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Name: Mazaraf "Maz" Kuni Sabzeh

Race: Undead

Age (At death): 22

Place of Birth: Lordaeron

Class: Mage

Guild: Imminent Rueage

Appearance: Mazaraf looks less decayed than the Forsaken he is most often mistaken for. His skin has not fallen off at any point, nor are any of his bones visible. He is by no means attractive, however. His eyes are present, but are surrounded by flames instead of a yellowish glow. The clothes he drapes himself in are flowing robes, cloaks, and capes. The air around him constantly churns creating the same spiraling illusion surrounding a scalding piece of armor which has layed out in the sun for too long. In times when surrounded by danger he often can be seen surrounded by wild flames.

History


Mazaraf Kuni Sabzeh was born and raised in Lordaeron. He was taught the Arcane arts and was well on his way to becoming a proficient mage...

Until the plague of the Lich King began to overtake the great kingdom in which he lived. The stories of people who had been consumed by this horrid plague in the eastern lands of Andorhal and Stratholme hinted that they would most likely be next in the line. These tales terrified him, people's bodies decaying, their souls torn from them, and yet they still moved. Moved to destroy their former brethren, no less. He had to find a way out.

He searched the vast capital city's enormous libraries, planning to use his arcane magic to preserve him from the plague and found nothing. Then it happened. Arthas, the prince, had revealed himself as a traitor. With the king dead, panic ensued. Hope for the rest of Mazaraf's people was lost, and if he did not hurry, he would be lost as well.

Options were fading quickly. People were scattering, afraid. Mazaraf stood still, observing the horror which had befallen. Riots and mobs of screaming people filled the streets. Without realizing it, someone had grabbed his arm, and he followed them into a small-secluded house. Though she was covered completely in dark, rich looking robes, Mazaraf could tell she was seductively beautiful. She searched through books on the wall with a grace he was no longer used to due to the panic outside of this small building. He watched her in silence as she finally found what she had been looking for- a black book with what looked like veins weaving across it. She strode to him and opened the book, flipping calmly through the pages. Then she began to read aloud, her voice was so wonderful, though he could not understand what she was saying. She came to the end of the passage, reached forward to touch a finger to his head, and spoke the last few words with much emphasis. Mazaraf felt an enormous wave of heat pulse throughout his body; he cried in burning agony and fell to the ground. His vision blurred as the Warlock kissed two fingers and placed them on his cheek. Then he saw no more.

When he awoke, he was no longer inside of the frenzied city. He was lying by a small pond. Dazed and confused he slowly sat up, feeling more weary and light than he ever had before. In addition, as was inevitable, he looked into the water and saw his reflection. He howled a terrifying scream, the grass around him singed.

His body had decayed, but his soul had been preserved. He was never part of the scourge, and he was not inclined to serve the will of the Dark Lady, as Sylvanas is not part of the reason he still exists. His eyes glowed a fiery red instead of the yellow of the Forsaken. Something else was keeping his soul bound. Something that filled him with spiraling fire...

Currently


As time progressed, Mazaraf began to accept the fate of his people as forsaken. He was not one of them, but he was certainly treated as one. Also, his knowledge of the arcane arts started to take a seperate turn. Previously he specialized in arcane magic, but something inside of him gave him the inkling to learn to weave fire. As he learned more about how to control the untamable force, this inkling inside of him grew to a raging passion. The sight of watching his enemies burn in agony brought him a massive amount of pleasure.

Recently, he learned what inside him was making him this way. At first he did not know what he was unleashing. He learned to combust with flames spurting from each part of his body, and when he did this, a demon showed itself clearly in his mind. It spoke to him, told him that it was what had kept his soul trapped in his body, and it had been urging his need to burn things, being that it was a fire demon. It also explained that the Warlock had planted it there to control Mazaraf, whenever she was pleased at his progression of power. Mazaraf did not know wether to welcome or to shun this demon. It made him stronger, it kept him in this realm, but this was surely not his original fate. He needed to find the Warlock and ask her why him...

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