Wrath of the Crimson Brotherhood

The light from the TV down the hall barely reached my room. The darkness was barely penetrated by the flickering light, but within the dim lighting I saw it.
As always it's unseeing eyes watched me. It's pale body protected by its metal armour. A crimson red cloak hanging loosely off its shoulders. In its unfeeling grip was clutched around the handle of its sword, as well as a tattered standard, it's cry emblazoned across its cloth.
Thankfully, it imprisoned in its cage of ink I was safe, but all I had to do to unleash its immortal rage was to read its standard.
The standard that, I now knew for myself, said the following.
'Fool you are mortal for reading this cloth, however you will now be blessed by a visit from a silent apparition in the dead of night to seal your fate. May your gods damn your soul for letting me free. But may you forever live in a state of undeath such as I in an world of swords and sorcery.
-Sanguine of the Crimson Brotherhood'