Salvation

[Kalthanan]

"Repent! Repent!"

The dark priest's words echoed resoundingly off the rough walls of the cavernous cell. Rather than sounding like one man, the echoes created the impression that a whole army of malevolent priests were interrogating the former paladin. Breathing raggedly, the injured warrior said nothing.

The priest paced across the stone floor before the restrained knight. The glow of torches flickered off the polished black surface of his chainmail armor, while with one hand, he toyed with the rosarius around his neck. Arathus served the Dark Brotherhood ever since he could remember, and in all that time only one other holy knight had ever repented their sins to him.

The priest stopped in front of his prisoner and turned to face the broken warrior. Cold, dark eyes started out from behind the skull-mask of Arathus's helmet. "Repent!" he hissed loudly.

Kalthanan shut his eyes tight in an attempt to avoid his interrogator's piercing gaze.

"Repent now, embrace Him, and your death will be swift and relatively painless," Arathus stated coolly. "Continue to refuse to denounce your faith and you will die in agony, the likes of which you will only have imagined in your worst nightmares. The savagery of all the demons in the Nine Hells is nothing compared to the wrath of Cyric!"

Opening his bloodshot eyes once more, the holy knight looked about him. The cold, unforgiving walls of the gloomy chamber held no encouragement. The imposing figure of his tormentor glowered back at him.

The constant drip of water from the damp walls of the dungeon filled the captured paladin's ears. Kalthanan closed his eyes, trying to shut out the sound of the water. The dripping became a tapping, the tapping a thumping, until it was the panicked beating of his own heart pounding inside his head.

Shadows flickered and writhed across the fissured rock and the darkest shadow in the cell moved closer.

"Who is your Lord?" demanded Arathus.

"My Lord is Tyr Grimjaws."

"Cyric is your Lord!"

"Cyric is MAD, curse his soul," whimpered the knight, his spirit on the verge of breaking. "He is a tyrant and a betrayer!"

"The Dark Sun is our saviour!" the dark priest roared. "Cyric sacrificed all he had so that he could become a God. It is to him that we owe everything: our Brotherhood, our strength, our salvation, the very fibre of our being. And you dare say you have no Lord?" Arathus spat, his growling whisper full of contempt.

The disgraced paladin knew not how long he had been imprisoned within the cave, nor for how many days the interrogation had lasted so far. All he knew was that he just wanted to get away from the priest's constant goading and torments. Restrained by thick, heavy iron shackles, however, all he could do was turn his head away from his interrogator and whisper prayers for the God of Justice to aid in him in this dire predicament.

His voice composed again, the dark priest Arathus spoke matter of factly in an emotionless tone as if he were reciting words he had uttered on countless occasions: "As you will not renounce your faith and will not repent your sins, then it falls to me to relieve you of your guilt by whatever means are necessary."

At this moment, Kalthanan noticed the device that the priest had picked up in his other hand. Its many sharply honed and polished blades gleamed red in the dim torchlight.

"It is my sacred duty to save your soul from those misguided Gods of Light," Arathus intoned, "and I will save your soul, even if you die in the process."