Within a newly redecorated primarch sized room, the Matriarch of the Rout was busy putting on one of many new gifts her Empress had been kind enough to bequeath.
Freya looked at the armor, the metal bands around her chest, with the gap between her breasts having a wolf carved on them, creating a near flat surface on her chest. Her tone abs were shown, as they lead to the power armored pants, which she decorated with a wolf pelt skirt. She adjusted her shoulder pads, a symbol of a wolf carved into it.
'All done! Gotta say, even if the Empress is a bit frilly in her choices of casual wear, she definitely knows her way around armor. ' Thought the newly tamed Matriarch.
Freya took a moment to glance away her stunning reflection, the picture of noble savagery, to walk over and drink in the deep endless expanse of space through a window within her room. She saw it all, mankind's endless destined stretch of territory, the uncountable hordes of abominable foes she'd be trusted to exterminate. She looked ahead to the day she could reunite with the rest of the Empress' gene forged creations, they who would be just as much family to her as the dear wolves she'd spent ever moment of her short lived childhood with.
The future felt crushing, yet exciting all the same.
'Well, that's enough deep thought for one day. Better go meet with the old legion master like my Empress told me to do' Freya decided.
With a few steps towards the automated door Freya left thenice confines of her room, eager to wander about the great metal behemoth that was her Legion's current flagship.
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It took her no time to find the meeting chamber, guarded as it was by row upon row of space marines, all of whom drank in the image of their genetic template. Freya looked a few in the helmet, into their eye lenses. She didn't need to see past those opaque lenses to know what they were surely feeling. Anxiety. Excitement. Longing. Lust. One marine practically buckled at the knees when Freya's long flowing hair accidentally brushed up against her pauldron during the Matriarch's brisk walk through the ship passageway.
'I just showed up, yet I seem to already possess their mind, body, and soul. Wolfing milksops, they could try to keep at least a little shred of self respect. I'm their primarch yet I ain't bending over to kiss em on the cheek for being good little boys 'n girls. Respect needs to be earned damnit!' She thought to herself, but keeping a soft smile on her face.
Finally reaching the entrance to the conference area, Freya quickly entered, waving away the marines standing guard. She entered somewhat nervously, expecting some pampered officials and an all too civil procession to officiate the transference of leadership within the legion.
Instead, she was pleasantly surprised by the armored form of a single well muscled space marine, kicking back in a carved throne of adamantite that looked like it had once been a part of some great weapon or vehicle. The marine's feet were resting on a master crafted tacticians table, and a tankard of some form of alcohol was balancing precariously on their offhand, their main hand positioned snugly under their head so as to better nap.
"Who are you who sits in my throne?" Freya asked.
The older looking astartes glanced up from his half hearted nap to gaze upon the Matriarch. Removing his helm, he gave her a smile before standing up at attention.
"Just an old sod who'd like one last rest in the comfy chair is all. Enoch Rathvar, Legion Master. I've been told I am to relinquish the position to you."
Freya brought her hand up to her head, pinching the bridge of her nose, and shaking her head with annoyance. Was this old pathetic man,the leader of her new pack? Pathetic.
