Once, he was but a simple farmer by the name of Ioseph Kibblin, but his life was transformed when he stumbled across one of the lost and buried Law-Forges of the Old Dwarven Empire. There, he made a terrible mistake. He took up one of the Forge-Mauls, and the Garb of the Fundament-Smiths, and when he emerged, Ioseph was dashed to pieces, and from the remains, the Judge was born.
It follows the Judge like a rain cloud, broad and dark. The first time the Judge his Jury came to a village, it came up behind them, congealing out of the dark, and knelt by the Judge. Huge, beaked, and cloaked in a pall of dark fog, and wielding a colossal axe. It is the sentence of the most vile and wicked, by the Judge's standards at least, and men go mad and slay themselves rather than face the gaze of the beast, black on black.
When it lifts up its great axe with the intent to use it, the very edge begins to glow a soft and pale blue like lightning, gently steaming. When it is like this, it can slay with a mere touch. No defence can aid you against it, your only chance is that the beast is slow, slow but implacable. You might outrun it, but only for a time.
It is a spirit of death, drawn to the Judge and his power. It will serve as long as he believes earnestly that he has the right to demand a man's life for his misdeeds. It was bound long ago by the Dwarven Law-Smiths, but the long march of time and the battering of the elements on its chains has twisted its purpose. Perhaps they are brittle enough to break...