[hider=Narcariel, Master of Repentance]By the time the choral music erupted from multiple places around the cell, unseen within the deep shadows but helped mightily to reverberate by the cavernous chamber, Eliphalet Terach could no longer remember how long he had been strapped face-down on the table; for what seemed like an eternity he had been kept there in darkness, his face pressed against the cold surface, and his abnormally warped body almost as naked as the day he was born – a day, like most Astartes, he could not actually remember.

“Are you ready to repent?”

The voice that spoke from somewhere nearby somehow managed to cut through the music - turned up to aberrant volumes even for his superhuman ears – and, in spite of all he was and knew, sent the smallest sliver of anticipation (not fear) down his spine. 

He tried to move, tried to turn his head, tugged against his bindings, but all was in vain and so he was forced to simply reply as best he could, shouting over the rising and falling of the music.

“Repent? I have no need of redemption, for I have committed no sin. How can you even speak of repentance?!”

Sergeant Eliphalet Terach, like all those upon the surface of Caliban when it was lacerated and torn asunder, had been flung into the warp by powers beyond the reckoning of those now living. He had seen things that were to come, had travelled light-years through an Imperium that he did not recognise and fought all manner of adversaries, in the Warp he had lived many lifetimes only to be spat back out one day near shattered Caliban...and to find he had been gone no more than an hour.

Those of his brethren that fought still for the Lion had wasted no time in capturing him and, what truly was an eternity ago, locked him within this cell.

Now his time of reckoning had come.


[hr]


Once upon a time the individual known as Narcariel, now Master of Repentance (a new form of Chaplain) for a formation organised by the Ultramarines Primarch, had been the most talkative and jovial member of his brothers – he had laughed, joked, and even been told on a number of occasions to silence himself lest they do it for him. As time had worn on, as secrets had been laid on his mind and shoulders, and as he had descended further into the duties he must now perform of his infant Chapter, that old Narcariel had been expunged from existence and replaced by the dour figure that now circled the prisoner like the big cat from which the Chapter took its name.

In a leisurely fashion he removed his gauntlets, setting them reverently aside on a table made of now extinct Calibanite wood, having learnt that they only caused his hands to be less dexterous – and therefore useful – when it came to his secondary but most important duties.

Next he laid aside his skull-faced helmet in a hiss of seals and otherwise soundless movements, revealing a face that would, had it not been grown large by the hormones of his wild father, fit perfectly to the profession of teacher or clergyman. It was a forgettable face that retained the middle-aged look had he been mortal, golden hair with streaks of white cut close to his head, but it was the eyes that held his [i]true[/i] personality for they seemed everywhere at once, glacial blue orbs like chips of ice which appeared to pierce as daggers into anything they viewed be it armour, flesh or the soul.

“Oh you have much to repent for,” half-whispered the Chaplain, one hand gently pulling back a cloth to reveal a long and extensive line of 'implements', one hand running almost lovingly over them, “and repent you shall, Eliphalet. Should you do so, you shall be granted the Emperor's Mercy and purification but should you not...well...”

A large scalpel was already in his hand, his almost ethereal voice once more swallowed up by the droning music, and it was only moments later that the Fallen Angel known as Eliphalet – as many had suddenly gleaned before him – that he would repent and he would break.[/hider]