Inquisitor of Zon-Kuthon
Alignment: Lawful Evil
Homeland: The Kingdom of Ceres
Weight: 264 lbs
Azatauf perpetuated an aura of unease among those around him. The half-orcs well muscled body towered over most others at 6’7”, but that was among the least unsettling of his qualities. Mostly bald, only thin wisps of wiry white hair fell from his scalp. His right eye was sewn shut, his left, blood red and constantly alert, always seeming to fix itself on the gazes of those curious enough to look at him.
Where his nose should have been their was only a deep gash. Two large tusks protruded from his jaw, longer and thinner than those of most of his kind, they gave the impression of having been filed to sharp points. The tattered blue and gold vestments of a well travelled priest of Sarenrae concealed his body, providing glimpses of tarnished black chainmail beneath. His body was covered in suture scars, and odd cuts here or there, suggesting that he was a poor warrior at best.
Like many half-orcs, he was born to a human mother in the Kingdom of Ceres, the victim of a brutal rape at the hands of orc marauders. He never met either of his parents. Orphanages in the capital city, Andros, did not take pity on half-orc abominations, nor did anybody save the Church of Sarenrae.
Sarenrae took him into her healing embrace and taught him the ways of the light, he grew up in the church, and became a talented adherent of the Dawnflower’s teachings. However, soon after taking his clerical vows, war broke out between the kingdoms of Ceres and Galloway – and the churches of Gorum and Sarenrae fell into conflict as a result. The war was long and brutal, and left both countries weakened by it’s conclusion, displacing many families and shifting borders.
An initiative was born in the church as more and more adherents of Gorum flooded the kingdom and a new sect was born, the Inquisition of Dawn. Azatauf was quick to join, a fierce defender of the faith.
The Inquisition began by expelling Gorumites from the borders of Ceres, displacing many families, but the roots of the religion had already taken hold, and the inquisition increased its efforts at the behest of several key clergymen, creating internment camps where suspected Gorumites were held until they confessed their heresy. Azatauf was among those who championed the new policies of “convincing” heretics to confess. The inquisition soon looked to Azatauf for the creation and implementation of new means of coaxing confessions from their queries, and while he was unnerved at first, he soon began to delight in his new role.
One beautiful sunny day, Azatauf was busy interrogating the latest heretic unfortunate enough to find herself before the towering half-orc. As he “assisted” her confession, he was visited by something altogether unexpected, a Kyton, one of the denizens of the shadow plane he had always been taught to fear… it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. It seemed he was the only one who could see the being of flesh and steel, standing across the rack from him, grinning at Azatauf with what could only be described as pure uncompromising joy. With a sense of incredible discomfort weighing down on him, he coughed over the sobs of the would-be heretic, “I… I’m just about to finish”. The Gorumite sighed in relief, “thank you…”, the Kyton grinned wider and shook his head, it’s voice filling Azatauf’s mind like a thousand needles pressing into his brain. “Why deny her the pleasure you so obviously crave…?”, he blacked out.
Coming to, the sound of his queries screams were perhaps the sweetest music he had ever heard, “GORUM HELP ME! OH GOD PLEASE!”, the heretic shrieked as the final push of the bone-saw glided through her arm with slow precision, severing the final vertebrae, the limb fell to a bucket positioned to catch it. Her other limbs had already been taken care of, and the torso that remained had been horribly mutilated. The Kyton stared at him, nodding its approval, “you will serve well… you will join us”. The chains hanging from the hooks in its body chimed gently as he gestures to the prisoner, “the eyes next”. Without missing a beat, Azatauf grabbed a simple needle and thread and went to work, the pleasure flowing through his body impossible to describe, more marvellous than anything he’d experienced before.