У жалкого Торпика в Master of Sanctity специально прописано - Сайфер носит ЧЁРНУЮ броню.
"Жалкий, жалкий Торпик"The bark of the bolt pistol sounded loud in the confines of the passageway. A moment later Annael’s left knee exploded with pain, the bolt showering out muscle and cartilage along with pieces of the joint seal behind his kneepad. As his leg gave way he swung his hammer, knowing that the merest touch of the disruption field would be enough to down his unarmoured foe, even if he was a Space Marine. The corvus hammer cleaved only air and Annael toppled with a shout of frustration. He managed to stall his descent with his broken hand, rolling forwards. A bolt ruptured the tiled floor where his head would have been. The Fallen was aiming his pistol for the killing shot. Out of the corner of his eye, Annael saw another black-armoured figure arriving behind the near-naked form of Astelan. A pair of muzzle flares lit the dim passageway and two shots rang out. Astelan spun as the side of his head exploded into bone and blood. A trail of bolt propellant scorched past Annael’s cheek, leaving a welt on his helm from nose to ear. The bolt detonated on the Ravenwing warrior’s backpack, shredding splinters of ceramite into the neck seal. The Fallen collapsed to all fours, still alive, but only just. He tried to turn towards his attacker. The bolt pistol slipped from his grasp and a moment later Astelan slumped forward; unconscious or dead, Annael did not know. ‘A timely intervention, br…’ Annael’s thanks trailed off as he looked at his rescuer. Though his armour was black he did not bear the sigils of the Ravenwing. He had a bolt pistol in hand and a plasma pistol at his belt, and there was a longsword scabbarded at his waist. ‘Do not be disheartened by this turn of events, your foe had many more years of practise killing Space Marines,’ said the stranger. The black-armoured warrior looked down at Astelan’s unmoving body and his tone turned grim. ‘As have I.’ The sound of the others arriving caused the warrior to turn, dropping the pistols to the ground as he did so. He raised his hands in surrender as Tybalain and Nerean advanced, their weapons levelled. Annael glanced over his shoulder at the scrape of a boot on tile, to see Calatus closing in from behind him. ‘The sword as well,’ Tybalain demanded, stopping a few metres away. ‘Disarm yourself.’ ‘I cannot do that,’ said the stranger. ‘I swore an oath to carry this blade until my death.’ ‘Refuse and your oath will soon be fulfilled,’ said the Huntmaster. ‘Do not be so swift to pass such final judgement. Your masters would be much happier if I remain with breath in my lungs.’ The unnamed warrior gestured at Astelan. ‘They have chosen dangerous allies of late. I feared you would not find me. They will want to hear what I have to say.’ ‘You claim you are known to them? You intended to be found?’ Tybalain sounded uncertain. Annael had thought such a thing impossible. ‘What is your name?’ ‘You may address me by my title,’ said the Space Marine. ‘Lord Cypher.’