian's love and devotion to the Emperor, for he shared it as deeply, but Lorgar's worship went contrary to their father's wishes. And Dorn put his father's wishes above everyone's. Including his brothers'. Including his own.

 

I've talked a lot about Dorn's good sides, but he wasn't perfect and he would have been the first to admit it. He had his pride, his honor, his narrow focus, his stubborn nature, his serious demeanor that put distance between him and his brothers. Rogal knew these things for he was more aware of his faults than anyone else. That was why he made the Pain Glove, to purge the weakness from him even when that weakness was imagined.

 

I hear a lot of people talk about Dorn being "emo", and it's difficult for people who haven't punished themselves to understand. Those with a history of self-harm, I think, can relate well to Dorn's mentality (I want to pause long enough to say you should not harm yourself. You are a way cool person. If you feel the need to hurt yourself, talk to someone about it. This is going to sound like glorifying the act, which I am, but in the context of understanding a fictional character. Don't self-harm, please). Pain can be a purifying thing, a tool to focus the mind, to strengthen the spirit and a way to ensure you won't make the same mistake again. Cultures today are filled with these ideas. We spank children because pain is the ultimate teacher. We say things like "No pain, no gain" and "Pain is the feeling of weakness leaving the body". Movies glorify characters who are shot, stabbed, break bones and dislocate joints yet grit their teeth and carry on to save the day. We brag about having a high pain tolerance and, like alcohol tolerance, there is only one way to build it. You must drink deep, and often.

 

Besides, how else could Dorn and his Fists punish themselves? They are Astartes, they own no possessions to take away. They have no privileges to revoke. You can't ground them from fighting, because that's the entire reason they were made. You can't kill them, because that's wasting the Emperor's resources. You can't physically wound them, because they must be in peak condition to wage war. But Dorn found a way to inflict pain without damage, because an Astartes or Primarch damaging their flesh is spitting in the face of the Emperor to whom their body belongs.

 

Think about this: Imperial Fists willingly go into the Pain Glove for every mistake, real or imagined, they make. The Pain Glove is said to feel like your entire body is submerged in liquid fire. And they do this to themselves, for minutes at a time, up to an hour. Can you imagine wearing napalm for an hour, willingly? Can you imagine doing it for a minute? Ten seconds? That's why the Imperial Fists are impossible to break, because there is no pain you can inflict upon them that is greater than that which they inflict upon themselves. As the Joker says in Dark Knight, "You have nothing to threaten me with."

 

One more thing I'd like to discuss, and then I'll be finished with this lengthy monologue.

 

The Iron Cage is something you hear a lot about, if you're a fan of Dorn or the Imperial Fists. It will inevitably be discussed. "Dorn was being an emo jerk", "The Ultramarines saved their butts", "The Iron Warriors tricked them because the center was a shooting gallery", "The Imperial Fists and Dorn would have been wiped out if Perturabo wasn't too busy gloating", "Dorn went crazy and forced his Legion into a meatgrinder they never recovered from".

 

I hope I've helped explain who Rogal Dorn was, because to understand why the Iron Cage happened you have to understand Dorn. It wasn't a pleasant time in his life. It was his absolute lowest point. Half his brothers had betrayed the Imperium, and it was Dorn that retrieved fallen Sanguinius, a brother he loved and admired, and the mortally wounded Emperor. His father, who he loved most. It was Dorn that heard his last words, that carried out his final wishes. Dorn, who loved the Emperor more than any other Primarch, had to carry the burden of his father's shattered body to the tomb of the Golden Throne. And with it, he knew, he was entombing his father's vision of the Imperium. It weighed heavily upon him, and Dorn blamed himself for it. Even though it wasn't his fault, even though there was nothing he could have done to prevent it, even though no one could have changed the outcome, he blamed himself. He took that burden upon himself, because he was used to carrying burdens. Dorn's shoulders were broad, and the Imperium rested well upon them. That raised eagle above his armor was far more than decoration; in his mind, he and his Legion shouldered the responsibility of fulfilling the Emperor's vision. He carried the Imperium on his shoulders, as did the Imperial Fists, and they could only blame themselves as they began to pick up the pieces.

 

Dorn knew what the Iron Cage was because, while he had faults, being stupid was not one of them. He knew it was a trap, that it was a battle that could not be won--it could only be endured. It was a Pain Glove for himself and the Fists. You don't go into the Glove to win. It's not something you can beat. It is an act of atonement, of purification.

 

It can only be endured.

 

Guilliman had convinced the High Lords that the Legions must be broken, that Chapters must be formed from their remains, but the Imperial Fists did not want to separate. It would mean leaving their father, who had been a constant presence in their lives. It would mean throwing the last handful of dirt upon the memory of the Great Crusade. Yet they were given no choice. The Navy had fired upon them. Guilliman had called them traitors. Guilliman, who did not bleed to defend the Palace. Guilliman, who did not carry the body of the Emperor from that cursed ship. Guilliman, who did not hear the last words of the Emperor and they said nothing of Chapters. Guilliman, who had finally become the politician he yearned to be.

 

With no other recourse, the Imperial Fists did the only thing they could. They would rather die as Legionnaires than live as something lesser, in their minds, than what the Emperor intended. They went to the Iron Cage without planning, for winning was never the goal of it. Sure, Dorn had said he would bring Perturabo to Terra in an iron cage, but he couldn't make his brothers understand the true reasons. He would have brought Perturabo back if events had transpired that way, but it wasn't why he went.

 

The Ultramarines didn't save them from anything. The Imperial Fists wanted to suffer, to bleed, to atone for their perceived failure, to die as their beloved Emperor had died. But, the Iron Warriors weren't up to the task. Whether out of fear of the price required, whether out of perverse satisfaction of watching the last battle of their hated Legion rivals (A hatred that was never reciprocated), they could not go through with it. They would have fled before being forced to spend the last of their lives, which would have robbed them of the glory they so desperately wanted, or they would have gotten bored and left. There was no way the Imperial Fists could have won the Iron Cage but, for the same reason, there was no way for them to be beaten. No matter what else you hear, believe this: the Imperial Fists and Dorn were not broken that day. They were reborn, in the way only being submerged in liquid fire for minutes on end can give a man new life. They forgave themselves for the Heresy, and set their minds to new tasks. They readied themselves for new burdens.

 

For the shoulders of the Imperial Fists are broad, and the Imperium rests well upon them.

 

Once, I didn't care about Dorn and his Legion. I thought they were dull and boring. But, now, they're my favorite Primarch and Legion. I hope, even if you don't agree, you will understand my reasons.

[captain Angel]

Excellent insight. I compleatly Agree.

Dorn was one of the most complex primarchs and you managed to unravel him quite well.

[No Foes Remain]

Saw this post and your follow up post on that thread and it turned me from planning a Sons of Horus Orbital Assault army to a Imperial Fists HH army, haven't decided what type yet but it will be done.

[deathspectersgt7]

Very insightful Well written.

[Kyram'vhett]

Absolutely brilliant

[Cynikal]

A fantastic insight into the fists and their character. I've tried to glean as much I can about Dorn and quickly found him to be my favourite primarch. He never seemed to give in to extremes of personality like many other primarchs. Very level headed. Its a shame that the black library hasn't given Dorn and the fists more attention. But hopefully that'll change in the future.

[Marshal Rohr]

Saw this post and your follow up post on that thread and it turned me from planning a Sons of Horus Orbital Assault army to a Imperial Fists HH army, haven't decided what type yet but it will be done.

 

 

Armored Company?

[Disruptor_fe404]

Recently, in a thread in the Horus Heresy section, I took an opportunity to put some thoughts to paper regarding Rogal Dorn and the Imperial Fists. I thought it would be appropriate to share it here, as well, and open it for discussion beyond the scope of the original thread.

 

Thank you.

 

You have turned my thoughts into words far better than I ever could.

 

I'm not sure there's much to discuss though, given that I think you've nailed Dorn completely...

 

I mean, there's stuff that I would want to discuss with you regarding Dorn and how it would relate to my Chapter (as one of the first of his Successor Chapters to not know their father), but I don't really want to threadjack.

 

Incidentally, I'm saving all of your post for future reference.

[Noctus Cornix]

I had to come to this thread just to express how much I enjoyed reading your dissertation on Dorn's psychology. Its absolutely stunning and shows just how deep you can really delve into each and every one of the Primarchs. I must admit though, that while I agree with almost the entirety of your work, I must profess that I disagree on your concept of the Iron Cage.

 

Of course, as we all know, this is all based on opinions, what we love about Warhammer 30k and 40k as a whole and how we perceive the events to have transpired. I think what I always loved about Dorn and his sons, and yes I must admit that my thoughts often take very strong if not radical approaches, is how broken they've become. Perfect no, but I always thought that the Imperial Fists were the model Legion, even beyond the Ultramarines or the Sons of Horus. Here were the true soldiers, pure in heart and clear in object. They knew what must be done, what their purpose was to the Imperium and the Great Crusade and they followed through to the end.

 

When it came to the Iron Cage, I agree that the battle was seen in Dorn's eyes as a Pain Glove, but I never thought that it worked. I suppose I've always adored the concept of the pinnacle Legion in a Golden Age being brought low into nothing more than a bitter husk, a pale shadow of what it once was that merely drags on because it is simply too stubborn to accept the simple fact that your world is dying. And I think that's where our paths of thought diverge because I'm silly and I love metaphorical broken mirrors too much. I suppose it might also be important to note that I am very antiquated in my ideals of Dorn's Sons but that's just who I am.

 

I never saw Dorn or the Imperial Fists emerging from the Iron Cage reborn. Instead they emerged from a pile of their own dead, seeking some kind of meaning, an epiphany to it all. Why  must they endure so much and lose so many brothers and sons? They paid the toll of suffering. They paid with blood and souls more than any Pain Glove they could take, yet it never came. The Pain had failed. This is why I see such diverging paths between the Imperial Fists and the Black Templars, why the Sons that now bare the Black and White of the First Captain wage such an endless war of hate and scorn that they become so drastically different from their former brothers and eventually devolve into the very paragon of everything bad in the Imperium. This is why I have always seen and approved of the old fluff of the Imperial Fists, defeat after defeat after defeat, constantly battered down and beaten but always rising back up to fight again because their is simply nothing left for them. They are Husks, because their souls shattered with their Father.

[No Foes Remain]

Saw this post and your follow up post on that thread and it turned me from planning a Sons of Horus Orbital Assault army to a Imperial Fists HH army, haven't decided what type yet but it will be done.

Armored Company?

That was my first thought, but would prove both expensive and a pain in the long run (not great at painting tanks and the like) which is why I'm thinking of going down the Guards light infantry route with some armoured support and a few vets as air assault units. Bascially I'm loosly basing them around the Coldstream Guards, well thats the plan but knowing me I'll change my mind at least three more times before setting something down on the fourth.

Edit: Either way I'm going to wait until Extermination is out and grab that and Massacre then read the out of them. I also want to make sure that I will be painting my Fists correctly

[captain Angel]

I would disagree with your opinion. The fists were reborn. The reason for the Templars divergence can be seen in the HH book crimson fist. The Templars don't know that they are in a crusade of penance for Sigismund's "betrayal". I won't spoil it, but I think that this is why their is such a gap.

 

Back on point, the Fist did emerge reborn. They were transformed into chapters, and knew that they had a new goal. They were to continue the great crusade. They had shrugged of the guilt of the heresy in the pain glove of the iron cage.

 

Just my 2 cents.

[Noctus Cornix]

I would disagree with your opinion. The fists were reborn. The reason for the Templars divergence can be seen in the HH book crimson fist. The Templars don't know that they are in a crusade of penance for Sigismund's "betrayal". I won't spoil it, but I think that this is why their is such a gap.

 

Back on point, the Fist did emerge reborn. They were transformed into chapters, and knew that they had a new goal. They were to continue the great crusade. They had shrugged of the guilt of the heresy in the pain glove of the iron cage.

 

Just my 2 cents.

 

And I would have to disagree with you aswell as I've never found any reason to believe that Sigismund's 'betrayal' as you call it in Crimson Fist has anything to do with the reason for their crusade following the Heresy. Sigismund stayed because of what he was told by the saint, because his presence would be necessary. The origins for the Templar's Crusade is a self-inflicted one, to prove their absolute unswerving Loyalty to the Emperor in the shadows of such turmoil Dorn and the other primarchs had brought in response to the Second Founding. This, in all honesty, only further reinforces my point as it proves that the Black Templars are wishing it distance themselves from the fists in a way. "We're not those guys." sort of situation.

 

Not going to argue about the being reborn bit as really is just a matter of opinion and neither of us are really going to change each other's thoughts on the matter.

[Disciple of Dorn]

Saving this thread. Always good to see someone go into a good analysis of a Legion without sticking to their main pigeonhole stereotypes.

[Grizzly_bear]

Dorn did surprise me in crimson fist though....

[Marshal Rohr]

I like the idea

 

 

 

Saw this post and your follow up post on that thread and it turned me from planning a Sons of Horus Orbital Assault army to a Imperial Fists HH army, haven't decided what type yet but it will be done.

 

 

 

Armored Company?

That was my first thought, but would prove both expensive and a pain in the long run (not great at painting tanks and the like) which is why I'm thinking of going down the Guards light infantry route with some armoured support and a few vets as air assault units. Bascially I'm loosly basing them around the Coldstream Guards, well thats the plan but knowing me I'll change my mind at least three more times before setting something down on the fourth.

 

 

Edit: Either way I'm going to wait until Extermination is out and grab that and Massacre then read the :cuss out of them. I also want to make sure that I will be painting my Fists correctly :P

 

I love the idea. I know Heathens based his on the Black Watch and I based mine on the Potsdam Giants and 1st generation stormtroopers. Darth is basing his around Easy Company too. The fists lend themselves wonderfully to recreating famous units from history.

 

 

Noctis, excellent man. Pure excellence. I love that grim feeling. :D the tragedy of it makes it so compelling.

[No Foes Remain]

@M2C: That idea has quite grown on me, now to pester my father and browse the Army's website about info on the Guards.

[Gorkimedes]

So this may run the risk of repeating whats been said above but I really enjoyed what was being said here. This is just what came to mind as I was reading the thread. Sounded better in my head but by the throne I'm gonna post it!

Some great reads in this thread, they really capture why I believe Dorn is in many ways the simplest of the Primarchs but also the greatest and most human. More than any other Primarch/ legion Dorn and his sons are defined by their service, this is why I'll never understand someone who wants Dorn to be alive. Even if the chapter didn't have his body I would say the only proof of Dorn's death that is needed is his absence. He is not some mythical figure like Russ who would disappear to return at the end times nor is he like Corax who would seek death. He isn't an angel or a wolf or a salamander he's the Imperial Fist and he would not leave lesser men to defend his father's realm.

More than any other legion the Imperial Fists represented the dreams of the Great Crusade. Their very identity was built around their service to the realm and their lord. I mean just look at

- Their name the Imperial Fists, they are his legion

- Their battle-cry ""Primarch-Progenitor to your glory and the glory of him on earth!", their glories are not their own they are simply an extension of his might

I completely agree that the sons of Dorn are a broken legion. Upon Terra they failed in the one real duty they ever had. The Imperial Fist legion died in the Iron Cage and while one of the chapters that emerged took the legions name all of them are very different beasts. The legion did not wish to be broken apart because to stop being his legion would signify the end of the great dream and the finality of their shortcomings. How could these men be anything other than Imperial Fists. Created and sanctioned by the Emperor himself, having carried his light for centuries. Its no wonder the Black Templars became a cyclone of rage and hate that would make most followers of the dark gods look tame.

On Terra they failed in the one task that defined their very selfs. When the Emperor fell in a way the legion died. To let the Imperium fall would be to fail the Emperor a second time. That is why they cannot, will not allow an inch of the Emperor's domain to be taken. If that means standing firm when retreat would be wiser so be it, if that means they must sacrifice themselves in hopeless battle after hopeless battle from now until the stars die then that is what must be done.

This grief is why I love Dorn more than any other Primarch. Dorn's rage, sadness and regret after Terra is like one awesome cocktail of human emotion. Who hasn't felt anger over loss or tried maybe in vain to fix some failure. The way the sons of Dorn have suffered so much failure but still struggle to make something meaningful from the ashes of their loss, maybe if they bleed and die enough they can erase their sins. This speaks to me more than all the fancy psyker powers or space vikings or Emperor's Children drinking people wine etc.

Accept Any Challenge, No Matter the Odds! yea! Xenos, traitors, the gods themselves should fear Dorn and his sons.

Also Celestial Lions

[Darrell]

When it came to the Iron Cage, I agree that the battle was seen in Dorn's eyes as a Pain Glove, but I never thought that it worked. I suppose I've always adored the concept of the pinnacle Legion in a Golden Age being brought low into nothing more than a bitter husk, a pale shadow of what it once was that merely drags on because it is simply too stubborn to accept the simple fact that your world is dying. And I think that's where our paths of thought diverge because I'm silly and I love metaphorical broken mirrors too much. I suppose it might also be important to note that I am very antiquated in my ideals of Dorn's Sons but that's just who I am.

 

I never saw Dorn or the Imperial Fists emerging from the Iron Cage reborn. Instead they emerged from a pile of their own dead, seeking some kind of meaning, an epiphany to it all. Why must they endure so much and lose so many brothers and sons? They paid the toll of suffering. They paid with blood and souls more than any Pain Glove they could take, yet it never came. The Pain had failed. This is why I see such diverging paths between the Imperial Fists and the Black Templars, why the Sons that now bare the Black and White of the First Captain wage such an endless war of hate and scorn that they become so drastically different from their former brothers and eventually devolve into the very paragon of everything bad in the Imperium. This is why I have always seen and approved of the old fluff of the Imperial Fists, defeat after defeat after defeat, constantly battered down and beaten but always rising back up to fight again because their is simply nothing left for them. They are Husks, because their souls shattered with their Father.

Your interpretation of those events is certainly more grimdark than mine, and probably fits a lot better into the atmosphere of 40K than my own. I like a little ray of hope in my 40K, because it helps emphasize just how terrible everything else is around you. It provides context for misery, whereas otherwise I just sort of get used to the grimdark and it doesn't affect me anymore.

 

My perspective is also as a latecomer. The first 40K materials I read were the 3rd edition rulebook and Space Marines codex. I loved the art in it, and my interest in the lore lead me to the B&C. I never read about the Imperial Fists, though. They struck me as pretty boring and, while I stumbled across fluff for them now and then (Dorn's quote about approaching battle meakly, let my enemies cower at my advance and tremble at the sight of me, et c) I didn't look for it.

 

It wasn't until I read the IA10 book with the Badab War, and the Executioners section specifically, that I bothered to go looking for information about Dorn and his Fists. I was actually disappointed when I saw the Executioners were Imperial Fists successors. I remember saying, "Man, if they were descended from ANYONE else, they'd be perfect." At the time, I was hoping they'd be from the Khan, because he was my favorite Primarch at the time (I still love him, but I love all Primarchs, now, for what they are). But, I figured I would deal with it, do some reading about Dorn and then try not to think about it lest I get sad.

 

So, I went digging through the old IA, lots of Google searches, 40K wiki, Lexicanum, went through the B&C from top to bottom. There was a substantial amount on the Fists, but not a lot on Dorn. There still isn't. But, what I read I actually liked and it didn't take long to warm up to the Praetorian. He reminded me a lot of myself, in ways that were both good and bad. He seemed very human to me. Not humane, necessarily, but human. Maybe it was because I had gotten older, maybe it was because things had happened in my life to change me, maybe my tastes had matured, maybe I just got a better grasp of 40K fluff. Whatever the reason, I was able to really get into Dorn and his Legion even if I created quite a bit of my own narrative to do so. They just clicked with me, and now I wouldn't imagine the Laughing Axemen being descended from anyone but Rogal Dorn.

 

Got off on a bit of a tangent there.

 

Brotastic seems to agree with your broken mirror perspective, and I see the appeal in it. The idea of the Astartes limping on, broken, clinging to whatever shards of prior glory left to them (Maybe why Roma is so important to them). Continuing in their service, being maimed and beaten at every turn, but never being able to surrender because they're too stubborn to admit how far they've fallen.

 

The Iron Cage is a huge incident, and a major milestone in both Imperial Fists and Iron Warriors history, but there's not a great deal written outside the IAs. Given what happened to the Fists when they went in, it demands some sort of rational explanation. One of the best, and worst, things anout 40K lore is when we are forced to come up with our own story to answer nagging questions.

 

Brotastic, I agree that the period after the Emperor's near-death and the Iron Cage really shows a broad spectrum of emotions for Dorn. There's sadness, anger, guilt, doubt, regret, and even a certain degree of happiness when he found his purpose again. It does a lot to show who Dorn was, because he's exposed during that time.

 

I don't understand why people deride Dorn for that. Granted, it was the lowest point for him in his life and it doesn't always portray him in the best light, but look what the poor guy went through. I can't imagine coming home from work and finding my oldest, most successful brother dead. My popular brother that was always good at everything is dead. My father's shattered body is breathing his last. Three family members murdered each other before I could get home in time to save them, and I'm the one that has to carry my father to his death bed. I get mad and cuss up a storm when I miss two 95% shots in a row on XCOM, I can't imagine how upset I would be in that scenario. I don't understand the lack of empathy for Dorn's character in that situation.

 

I've always been torn on Dorn's fate. On the one hand, he's my favorite Primarch and I don't want him to be dead. He's awesome! Other Primarchs get to be alive, why can't mine be alive? On the other hand, I've never been able to come up with a good enough reason for Dorn to vanish if he was still alive and why he would hide from his sons. It fits his character, and makes a great story, if he gave his life for the Imperium he loved so deeply like the soldier he was. I like to think he was the last of the Loyalist Primarchs, that he lived long enough to see his brothers missing or dead and saw what a horrific place the Imperium was becoming. To think of him carrying on, stone-faced and determined, as he shouldered all those heavy burdens even as he slept upon his geandfather's cloak. But, on that Chaos ship, with bolter and blade in hand and surrounded by a mountain of dead, Rogal Dorn, for the first time in his life, laid down his burdens and took one breath as a man who knew no troubles. But, it saddens me and then I go back to "I bet he was too stubborn to die!" Even if it's not as good a story, the taste is not as bitter.

 

Thank you to everyone for your compliments on my thoughts regarding who Dorn was. I was partially inspired by an old post on the B&C that was something along the lines of "What it means to be an Imperial Fist". I vaguely remember it, and it was a well-written piece, but has been lost to the Warp. I've looked everywhere on the Internet for it, but my searches have not been fruitful.

 

My hope is I've helped Dorn become a more relatable character and, even if people don't like him, they will understand him (Or my version of him, anyway).

[Studio Silvernale]

WOW this was a good read. Playing Executioners myself, this really gives a bit of insight into them as well. The Executioners are based on the Conan the Barbarian setting rather than a real world culture and are regarded as barbarous compared to other chapters. Also the fact they go out and actively hunt down threats to the Imperium before they become a problem always seemed a bit odd for a successor to the "stand and take it" legion. After reading this, it really makes more sense now.. the successors of Dorn must never let a threat get big enough to break the Imperium again.

[Komrk]

I enjoy the fluff for the IF and Dorn but he's never stood out to me. Yeah, he's the perfect soldier, hard working, dependable, etc. but he also drove away the Iron Warriors just like how Guilliman alienated the Alpha Legion. Also, in the short story the Last Remembrancer, he destroyed the Imperium's best chance for not turning into what it is in the 40k universe and pretty much started the truth censorship. I'm short on time so this was just a quick summary but that's what I see.

[Wade Garrett]

Destroyed the Imperium's last chance?

 

That's an odd way to misspell "Got rid of the doomsaying propaganda Horus himself sent into the Sol System".

 

And the censorship started loooong before Dorn was fortifying Terra, read "Prospero Burns".

 

The Administratum began its campaign to rewrite the history of the Unification Wars before the gunsmoke from the last battle cleared away.

[Marshal Rohr]

I wrote that IF thing you're talking about Darrell, it died with the Librarium :(

 

 

EDIT:

Found it on Warseer:

You are an Imperial Fist, a member of the VII Legion, you are charged with the defense of Terra, the seat of Imperial Power. When the news came to you that Horus had betrayed mankind, it felt as if someone had placed a knife in your heart and left it there after twisting it and turning it. Horus, greatest of the Primarchs had turned from the Emperor. This is impossible, he is either ill or deranged. The very core of your belief is rocked, if one such as he could turn, what about you? You steel yourself to do what must be done, trusting in the Primarch who would never lead you astray. You slowly begin to tear down the Imperial Palace and in its place build a monstrosity of fire lanes, choke points, barricades, battlements, and gun pits. Razorwire replaces rose gardens; trenches replace esplanades, all by your hand. The Emperor is close but never seen, this makes you happy to know that he doesn’t see the horrors you commit to this edifice of his glory. You continue on for months until finally, the forces of the Warmaster are on the approach. Smashing aside all resistance they fight their way to Terra and make orbit above the cradle of mankind. You take your post readying your mind to kill whatever comes, warriors whom you might know or have even shared a similar battlement with. The warriors of the Blood Angels and White Scars lend their aid, but in your heart you know it isn’t enough. You will not give in to your fear, because you are fear incarnate, you are an Imperial Fist. The skies darken in an unnatural storm, the drop ships of the traitors speed towards the planet. Fiery comets of malice come to not to conquer, but to destroy. What spills from the bellies of the Stormbirds and Thunderhawks is not the noble warriors of the Legions you once knew, but twisted and corrupted mockeries of Space Marines. Spikes and kill trophies of loyalists hang from their backs in a grisly spectacle. You hold the line, you fire magazine after magazine into them. Decaying members of the Death Guard plod towards you, soaking up every round you fire and shambling forward as if against a light breeze. World Eaters throw themselves into your fire zone, bodies piling one on top of another, having no more effect than to slow up their traitorous brethren. Creatures from nightmares assail you from all angles, battlements being no more tangible to them than wind to your armored gauntlet. Your efforts are not enough and slowly inch-by-inch, they gain on you until, you have to retreat deeper and deeper into the palace. Now, you really feel the pressure, your enhanced psyche is pushed to its limits. Warp spawned abominations do battle with your brothers, reaping terrible rents in your defenses, the great cannons of your hated rivals, the Iron Warriors, pound night and day with out cease.

 

After months of this you still hold, you are still alive, you still are invigorated when the Primarch commands you. They will never take him from you, your rock and shelter. The Primarch will see you through this, he has never failed before, why should now, at his greatest test, see him break. One day, you are swept up into a mob of your brothers. Horus has lowered his shields! The Emperor is leading a counter thrust! You grab whatever you can and continue in the fumbling ecstasy; this is your chance for revenge. This could end it all and the Great Crusade could begin again! Mankind will see even greater growth with the Emperor at it head, and you will live to see it; you must. Blood Angels, White Scars, Imperial Fists, Custodes, and even Imperial Soldiers fill the vast teleporter arrays. A green light fills your vision and when you are brought back to your senses the ship you once knew as the Vengeful Spirit lies before you. It has become a foul reverse of the ship you once walked through with your brothers from the Luna Wolves. You are alone and for the first real time in your life, physically scared. This is unlike anything you have ever seen or known. Monsters lay into you, the very material of the ship is anathema to you. In a great chamber you manage to link up with more loyalists. What luck! One of them knows where your group is located, and better yet the way to the last known rendezvous, the Lupercal’s Court. Running through the corridors, you no longer take any notice of the battle around you, your combat reflexes take over and you fight on autopilot. You must get to the Primarch, he will know what to do. When you finally meet back up with him, it is not what you expect, it is what you feared. The Primarch lies weeping over the Emperor’s body, his ear pressed to the barely moving lips of the broken form of the man at whose word worlds moved and stars died. First Captain Sigismund, his black and white heraldry gore spattered and his armor rent from dozens of weapons, is being restrained by Captain Polux. Members of the Huscarls, kneel around the Primarch, sharing tear filled glances. The Primarch wordlessly lifts the Emperor’s body and signals for the remaining Imperials to be teleported back to the surface.

 

The Primarch is a broken man. Having donned the black armor of mourning he waits for Guilliman and his Ultramarines, Jonson and his Angels, and Russ and his Wolves. When they arrive it is not the homecoming they want. How dare they come here after what you have been through and demand status updates and military courtesies? What have they done? Who have they lost? You were there when the Emperor fell; where were the Ultramarines, and the Dark Angels, and the Space Wolves? Everyone you know is dead, everyone. You are the only remaining member of your company, or the three companies that make up the great company. The Legion went from being a glorious manifestation of the Emperor's power, to a ghost of its former glory. Only those ruined at Istvaan could know this pain. The Dark Angels and Space Wolves are insufferable, especially the Space Wolves. They camp on the sites where you lost everything. You even see one spit into a trench where you fought tooth and nail with a dark Champion of the World Eaters, curse them. The Dark Angels are morbid and quiet, you can suffer that. You even begrudge them a recounting of the Emperor’s fall. You feel ashamed as you do it. It is wrong to even think about that horrible scene ever again. You decide that you wont tell it again. The Blood Angels have long since left, what can a Chapter do without its Primarch? Doomed to a slow death, you hope that you may fight alongside them again before the end. Lord Dorn quickly relinquishes command of Terra to Guilliman. You and the rest of the Imperial Fists board the Phalanx, and the Scouring begins.

 

On worlds that you once fought to conquer in the name of the Emperor, you now fight to liberate again, although this time you fight those who fought alongside you the first time. The Scouring takes years. More of your brothers live and die, especially die. You no longer joke with your friends after battles, because you have no friends remaining; and why would you make new ones when they will all be killed eventually? But not you, no you will live forever in this endless cycle of death, you will endure, for you are an Imperial Fist and sacrifice is your nature. The High Lords have decreed that the Legions will be broken up, so that treason of this magnitude can never happen again. Dorn will not bow to these, councilors and mortals who had no part in the War. These men are more concerned with reacquiring the taxes and tithes of the worlds lost to the traitors and xenos, than returning the Imperium to its former glory. It comes to a head when Guilliman declares Dorn no better than the Traitors and accuse him of power mongering. In your wisdom, you can see Guilliman’s point, Lord Dorn has been on Crusade since the Siege, he has sat out the most important meeting and forfeited his vote on the matters at hand. Though he conceals it deep down, you can see the disdain Guilliman has for your Legion, he no doubt thinks if it had been him, the Emperor and Sanguinius would still be alive. You hate him for that. He would have faired no better, what right has he to judge you! You, who fought day and night with no rest, no respite! You, who watched the same patch of ground for weeks, ever vigilant! You, who was there to see the Emperor’s greatest mistake.

 

Lord Dorn relents, but only on one condition, Guilliman allow him to fight the thrice cursed Perturabo, alone, at his Eternal Fortress. The last charge of the Imperial Fists Legion. The chance to cleanse yourself through sacrifice. The battle is more bitter than the Siege, it is the explosion of hatred held by both Legions. At first, it seemed as if the battle would be fought in noble virtue, with steel and fire. But Perturabo has different plans for you. First comes the explosions, trapping you on the planet, then the ambushes from well concealed tunnels. You reap a bloody toll upon the traitors but their spite knows no bounds. They slowly and surely break you apart, until again you are all alone, surrounded by the piled bodies of your brothers and foes. Night and day you fight alone, crawling on your belly through the no-mans-land trying to find anyone friend or foe. The shelling is constant, the Iron Warriors have no lack of ammunition. The ground becomes and ever changing bog, the blood mixing with the rain, eventually covering every part of your armor until the gold of the Legion is completely covered. The days blur together and you no longer know how long you have been crawling, until fate intervenes and again you find yourself in the presence of the Primarch. He is not as you remember. His black armor is pitted and scarred, the mud covers most of it. The rest of the first company shares the harrowed appearance of the Primarch. The once proud Templars of Sigismund, who used to wear the finest tabards of rich cream, their company heraldry displayed by devotion markings now showed their devotion in scars and burns Their bolters have long since been discarded and they now use bits of chain and razorwire to keep their swords fastened to their arms. Sigismund is no longer the Champion you remember hurling back the traitors single handedly, but a relentless whirlwind of destruction. All caution thrown to the wind, the First Company charges the traitors at every opportunity, their losses only driving them to greater heights of rage. The Iron Warriors fall before them like long grass to a scythe, the traitors only recourse is to shell their own positions. The fighting continues as such for what seems like years, every firefight seems like a lifetime. All military objectives have long been abandoned, the only mission is to find Perturabo and destroy him. The senior captains call for a breakout, but the Primarch will not relent, he will kill Perturabo. You continue on for day and night until, one day, the tide turns. The Ultramarines have come. Their Thunderhawks bombard the traitor positions, their Battle Barges fire volley after volley into the central keep. Lord Dorn is incensed, when Guilliman makes landfall at your position you half expect the Primarch to strike him down, but it does not happen. As the last of your brothers board the Thunderhawk, Dorn takes one last look at the battlefield, and steps aboard wordlessly.

 

You leave over four hundred brothers un-recovered on the battlefield. That figure does not include the dead that have been brought back. The Legion is no more, it was able to end with its honor intact. The successors are formed, Lord Dorn gives Sigismund the first of the successors and commands him to keep true to the original virtues of the Astartes. The First Captain leads those still thirsty for vengeance on an Eternal Crusade, forever carrying the Legion's memory as a torch. Master Polux is given the other successor and takes the newest members of the Legion on Crusade as well, but not with the zeal of Sigismund’s Black Templars. Polux uses the bloodied fist as a metaphor for the Chapter. It symbolizes your tradition of sacrifice in the Emperor's name. They new Chapters take to the field in your Chapter's stead, winning much honor for the Primarch. You rebuild. It is a sombre process, few remain who fought at the Cage and fewer still who fought at the Siege. You see faces that might have been at there, but you aren’t sure. The Chapter slowly takes shape, with the Codex at its heart. You endure, ever more.

 

You continue on, true to the Emperor that was. When word reaches you of a Black Crusade driving into the heart of the Imperium, a chance for vengeance is had. The Primarch takes three hundred warriors to hold the forces of chaos back until the rest of the Chapter can join him. But, it does not happen. The Primarch is laid low, and you fight to recover his remains. It is the saddest moment of your life, the Primarch is gone, the Emperor is gone, and the Legion is gone. You bear his remains back to the Phalanx where they will rest for eternity. You endure. You relive your nightmares when Vandire causes a second Imperial Civil War, and you fight through the same corridors you once defended. The Tau menace is thwarted by you and the Ultramarines, fighting alongside each other once more. On Miral the horror of the Great Devourer is thrown back by your hand. You are there when First Captain Lysander returns in time to stop the Traitors from ruining the Imperium during the 13th Black Crusade. You fight across the bleak moors of Cadia, against the sons of the monster who crippled you Master so long ago; it is a wound that still drives so much of your being so many years later. You sacrifice and you believe. You will fight the enemies of the Emperor for all eternity, you endure, that is what it is to be a Son of Dorn.

[No Foes Remain]

M2C, that is awesomeness beyond words. Thank you for sharing it.

[Marshal Rohr]

Thanks, its a little outdated now. 

[No Foes Remain]

Outdated is better, 'cos I'm not listening to the stuff within the so called 'Imperial Fists supplement' as that one post was so much better and told a better version than another Imperial Fists Chapter that the supplement was apparently about.