WHEN Stevesmage discovers the terrible truth about his lover Susantwo, a fearsome and unusually purple new class is born.

Like all great tales, the birth of the Warlock class has its foundations in a love story. Warcraft lore tells of a mighty and respected caster, Stevesmage, who fell deeply in love with a beautiful Holy Preist called Susantwo. The pair embarked on a whirlwind romance, and for three intense months their passion was the talk of Azeroth.

But then disaster struck. One foolish Friday night, Susantwo invited Stevesmage for a moonlit walk on the beach to tell him a secret. Flush with love but wracked by guilt, she turned to him on the sand and whispered in his ear to tell him a terrible secret. She was only 14 years old IRL. And also male.

Stevesmage snapped. With a flick of his fingers, he transformed his lover into a sheep and, as she waddled to and fro bleating, he summoned a mighty ball of fire and thrust it into her. Susantwo burned momentarily before falling over and exploding in a flurry of burnt wool and guts.

Stevesmage dropped to his knees, weeping. He would be a mockery when the world found out. Furrowing his venerable brow, he wiped his eyes and and conjured a portal. He knew Stormwind Library like the back of his hand, so it took him just two minutes to find the doorway to the Forbidden Section. He paused, assessing the gravity of what he was about to do. But he had no choice, and he blinked inside.

The following morning, Stevesmage was gone. The once pure wizard, this respected and honoured caster, had absorbed knowledge of curses, of demons, of stolen souls and shadows and the darkness at the end of the rainbow. All that was left was a blackened, emaciated shell. His muscles had rotted, his innards ached and he could hardly see, but his mind... his mind throbbed with power.

He summoned forth a rock demon to break through the walls of the library and stood, surveying the chaos, as the creature thundered onto the streets of Stormwind. He one-shotted a passing orphan and grinned wickedly as he sucked out the infant's soul. In the course of a single night, the great Stevesmage had possessed, and been possessed by, the secrets of the nether. He would be no laughing stock. There would be no mockery.

There would be only fear.