It's Cold Outside...

He watched the red snow. The red snow both ran and settled, clotted and melted, a duality that Sithric Jarnskeggisson observed in all things.
He stared, breathed deep and ran the portents.
Trees rushed by and futures flitted in between them. Wyrds and malificarum, both hunter and hunted danced eternally in the winter forest and this dance tells a tale, a possible tale or an impossible tale.
Sithric's still form frost-glistened as he read the wood, a pall of vapour rose from his slightly open mouth, while in his head his wolf form stalked and panted in the glades and gorges of possibility. His terminator armor insulating him from the cold allowed the winter elements to blanket him while he hunted his Lords wyrd in the winter wood.
The wood was quiet. The white snow lay untracked, the trees sentinel still. His wolf form stopped and pierced the dark of the wood with it's eyes. Deeper and deeper he gazed. Deeper he inhaled taking in the scents of wyrd and malificarum...... nothing.... no thing.... no things!! Wyrd and malificarum are what make things and in return things make them!

Sithric woke, ice, frost and snow cracked and sloughed of his armor whiting out the running, clotting blood. He turned and Made for the inside where the Wolf Lord was. Something bounced off his hip as he hastened, a doll of some kind, Sithric ignored it but it did not ignore him.
'My Lord!' it began hurriedly.
Sithric turned 'You are Vostroyan!' he exclaimed in his deep drawn accent. 'You know you should not sneek and slithe around when a priest stalks the winter woods?'
'I know Lord, I...'
'It could be the death of you. Lay you on the ground and make red snow' Sithric threatened as he pierced the newcomer with his yellow eyes.
'Lord the fleet is mobilisi...'
'Especially when you wear those funny hats on small bodies' Sithric carried on. He inclined himself lower so the hair of his shock beard intruded on the Vostroyan troopers face, forcing him back.
'Lord I INSIST! The fleet is mobilising and the High Commander is..'
'I know' intoned the Rune Priest
'Y- you know?'
'Yes. I know' Sithric purred. 'To Barabbas we go, the fourth planet'
Sithric turned and marched. The trooper just stood. The red snow seeped and clotted back up through the white out.

Though not Sithric Jarnskeggisson please enjoy my wolf priest intead, Roi Stridbarsson