Perturabo - Personality: Though Perturabo had spent his entire life at the business end of a siege, digging trenches and razing cities, it was easy for his fellow Primarchs to forget he possessed a mind as advanced and gene-enhanced as any of his brothers. The Lord of Iron might not possess the Warp-lore of Magnus the Red or the warcraft of Horus, but being underestimated was one of his greatest weapons. Furthermore, he was gifted with an affinity for technology, and was able to debate the finer points of the most esoteric arts with the highest placed Adepts of the Mechanicum. Though Perturabo possessed a calculating mind well-suited to the highly technical aspects of siege warfare, he was not a simple journeyman, for he also possessed the soul of a craftsman.Over the centuries, Perturabo had created a precisely ordered collection of genius to rival any work of Magnus or Roboute Guilliman. His inner sanctum contained a superb collection of precisely reconstructed stonework, multiple murals and painted works of art as well as hundreds of rolled parchments containing architectural wonders of his own design. Immense drawing desks bore architectural plans for grand pavilions, magnificent amphitheatres, complex industrial infrastructures, vast hives of habitation, impregnable citadels and ornate palaces to rival that of the mountain fastness of the Emperor Himself.No architect of Terra had ever envisaged structures of such grandeur, and no fantasy of design had thought to render such magical buildings into life. That they had sprung from the hand of the Lord of Iron should have surprised no one, but the idea that a being so mired in destruction was capable of sublime creation seemed beyond comprehension. One of Perturabo's most notable examples was the design of the amphitheatre used during the Council of Nikaea. Though it was eradicated from existence not long after the conclusion of council, it still caused him great shame. It had never been intended as a place of trial and censure, but an arena for mighty games of strength and skill. The use the Emperor had made of his creation shamed Perturabo.Perturabo's genius was not only confined to the drawing board, for he had also crafted hundreds of delicately wrought machines, trinkets and gewgaws of such fine construction that it seemed impossible one so huge had modelled them. A silver lyre in the shape of a horse's head, gilded eggs, fabulously wrought birdcages that would never again confine a living creature, and miniature war machines competed for space alongside automata of all shapes and description -- animal, mechanical, human and alien.Perturabo had created a host of clockwork automatons in the early days of the Great Crusade. He had crafted a golden lion that was to be presented to Lion El'Jonson, the master of the Dark Angels, but which had never been finished, a bronze horse that had been designed for a great centrepiece at Nikaea and never used and a celestial timepiece that Roboute Guilliman had mounted on the tallest tower of his Temple of Correction on Macragge.Perturabo's inner sanctum was a treasure trove of wonders, miraculous creations and the most ancient history of Old Earth preserved in a hermetically sealed environment. None beyond the warriors of his Trident, his special triumvirate of counselors, knew of its existence, and that was just the way Perturabo liked it. The Lord of Iron was also able to speak multiple xenos languages, which included a number of dialects of the Eldar tongue as well as the proto-speech of guttural barks and grunts that comprised the Ork language.Exacting attention to detail served Perturabo well in his centuries of life. In war and at peace, he revelled in the minutiae of any given task, be it reducing an alien fortress to rubble or establishing the golden ratio within every portion of a theoretical design. Angron had berated him for wasting time on irrelevant details, while Guilliman had lauded him for his thoroughness.Two very different characters, two very different opinions. Both were correct in their own way, but neither fully appreciated Perturabo's methodology or the bitter drive behind his exacting preferences. The need to be better, the urge to prove his worth beyond taking the metal to the stone. Perturabo was a craftsman, and to be worthy of the appellation, every piece of work that bore his name must be judged for as long as it stood. His legacy was to leave no undertaking unfinished. Every task was approached as though it might be his last.Despite his gruff exterior and stoic demeanour, Perturabo showed a paternal affection for his gene-wrought sons, though on a far more reserved level than displayed by the Primarchs of the other Space Marine Legions. In manners of discipline, the Lord of Iron was not a warrior who dealt with his subordinates with the easy familiarity some of the other Primarchs were said to enjoy. Perturabo was also known to be an honourable warrior, who believed in the ancient martial traditions of his homeworld of Olympia.Failure in battle was not tolerated, surrender was never countenanced and mercy was a quick death delivered to a foe that had fought with bravery. But the Primarch’s anger was a volatile thing, quick to lash out, but just as quickly checked. When the people of Olympia rebelled against the rule of the Iron Warriors, Perturabo's anger was terrible to behold. In the aftermath of his genocidal vengeance, Perturabo knew utter despair, barely able to comprehend the crimes he had committed in his rage.It had come as a shock to find that the loyalty of a Primarch was not the fixed thing Perturabo had always assumed it to be. But like all such realisations, it was incorporated into a new worldview, and once assimilated, a series of small steps was all it took to render everything he had once stood for as little more than a fading dream. Perturabo had vowed that his oath to the Warmaster Horus to support his cause against the Emperor would be truly unbreakable, no matter the cost, no matter the nature of the fight and no matter the outcome.Unlike many of his brothers who sided with the Warmaster, Perturabo did not hate the Legions that had remained true to the Emperor. They were tools with which their father had carved out His empire, warriors as abused as Perturabo's sons, but too stubborn or too blind to see the nature of their exploitation by the Master of Mankind. The Lord of Iron also did not like his men speaking of those that still followed the Emperor as "Loyalists," for his Legion had been as loyal as any to their cause. The Emperor's Astartes were the enemy. In Horus' rebellion, Perturabo believed that there was no such thing as Loyalist or Traitor, only victor and vanquished.Following the massacre on Olympia, Perturabo's humours had become ever more volatile and unforgiving. It was rumoured that the Warsmith Berossus had come to horrifying injuries at the hand of his Primarch following his misfortune of having to deliver bad news to the Lord of Iron. His injuries were so horrific, he had to be interred within a life-sustaining casket within the carapace of a Dreadnought. After the Drop Site Massacre on Istvaan V, Perturabo became a giant of terrible rages and spontaneous violence. Despite appearing at ease around his subordinates, those who knew him best saw the underlying simmering tension in the Primarch's body, like a taut cable at the very limit of its tensile strength, ready to strike at a moment's notice.