Inquisitor Zathul was the Royal Inquisitor for Lethice before her transformation into a demon. He was only mentioned in the Swamp during the event needed to get the Inquisitor's Robes or Inquisitor's Corset.

I have failed.

I could have prevented all of the tragedy that will befall this land, if I were less arrogant. It was my duty to root out corruption in the kingdom, and to ensure that no force could sully our name, or blaspheme against our queen. But I was too certain of myself, too certain of what I thought to be true. I believed that it was my duty to protect my queen from the dangerous and reckless thoughts of impure commoners and power-hungry mages.

Instead, I should have protected them from my queen.

When at last I reckoned the truth of Lethice’s doings, the wheels turned too quickly to stop them. The corruption spread through the kingdom like a famished beast. Commoner and mage alike were swallowed by its depravity, and remade. The demons were born, and had I possessed the foresight to watch my queen more carefully I could have stopped it.

Do not mistake me for a coward, merely a fool. I stood against my queen when at last I opened my eyes. I dared to raise arms against her, and call upon the brightest of white fires, blazing with the desperation of a man determined to save his nation. I failed. She had feasted on so many souls, gained so much disgraceful power. Before I could even gain a foothold I had already expended my energy.

She mocked me. Perhaps she was right to do so. An infernal mark was seared into my body as punishment for my hubris. “The Inedible Soul,” she declared me. Stripped naked I was made to crawl through the city, spat and ejaculated upon, jeered at by the hedonists that now populated it. None dared to try and change me, not with Lethice’s mark upon me. Such was my punishment. Powerless, I watched as the land fell to the taint that it was once my duty to keep in check.

I failed to stop the demons, and Lethice. But I am one man, and there are many more who will come after me. Many - too many - will fall, their souls and very nature devoured by the land, and for them I will suffer. It is not their fault that my inaction created a force greater than they.

But the demons - my former queen - are greedy. They will expand, and conquer, and one day they will extend themselves too far. One day a champion will challenge them. Perhaps from another land, a stronger tribe, standing tall against the force that threatens it. Perhaps from within our own kingdom, a hold-out, a child raised in hiding. I do not know.

If you have found this chamber, then you are wise. Wiser and cleverer than most. Perhaps you have the ability to be that champion. Though I have failed, I have taken steps to ensure that my mistakes will not be repeated. My magic found itself limited. Yours will not.

I have spent the last of my abilities to fashion attire suitable for a champion. It is locked within the chest. I am no fool - I know that it may be necessary to adapt this armor for a body warped by corrupt powers. It may also be necessary to deprave it, somewhat, to draw less attention to oneself in a society similarly changed.

Stand before the chest, and ask for 'Retribution' or 'Carnality'. The last of my magic, imbued therein, will do the rest.

I dearly, sincerely hope with all my being that you are successful. I name you the last Inquisitor of a defeated kingdom, and shed my power here. If I am fortunate, I will live to see this land restored. If not, it is worthy punishment for my hubris.

Marae bless.