Mazel McGee

Velgra, the heart of the orc nation of Hakkak, was a symphony of grit and grime. I was born into it, a gutter rat among gutter rats. Survival was a daily struggle, a constant dance with hunger and the ever-present shadow of death. I learned to steal before I could walk, to vanish into the shadows like a wraith. My childhood was a brutal education, a harsh curriculum in the art of survival. I learned to fight, to kill when necessary. It was a life devoid of innocence, a grim ballet of desperation and violence.

Gradually, I transitioned from petty theft to something more… lucrative. I became a shadow, a whisper in the night. My targets were the wealthy, the corrupt, those whose lives held no value to the city, only to their own bloated egos. I was efficient, precise. My reputation grew, whispers of the "Ghost of Velgra" echoing through the underbelly of the city.

Then, they found me. The Sons and Daughters of the Mask, a shadowy organization with ties to the Cult of Norgorber. They saw potential in me, a raw talent honed by the harsh realities of the streets. I was inducted into their ranks, my life becoming a carefully constructed facade, a mask worn to deceive the world. My past, my identity, were buried deep, replaced by a carefully crafted persona. I became a weapon, an instrument of their will.

And then, I met Sampson McGee.

Sampson McGee. Grew up dirt-poor, tried playing soldier, realized he was better at relieving the wealthy of their excess. A practical skill, if you ask me. The world's a cesspool, and redistributing wealth is a public service.

Then he got too efficient. My former employers, the Sons and Daughters of the Mask, sent me. Mazel. Termination was the objective. He proved… elusive. A month of cat and mouse, and I'll admit, he had a certain… tenacity. A rare quality.

The contract was rescinded. Politics. He gravitated towards the Norgorber cult. Filthy business, but lucrative. And then there was him. A certain… magnetism. And those eyes. Like a predator's. I'm not prone to sentiment, but he… affected me.

We became the Bloody Daggers of the Mask. Me, the woman whose past was a carefully constructed lie, a shadow draped in secrets. And him, the thief with a surprising depth. We married. Had Stella McGee and Gibson McGee. My world. The only thing in it that approached purity. We retreated to a remote cabin, a desperate attempt at normalcy. I severed ties with the cult. He handed his syndicate to his second. A fragile peace.

Then, the cult came calling. While Sampson was away, they targeted my children. My children. They targeted me. They found me, but they did not get my children. I dispatched them with… efficiency. My last act.

Sampson returned to find me dead. He took the children to his parents, vowed vengeance. A predictable, if understandable, response.

He attempted infiltration, posing as a guard. A foolish endeavor. He was captured, executed. And they desecrated his body, intending to raise him. A final, grotesque insult. Then, a cosmic anomaly. A volcanic meteor, obliterating the necromancer. They did not succeed in their desecration. A small, insignificant victory.

My life was a series of calculated actions, a dance with death. The world is a brutal theater, and I played my part with precision. My marriage to McGee and the children were the only things that held any semblance of true value.

Fifteen mortal years I spent in the hells. A torturous eternity. But even in that infernal pit, my spirit remained unbroken. Then, Kartika Rogyapa found me. An oddity, this death orc. Not cruel, not sadistic, simply… different. She bound my essence to this… afterlife. A strange place, malleable, responsive to my will. A new kind of power. I will learn to master it. I will find a way back. And when I do, the cult will learn the true meaning of suffering. Because Mazel leaves a mark. Always.