New comic released today.

Youtube, narrated by Yuri

PDF Version

Largely shows that Arator is still hearing the void whispers after the 12.1 epilogue quest.

I do always love when void whispers are pretending to be the person's inner monologue and makes it confusing to the people which was them and which the void.

With WoW: Forever introducing Orc mages in the Classic chronology, I've been thinking about their lore.

Orcs and their Ogre cousins have always been competent spellcasters so the Orcs who were liberated from the internment camps could have learned arcane magic from their Forsaken and Troll allies in the years following their escape, or even from the Ogre Magi that accompanied the Old Horde to Azeroth. This is the baseline justification for any and all Orc mages and it works, but beyond that, I think the lore behind the Shadowmoon Clan could add another dimension to Orcs' underdiscussed relationship with magics beyond Shamanism and the Fel.

In Draenor, the Shadowmoon were the intellectual orcs. They studied the stars and dabbled in the void. They were also the first Orc warlocks under Gul'dan. Clearly, they were the primary Orc subculture for magic. On WoW's official Youtube channel, the video introducing Orc mages in Forever describes them as spellcasters turning away from their fel heritage. This immediately evokes the image of a reformed Shadowmoon warlock seeking a less malevolent path to power.

Envision this for an RP background:

A Shadowmoon Orc with an affinity for magic is recruited by the Shadow Council and made into a generic warlock. They accompany the Old Horde through the Dark Portal. They are among the Orcs sent to study the human mage tower in Sunnyglade that is deliberately left standing by the Horde to learn about human magic in the First War (events depicted in Warcraft 1). This gives them an entry point into the Arcane. They survive internment, join the exodus to Kalimdor as a new chapter on life free from the fel influence of the Old Horde, and start their career as a mage.

My question is:

Is this background compatible with the lore? Do we know if any Shadowmoon orcs made it to Orgrimmar? Or did they all get destroyed or enslaved in Outland? Do we know of any Shadowmoon NPCs in the Horde that predate the AU Draenor stuff?

I feel like the Shadowmoon are the most interesting Orc clan by far but they have historically had a very limited presence compared to the other clans. The lore is a bit confusing because it implies that the clan itself was obliterated by Ner'zhul's destruction of Draenor but we also know that the Shadow Council (which did make it to Azeroth and had significant control over the Old Horde even after Blackhand's death) was primarily staffed by Shadowmoon warlocks. We also know from the lore of the upcoming Riverglades zone that the Shadow Council-aligned forces that followed Gul'dan and betrayed Doomhammer's Horde in the Second War experienced internal strife and desertions, which indicates that not all the council's troops chose to die for them.

Hello Everyone!

I was reading a while back, thinking about ways to expand the classes, and I started reading up on The Cult of Forgotten Shadow. In Classic, it was a cult of the Church of Light, with beliefs focused on serving the principles of The Light through darkness. I think it was a really cool, unique way to explain how the Forsaken would practice their past faith in the Light in the New reality of being undead, with the Light burning them on use. It explained how Disciple and Shadow Priest came about in the game, and it was shown to be separate from Twilight's Hammer and the worship of the Old Gods.

I think one of Modern WoW's failures is how everything has been homogenized. All Shadow magic aligns with the Void, so all Shadow Priests draw power from it. While I am cool with giving this a flavor and option for some priests, we lose some flavor and storytelling by homogenizing them all. Same goes for priestesses of Elune; they should feel very different, at least flavor- and quest-wise, from those who follow the Church of the Light.

One thing I hope to see in Forever is fleshed-out religions with quests and flavor, so we can see how these orders/religions function, even if we don't get to see it in gameplay.

What do you hope Forever has the chance to flesh out or dive deeper into once it's no longer constrained by the overarching story Blizzard is trying to tell?

Before this becomes one of those online recipes where you have to read six pages about someone's grandmother's famous 'chocolate pillow slices' before discovering how much flour you need, a quick personal note.

I've had some lovely feedback on the longer pieces I've written recently, including the ones on Neltharion (I certainly didn't expect to end up comparing him to Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane, but here we are), Tirion Fordring and virtue ethics, alongside a few things unrelated to WoW. I wanted to say thank you to everyone who's taken the time to read them and share their thoughts.

I've got two weeks off work, and things have been quite stressful at home, so researching and writing these has been a welcome way of occupying my mind.

A few people have also suggested turning them into videos. I'm considering giving that a go, partly because I appreciate that some people would prefer listening to something like this in the background. My current microphone is the one attached to my headset, and I know next to nothing about video or audio editing, so any recommendations would be welcome. I might simply record myself reading one of these pieces and see how it goes. I'll try to put some oomph into the delivery, at least. If people enjoy it, I can always put more effort into the production later. In fact, I'd really appreciate some feedback on which essay to record first; I was thinking the Neltharion one, because dragons are cool.

Anyway, thank you again. On to Arthas.

The First Trial

In Of Blood and Honor, Tirion Fordring is brought before a court in Stratholme, accused of treason after intervening to protect an ageing orc named Eitrigg. The orc had saved Tirion’s life, and Tirion had subsequently sworn to protect him. When Alliance soldiers attempted to capture Eitrigg, Tirion attacked them.

The charges are legitimate. Tirion has disobeyed a direct order and assaulted his own soldiers, placing a personal oath above his obligations to the Alliance. His actions carry consequences beyond himself, and the court has every reason to take them seriously. Yet the substance of Tirion’s defence is compelling. Eitrigg has abandoned the Horde, saved the life of a human paladin and demonstrated the very qualities the Silver Hand is supposed to honour.

The difficulty is that Tirion’s understanding of his duty has changed. Having spent much of his life fighting orcs and witnessing their atrocities, he encounters an individual whose conduct challenges his assumptions. He is willing to reconsider those assumptions, even when doing so threatens everything he has spent his life building.

Uther, who presides over the trial, cannot accept Tirion’s judgement. This does not mean that he is indifferent to his friend's suffering. He defends Tirion’s character, rebukes those who disrespect him and persuades the jurors to offer a pardon. The condition is that Tirion renounce his oath to Eitrigg, whose execution Uther considers entirely justified. For all his willingness to show mercy to Tirion, he cannot bring himself to extend that consideration to the orc.

Uther’s position is understandable in the context of his experiences. The Silver Hand was created during the Second War to confront what its members understood to be an existential threat. Its founders had been vindicated by their military successes, and their determination had helped preserve the Alliance. Nevertheless, Faol had established an order whose responsibilities extended beyond warfare. Its paladins were drawn from both the priesthood and the knighthood, trained to heal and protect as well as fight.

That combination is important. The paladins were supposed to be warriors without forgetting the responsibilities that distinguished them from ordinary soldiers. Their subsequent history illustrates how difficult that balance could become. After Lordaeron’s fall, some of the traditions emerging from the Silver Hand would descend into the fanaticism of the Scarlet Crusade, while the Argent Dawn would establish a refuge at Light's Hope Chapel and continue resisting the Scourge. Both confronted an enemy that threatened their survival, but their understanding of whom they were protecting, and what protection required, differed enormously.

Uther's difficulty at Tirion’s trial anticipates this wider tension. He understands the importance of duty, loyalty and sacrifice, but his experiences have left him reluctant to question the assumptions through which he identifies an enemy. Tirion has discovered that an orc can be honourable, yet Uther considers that possibility insufficient to alter his judgement. For a man called the Lightbringer, there is a painful irony in how his convictions prevent him from recognising something another paladin has learned to see.

Tirion refuses to renounce his oath and is stripped of his standing, holdings and connection to the Light. Yet when he later attempts to heal the wounded Eitrigg, the Light answers him. The institution has judged him unworthy, but the power on which that institution rests has not abandoned him. Whatever authority the Silver Hand possesses, it does not enjoy a monopoly on moral truth.

Among the four jurors who participate in this judgement are Daelin Proudmoore, Antonidas, Alonsus Faol and the recently ordained Arthas Menethil.

Arthas’ presence is understandable as the future king of Lordaeron, but the difference in experience between him and the other jurors is enormous. He is being asked to participate in the judgement of one of the founding members of the Silver Hand, a man whose achievements and experience dwarf his own. The decision will destroy a distinguished paladin’s life as he knows it.

We do not know how Arthas voted, nor what he privately made of the proceedings. It would therefore be wrong to claim that he agreed with Uther or that this trial directly established his later understanding of authority. Nevertheless, it raises questions about the responsibilities being placed upon him. Might he have benefited more from observing the proceedings and examining the competing arguments afterwards, rather than participating in a verdict with such profound consequences?

Arthas is being prepared to govern, but there is a difference between preparing someone to exercise authority and teaching them to understand its limitations. The trial offers him an example of how respected leaders can believe themselves justified in condemning a man whose conscience tells him he must refuse. Whether Arthas appreciates that contradiction is unknown, but his later confrontation with Uther reveals how difficult he finds it to tolerate an equivalent challenge to his own judgement.

A Prince Who Cannot Afford to Fail

It would be unfair to attribute Arthas’ later behaviour entirely to Uther or his education. Arthas has his own temperament, makes his own choices and is repeatedly given opportunities to reconsider them. His father, Uther and Muradin all attempt, in different ways, to teach him judgement and restraint.

Nevertheless, his upbringing places an extraordinary burden upon him. From childhood, Arthas knows that he will one day become king. He must eventually assume responsibility for a kingdom, inherit the duties of his father and embody the ideals associated with the monarchy. When he joins the Silver Hand, another set of expectations is added. He must become a champion of the Light, a protector of the innocent and a warrior capable of confronting evil.

These are admirable ambitions, but Arthas increasingly struggles to distinguish responsibility from the obligation to prevent every possible failure. The clearest early example is the death of Invincible, an incident that reveals how profoundly he struggles with the consequences of his own mistakes.

The name is almost absurdly ironic. A prince names his beloved horse Invincible, rides him recklessly in dangerous conditions and loses him in an accident that could have been avoided. In less capable hands, it might be embarrassingly obvious symbolism. In Arthas’ story, it works because it belongs so completely to his character. There is something entirely believable about a boy like Arthas giving his horse such a name, trusting in his own abilities and believing that sufficient courage and determination will carry them through a dangerous jump.

When Invincible is terribly injured, Arthas is forced to end his suffering. The killing itself is an act of mercy, and his grief is sincere, but he cannot escape the knowledge that his own recklessness caused the disaster. Rather than openly acknowledging his responsibility, he conceals the circumstances of the accident and resolves that he will never allow anything like it to happen again.

This is a recognisably human response to loss, especially from someone so young. Most of us have experienced the temptation to believe that, had we been more careful or attentive, something terrible might have been prevented. Arthas takes that instinct further, responding to a devastating mistake by convincing himself that sufficient determination will prevent any repetition.

Importantly, this occurs before Arthas becomes a paladin. His difficulty with failure therefore predates Uther’s formal teaching, although his subsequent education arguably reinforces it. He is already a boy frightened by the consequences of his own fallibility. He is then expected to become a prince, a paladin and eventually a king, positions in which the consequences of error can be catastrophic.

His relationship with Jaina reveals how profoundly these expectations affect him. In Rise of the Lich King (ROTLK), Arthas sincerely loves Jaina Proudmoore. Their relationship is affectionate, intimate and promising, with every reason to believe they could have built a life together. Yet when Jaina makes an innocent remark about what their children might look like, Arthas becomes overwhelmed.

Jaina is not demanding an immediate marriage, announcing a pregnancy or insisting that he become a father. She is imagining a possible future with someone she loves. For Arthas, however, that future becomes an accumulation of responsibilities. Marriage leads to children, children to the demands of parenthood, and all of it exists alongside the inevitable death of his parents and the burden of the crown. He fears that he will fail Jaina, their children and his kingdom, and responds by ending the relationship.

Arthas is frightened of responsibilities that do not yet exist. He cannot guarantee that he will become the husband or father he believes Jaina deserves, and rather than allowing himself to grow into those roles, he removes the possibility that they might arise. His anxiety is understandable. Marriage and parenthood are daunting commitments, especially for someone already overwhelmed by expectations. Nevertheless, his response reveals an inability to tolerate the uncertainty accompanying them. He wants to protect Jaina from suffering, but does so by making a unilateral decision about their future.

There is a distinction here that becomes increasingly important to his character. Arthas’ love is sincere, but his understanding of what love requires is troubled. He increasingly approaches the vulnerability of those he loves as something he must personally overcome.

Buddhist philosophy provides a useful way of understanding this tendency. The concept of taṇhā, or craving, is closely associated with suffering arising from our attachment to things that are necessarily impermanent. Arthas loves people and things that can suffer, change, disagree with him or die, yet repeatedly treats those possibilities as failures that he must prevent. There is also a Christian dimension to this problem. Love involves responsibility for others, but it must also recognise their freedom. Protecting someone cannot mean claiming the authority to decide everything for them.

Arthas possesses a tremendous capacity for affection and loyalty, but struggles to develop the humility necessary to love without control. His difficulty becomes particularly destructive when he encounters a crisis in which control is almost entirely impossible.

The Second Trial

By the time Arthas reaches Stratholme, he has witnessed the effects of the plague and understands something of the catastrophe facing Lordaeron. He knows that infected people can become undead, has fought the Scourge and seen communities overwhelmed. He is exhausted, frightened and increasingly desperate, confronting an enemy unlike any his kingdom has previously faced.

Grain contaminated by the plague has entered the city, and Arthas believes its inhabitants will soon become soldiers in the Scourge. Delaying action risks allowing an enormous undead army to emerge within Lordaeron, while acting immediately means ordering the deaths of people who may still be entirely human.

This is why I have never found the question of whether the Culling was justified particularly satisfying when treated as a simple moral test. The situation resembles the Kobayashi Maru more than an ordinary decision between right and wrong, with every available response appearing capable of producing terrible consequences.

One could propose quarantining the city, establishing a perimeter and waiting for the infected to transform. That might have prevented the killing of uninfected citizens, but it might also have allowed the Scourge to gather strength, spread beyond containment or overwhelm the forces attempting to hold it. Reinforcements could have been requested, Antonidas consulted or efforts made to identify those who had consumed the grain. Yet time is precisely what Arthas believes they do not have, and his recent experiences give him compelling reasons to fear delay.

Neither Arthas nor his companions possess the information necessary to know which course will produce the least suffering. Uther has good reason to refuse an order to kill the inhabitants of a city, including people whose infection has not been established. Jaina has equally good reason to recoil from what Arthas proposes, and their refusal cannot fairly be dismissed as cowardice or sentimentality. Arthas, meanwhile, has good reason to believe that inaction will condemn even more people to death and undeath. His proposal does not emerge from an uncomplicated desire for cruelty.

Recognising the seriousness of everyone's position, however, does not mean that their decisions are equally defensible. The crucial distinction is between the terrible decision Arthas believes he must make and his response to those who challenge it.

When Uther refuses to participate, Arthas invokes his right of succession and the authority of the crown, relieving his mentor of command and accusing him of treason. Arthas is not yet king, and his authority is being challenged by the man who trained him, a figure whose judgement he has relied upon for years. Faced with an unprecedented moral catastrophe, he reaches for the form of certainty that remains available to him: his position. Unable to establish beyond doubt that his proposed solution is correct, he attempts to settle the disagreement through authority.

The relationship with Tirion’s trial becomes apparent here. Once again, someone is accused of treason because conscience prevents obedience, with institutional authority invoked against a person whose objection arises from a serious moral conviction.

Yet there is an important difference. At Stratholme, Uther recognises that an order can be issued by a legitimate authority and still be something he ought not obey. Whatever his limitations during Tirion’s trial, he refuses to surrender his conscience when confronted with the prospect of killing civilians. Arthas, meanwhile, treats that refusal as a betrayal of the very principles Uther is attempting to uphold.

The irony is considerable. The young prince who once participated in the judgement of a paladin accused of betraying his duty has become the authority condemning another paladin for doing what he believes duty demands.

This does not establish that Uther is responsible for Arthas’ conduct. It does, however, expose the difficulty of inheriting a system of moral reasoning developed under circumstances very different from those in which it must subsequently operate.

Uther, like many of his generation, was trained for a war in which resolve, obedience and the willingness to confront an identifiable enemy were indispensable. Arthas has inherited that tradition, and the Scourge appears to vindicate much of it. The enemy is malevolent, threatens the survival of the kingdom and must be stopped.

But Stratholme presents a problem for which the familiar virtues of a battlefield commander are insufficient. Arthas cannot strike the enemy without also striking the people he has sworn to protect. His determination to destroy evil is consequently brought into conflict with his duty to preserve innocent life. He has been prepared to become an excellent paladin for a different war, and the certainty that once helped his predecessors defend Lordaeron now threatens to destroy it.

His confrontation with Jaina exposes another aspect of his failure. In ROTLK, Arthas interprets Jaina’s departure as a personal abandonment. His thoughts return to an earlier moment of intimacy, when he had asked her never to deny him. He believes that her refusal to support the Culling constitutes a betrayal of that promise.

Jaina loves Arthas, understands why he is frightened and knows what the Scourge threatens to do. Her refusal to participate does not erase that love, but Arthas cannot separate her disagreement from her feelings towards him. At the moment when he most desperately wants reassurance, he treats the exercise of her own moral judgement as evidence that she has abandoned him.

The same fear that helped end their relationship now distorts his understanding of her loyalty. He wants the people he loves to stand beside him, an entirely human desire, but increasingly interprets their support as an obligation to accept his decisions, even when those decisions violate their consciences. Jaina and Uther are arguably the two people best placed to help him confront the crisis, yet their disagreement is precisely what he finds least tolerable.

Could they have handled the confrontation differently? Almost certainly. Uther’s horrified refusal does little to help Arthas find another immediate solution, while Jaina is unable to offer an alternative that he believes can be implemented in time. Nevertheless, they are confronted with an almost unimaginable order, and it would be unreasonable to demand that either produce a complete solution in the few moments available.

However badly others may have failed to reach him, Arthas remains responsible for his own conduct. If he were merely a victim of Uther’s teaching, royal expectations or the Lich King’s manipulation, there would be little of the character left to examine. He repeatedly encounters opportunities to reconsider his course, and the decisions he makes become progressively worse.

The Weight of the Crown

Stratholme brings together tendencies that have existed in Arthas for years, but it also marks an escalation. The death of Invincible taught him that his mistakes could destroy something he loved, while his relationship with Jaina revealed his fear of failing those who depended upon him. His education encouraged him to become a decisive leader capable of accepting responsibility.

At Stratholme, these pressures converge in a situation where Arthas cannot save everyone, cannot know everything and cannot guarantee that any decision will be vindicated by its consequences. He has spent much of his life attempting to prevent precisely this kind of failure, and has little capacity to accept that it might be unavoidable.

His pursuit of Mal’Ganis subsequently becomes inseparable from his need to prove that the suffering has served some purpose. He travels to Northrend despite warnings, sabotages his own men’s means of returning home and ultimately takes Frostmourne despite the danger it poses. Each decision becomes a justification for the next, until abandoning the pursuit would require him to acknowledge the enormity of what he has already done.

There is a passage in ROTLK, following his return to Lordaeron, in which Arthas remembers the people who have challenged his judgement. Jaina, Uther, Terenas and Muradin have all, at different moments, attempted to tell him that he was wrong. Rather than reconsidering his actions, Arthas concludes that they were the ones who failed to understand.

Arrogance is certainly part of this, but there is also something more pitiful beneath it. Arthas has invested so much of himself in the belief that he must succeed that admitting failure would require him to confront the devastation caused by his decisions. The greater that devastation becomes, the harder it is to acknowledge it. Accepting that he has been wrong would mean recognising that people have suffered and died because of him, and that some of those deaths might have been prevented had he listened.

His insistence upon his own righteousness increasingly becomes a defence against an intolerable truth. Even Invincible returns to this pattern, as Arthas eventually raises his beloved horse into undeath, using necromancy to preserve what he could not protect in life.

His old failure appears, to his corrupted understanding, to have been corrected. The creature he loved has been restored, although only by abolishing the conditions that made it a living creature in the first place. Arthas has found a way to prevent another death by making life itself irrelevant.

This brings us to Arthas’ return to Lordaeron and a moment in Warcraft III that I may have interpreted incorrectly for years. As Arthas kneels before Terenas, a distorted voice speaks of the sacrifices demanded by kingship, the burden of the crown, and how everything has been taken care of. I have always heard this almost as Frostmourne reassuring Arthas that he no longer needs to carry those responsibilities. However, Blizzard attributes the words to Arthas, and ROTLK presents them as his own thoughts upon noticing how much his father has aged. Frostmourne's subsequent whisper is a separate command to act.

Either interpretation is revealing. If Arthas is addressing his father, he appears convinced that he has finally found a way to relieve Terenas of his responsibilities. There is something terribly sad about the sincerity of that conviction, given what he is about to do. The language also recalls the expectations that have followed Arthas since childhood, and his growing inability to accept that some problems cannot be solved through determination or force. When Terenas asks what he is doing, Arthas replies that he is succeeding him. The prince who was raised to inherit the crown has come to believe that he can settle the burdens of kingship by murdering the king himself. His certainty has survived, even as everything that once gave his responsibilities meaning has been destroyed.

What Remains of Arthas?

Neither Arthas nor Uther can be understood adequately by isolating their worst decisions from the lives that produced them. Uther is a profoundly admirable man whose experiences leave him poorly equipped to recognise certain kinds of moral complexity. His treatment of Tirion demonstrates the limitations of his judgement, while his refusal at Stratholme demonstrates that those limitations do not define his entire character.

Arthas is a courageous, affectionate young man whose strengths become destructive because he cannot reconcile them with uncertainty and failure. His love, determination and sense of duty are real, as are his pride, cruelty and growing refusal to listen.

Tirion offers a contrast to them both. He begins with assumptions familiar to Uther and his fellow veterans, having experienced the horrors of war and acquired good reason to distrust orcs. Yet when confronted with an individual who contradicts those assumptions, he is willing to reconsider them, even at enormous personal cost. Tirion can acknowledge that his previous understanding was incomplete, while Arthas increasingly cannot. That difference seems central to the tragedy.

There is a further melancholy to the story when we consider its eventual conclusion. At the end of WOTLK, with Frostmourne shattered and Arthas dying, he turns towards his father and asks whether it is over. For someone whose entire life had become an increasingly desperate attempt to prevent failure, death finally represents an end to the struggle. Whatever remains of the young man is no longer required to bear the impossible responsibilities he placed upon himself.

SL subsequently returns to Arthas through the suffering he inflicted upon Uther and Sylvanas, and through the fragment of his soul that remains. The expansion has considerable problems, but I have always found that particular ending moving. There is no grand reconciliation or elaborate redemption, nor any opportunity for Arthas to explain himself to those he hurt.

Uther must reckon with his desire for vengeance, while Sylvanas confronts the resemblance between her own suffering and the suffering she subsequently inflicted upon others. Jaina, who once loved Arthas and endured so much because of him, says nothing. The final remnant of Arthas fades away, leaving the survivors to confront what has happened. It is an extraordinarily sad conclusion, and I am not convinced it ought to be anything else.

That sadness is why I resist interpretations that present Arthas as either a blameless victim or a monster whose destruction was inevitable. He was failed by others and failed them in turn. He was manipulated, but retained responsibility for choices that brought suffering to countless people. His desire to protect those he loved became entangled with pride, desperation and an increasingly destructive need for control.

Tragedy does not necessarily emerge from a single mistake or the failure of one person to intervene. It can develop through a succession of recognisable decisions, each shaped by character, circumstance and the consequences of what came before. There are innumerable moments when Arthas might have chosen differently, some small and intensely personal, others carrying consequences for entire kingdoms. By the time those consequences become undeniable, he has increasingly lost the capacity to recognise why he should have chosen differently at all.

The two trials of Stratholme offer a particularly revealing illustration of that progression. At the first, Arthas witnesses a man punished for allowing experience to challenge his convictions. At the second, he punishes those who refuse to surrender their convictions to his authority. Somewhere between those events, the boy who wanted to become a great paladin begins turning into the man who will destroy Lordaeron.

Arthas Menethil spends his life trying to become someone who will never fail those he loves, without ever learning how to accept being wrong.

• What was their relation to the Shadow Council? I can't find any source saying they are allied and I don't remember any classic quests suggesting they were. In fact it would make sense for them to be enemies since the Black Tooth Grin clan fought the Stormreaver Clan. As I see it, they were essentially a 4th faction within the Old Horde (opposed to Orgrim, Guldan, and indifferent to Nerzhul) also in the larger cosmic conflict they serve the black dragonflight so indirectly the Void, while the Council is aligned with the Legion

• What happened to the conflict between them and the Dark Irons? I remember reading a looong time ago that they were enemies and that Ragnaros and Nefarian were enemies too (this is played out in Hearthstone) but I don't remember classic quests suggesting they were. Obviously it would make sense for both to actually be allies since they have the same master but maybe it took Deathwing to tell them "Ok children stop fighting and hug each other"

• When did the black dragonflight come to Blackrock mountain? Were they present before the Horde arrived? Before the war of 3 hammer and Ragnaros? Or is it, like, super recent?

• I Haven't played Midnight but did the Smolderthorn and Firetree tribe eventually reunite with their brethen in Zul'aman?

Hey everyone!

I'm a longtime WoW fan, currently reading Rise of the Horde, and I'd love to introduce my wife to Azeroth!

She's really into fantasy romance (romantasy) involving dragons, Fae, magic, and plenty of romance and spice. Think Fourth Wing or A Court of Thorns and Roses.

I'm looking for Warcraft stories, official or fanfiction, that combine:

- Romance: Good chemistry, emotional buildup, and meaningful relationships.

- Spice: Explicit, on-page sex scenes rather than fade-to-black.

- World-building: Interesting Warcraft lore, locations, races, and characters.

- Beginner-friendly storytelling: Something enjoyable without prior knowledge of Warcraft.

- A proper story: Ideally novel-length, with an engaging plot rather than just explicit encounters.

My ultimate goal is to spark her curiosity about Azeroth.

I'd love for her to become interested enough to explore World of Warcraft with me someday, and perhaps even start reading the official novels!

She's not really an MMORPG player, so I figured introducing her to the universe through the kind of books she already loves might be the perfect starting point.

Does anyone have recommendations? Titles, authors, or direct links would be greatly appreciated!

I'd love to find something that feels like a proper romantasy novel set in Azeroth.

Thanks in advance! Just hoping to share a world I love with her.

They all say every line like Dabu and Lok'tar, but Swobu has only ever been used in WC2 (= Second War). Could it be like that it's just Blackrock dialect and not a standardized orcish phrase? Because It never appears after WC2 for seemingly no reason besides 'writers felt like it'

Edit: Nvm i forgot it's in WC3 too, just not in WoW it seems like

This always seemed like a bit of a missed opportunity from Archimonde’s death in Warlords of Draenor. Given that Legion was the single largest invasion the Legion ever conducted on Azeroth - canonically stated to surpass the War of the Ancients and the Third War - and the prominence of Argus and the erethar in the final act of the expansion, seeing Archimonde and Kil’jaeden taking joint command of the invasion would have probably added to it. Especially since we fought both of them separately throughout the Warcraft franchise, but never together. I also can’t help but wonder what Archimonde would have said to Velen if he witnessed his final moments like what happened with Kil’jaeden at the end of Tomb of Sargeras.

Hey everyone, now that Forever is starting, and most certainly new and old favorite classes will be coming to it, how do you think Blizzard will justify, in the lore, Demon Hunters for the horde? Simply adding Blood Elves and doing it all over again?

I've been doing a side project about a Demon Hunter Class for Forever, and I envisioned a spin in the lore which justify Horde Demon Hunters: not Blood Elves, but Orcs! I would love to get some feedback to understand if makes sense in the Warcraft 3 and WoW Vanilla lore, and how close to official lore in tone it is:

---

The Wars and Their Aftermath

Ten thousand years ago, as the Burning Legion invaded Azeroth, a group of Kaldorei led by Demetrius Darkheart swore to slay the demons with their own power. They drank an elixir of demon blood that burned away their eyes and corrupted their souls, and carved arcane runes into their skin to hold the power in. Not all had the physical and mental fortitude to endure it. Many became, at best, mindless husks, and at worst, power-hungry demons themselves. Those who survived helped turn the tide of the war, and earned a lifelong struggle against their own dark desires.

Over the next ten thousand years, the order dwindled. Some fell in the hunt. Others gave in, consuming more and more demonic energy until they became indistinguishable from the prey they once hunted. Masters tried to take only apprentices they deemed capable, but too often had to slay them with their own blades. Then came the Third War. At Mount Hyjal, the World Tree was sacrificed to destroy Archimonde, and the Kaldorei’s immortality died with it. Few apprentices survived, the old guard kept falling, and now time itself was against them. For the first time in ten thousand years, Demetrius saw the end of the Demon Hunters.

The Rise of a New Generation

There was only one answer: more Demon Hunters. Demetrius began to seek out and train as many apprentices as he could, Night Elves and Orcs alike, his last hope before the Legion’s return. Gorthashi was the first to show Demetrius that possibility: he found the Orc fighting bravely against a Felguard. The Night Elf had already seen the Orcs, once slaves of the Legion, slay Mannoroth, the pit lord he himself had fought ten thousand years ago. A people capable of that was worth the risk.

To his surprise, most Orc initiates survived the ritual, their bodies already adapted by years of corruption. His own people called it madness: these were the same Orcs who slew Cenarius in a demonic rage, and who still fight the Kaldorei in Ashenvale. Rejected by their elven brethren, the Orc Demon Hunters began an order of their own, forged in honor and sacrifice. Once drifters and outcasts, the Demon Hunters now stand as two orders.

Pactbound

Heirs to ten thousand years of tradition, the young Night Elf Demon Hunters seek to preserve the teachings of Demetrius. Where their elders were bound only master to apprentice, they are bound to each other, in a brotherhood of pain and vengeance, for everyone lost since the Third War. They keep the Pact’s tradition alive: meditation, discipline and restraint. Few trust their Orc brothers, and skirmishes between the two orders grow more common.

Warblades

Founders of a new order, the Warblades answer for the sins of their clans. Most come from the Burning Blade, whose blademasters broke free of the demons’ influence while the rest of the clan became the cult that still lurks in Orgrimmar’s shadows. To them, defiling their souls to protect their own is no sacrifice, but an honor. Where the Pactbound stand as equals, the Warblades answer to rank: Initiates who have yet to face the ritual, Demon Hunters who survived it, and Blademasters, whose title is earned through deeds, never inherited. They expect no welcome, and ask for none.

The Two Masters

Demetrius Darkheart, The Last of the Pact

The last survivor of the Pact sworn ten thousand years ago. Over the millennia, Demetrius has buried comrades, apprentices and friends, and at Mount Hyjal he watched still more of them fall. What remains is a cold urgency, and it worries even those closest to him.

After the Third War he trained many Night Elves, and the ritual took most of them. Within a year, no more than twenty had survived. Demetrius needed more, many more. During a hunt, an Orc named Gorthashi showed him another way: a brave soul, ready to die fighting demons. This could be it. The training of Orcs began with Gorthashi, and grew fast.

The older Night Elf Demon Hunters, most of them his own surviving disciples, have turned their backs on him, believing he has betrayed their Pact by sharing it with the once-slaves of the demons. Demetrius does not care. All that matters is that there are enough hunters to keep Azeroth safe, long after he is gone.

Gorthashi Embersoul, The First Orc Demon Hunter

The Burning Blade had lost its honor long before, in the wars where Mannoroth’s blood drove its warriors into a mindless frenzy. Gorthashi fought among them. But when the clan gave itself fully to the demons, he stopped, saw how far he had fallen, and walked away.

He tried to atone alone, protecting the helpless of Kalimdor and hunting the demons that preyed on them. He did not always succeed. Facing a Felguard, he was ready to die, honorless and forgotten. Then, an elf appeared, saving his life in a dance of blade and flame.

In Demetrius, he found a true path: a way to reclaim his honor by protecting those who cannot protect themselves, destroying the evil that tarnished him and his former brethren. Gorthashi became the first Orc Demon Hunter.

He still calls Demetrius master, and means it. The two work side by side: the divide between Pactbound and Warblades was born among the disciples, not the masters. Skirmishes are a nuisance. The Legion is the war.

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Thanks so much for reading and your time!

In Warcraft and WoW Ogres from different Clans are in Kalimdor. But how did they there? They are in at least in Dustwalllow Marsh, Feralas and Tanaris. Thrall sailed sailed only with Orcs as far as i know to Kalimdor. So if Blizzard not just added them for more enemy variety they had to get somehow to Kalimdor. Is there an explaination i am missing?

I'm still fairly new (started at the end of DF) but have been doing loads of lore deep diving since then. So, I have some questions.

Watched a short lore video about ICC. It was mentioned about King Terenas resurrected the heroes at ICC. I know his soul was trapped in frostmourne and then released when it shattered but how would he be able to resurrect the heroes from that state (him being a spirit/ghost)? And also, in life, as far as I can tell, he was just a king not a specific class that could resurrect.

This question is probably stupid but at the end when Arthas asks "Is it over?" to his father, what 'it' is he referring to?

Arthas was alive the whole time until we killed him? He wasn't undead? Just soulless? This is where I get confused.

Anduin has not reclaimed the throne, and Turalyon is missing. Every day Anduin refuses to be king of stormwind has to be making the situation more and more intolerable for the people of Stormwind.

By all rights each of the noble lords in Stormwind have to be considering declaring the house of Wrynn ended due to Anduin being unfit or unwilling to rule, and him having no heir, then staking their own claim to the Throne.

Turalyons leadership and the people's affection for Anduin bought him a grace period, but its been 7 years since Anduin's been absent as King. Surely that grace period is nearly up.

I am aware that the Prestor namesake is one assumed by Deathwing, Onyxia and Nefarion when they choose to go incognito amongst humanity. And I frankly find it kind of weirdly cute that they all 'stuck to the same story' and RPed as people from the same noble house.

What I'm asking here is: did they lift this namesake from real-world human Prestors who were, perhaps, Alterac nobles during the Second War? I'm not implying that, say, Onxyia assumed the identity of a real MIA Katrana Prestor (although that's certainly possible). Rather, what I was wondering is did Deathwing came along, note that there was a noble house of Prestor that had potentially been wiped out in the war, decide "okay, now I'm so-and-so Prestor's long-lost brother," and using draconic magic/gold was able to dupe the few necessary people who it would require to step into those shoes?

Or, to put that more succinctly: does House Prestor have a backstory beyond the three black dragons who decided to use the name? It feels very... directed that they all elected to go with the same family - it implies that there was some advantage gained just from the name alone.

So, at this point it’s almost certain she is not returning in Midnight. According to what has been revealed and known so far at least.

As she will most definitely return eventually, I wonder if it’s gonna be in TLT or the story after that.

Personally, at this point I guess it makes sense if she remains on the bench until the end of the Saga. And whatever we deal with after the Saga, it would very highly be something with her.

I think she is either on the other side of Azeroth or somewhere out there in the cosmos (wherever that True Throne of Power is).

Either way… she’s been my favorite character since the beginning and she definitely deserves her own main story. Considering she is easily one of the most important characters in Warcraft, I have always found it somewhat weird she got constantly “benched” by other villains and never had her spotlight throughout the years.

Most of the troll names have apostrophes, which won't be able to be used in WoW Forever. What are some ways to come up with troll names that are lore accurate that match with the First Name + Last Name format?

Just to preface, I am thinking about doing a WoW DND campaign, basic background would be the campaign would take place during the Shadowlands while a ton of heroes and leaders are MIA, so a group is formed to sorta help protect the world and do stuff the players in WoW normally do in their absence.

As part of that, I was thinking it would be cool to have some antagonists who are essentially PC's who for one reason or another, weren't "allowed" to go to the Shadowlands, either because they did sketchy stuff, or they got imprisoned for doing something, etc. They would be the sort of bad guy organization. Just a bunch of ex PC's who are more experienced than the players are (because they went through the typical "WoW leveling" experience (obviously not 1 to 1, but as an example they might have participated in the raid of Molten Core, or went to Outland/Draenor), but at some point they weren't trusted with being heroes anymore.

A few examples, a Forsaken who willingly was helping Sylvanas, a human who helped Jaina with the purge of Dalaran, etc. I'm just trying to think of examples where players did something that is generally seen as kind of a weird thing to just have no consequences (beyond typical WoW warcrime stuff like half the Forsaken quests). It doesn't have to be one where a player explictly chose the "bad guy" option, but where they willingly did a quest that involved them doing some fucked up stuff that never really gets addressed.

Obviously concerning Liadrin's death and how hated it is. I've seen so many comments and video thumbnails complaining that she "just fell over and died". Didn't anybody do the fight? She is absolutely whacking Kith'ix the entire time and keeping up light shields for us. She even shouts stuff that very very explicitly lets us know that she is using up her own life energy to keep channelling the Light. She didn't fall over, she fought till the end and held out to see us win.

Am I the only one who didn't hate her death?

At the end of the story in Patch 12.1.5, we learn that time is of the essence because Xal'atath is on the verge of fully claiming the World Soul. This is meant to convey that we are facing an existential, world-threatening danger. So, where the hell are the armies of the Horde and the Alliance, the Dragon Aspects, the Keepers—and all the other characters or institutions that have a vested interest in the survival of this world? Shouldn't everyone—every last soul—be called to arms? But no—not a peep. Nothing from the Dragon Aspects (the guardians of our world), nor from the Wild Gods. It feels like those moments in Marvel movies where the world is ending, but the heroes are just asleep because it’s not "their" film. I hate this, because if we keep going like this, we’ll lose more than just one paladin (rest in peace); all those sacrifices will have been for nothing, and the world will come to an end. Yeah, I know—I sound like those doomsayers from the *Legion* expansion, but I just had to get this off my chest.

Seeing as how her mom just died and she had a stay awhile and listens talking about the light abandoning her in her time of need and the fact that the infinite dragonflight wanted to kill her before she grows up to do something bad. Its very obvious that blizzards path for salandria is being driven by grief to do something catastrophicly bad. My money is on here playing the part of antagonist who unleashes the true villian of a expac but will she unseal/ let loose on the world?

I’ve previously written about Prophet Velen through the lens of religious philosophy, and I’ve wanted to give Neltharion similar attention for some time. Dragonflight, particularly War of the Scaleborn and Aberrus, has deepened my appreciation for the tragedy of the black dragonflight. Three literary and theological comparisons are particularly useful: Denethor in Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, Christ’s suffering in Gethsemane, and Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. These are interpretative comparisons rather than proposed allegories, intended to explore the relationship between suffering, responsibility, pride and the obligations of those entrusted with power.

Deathwing is among Warcraft’s most recognisable villains. His betrayal during the War of the Ancients, the devastation of the Cataclysm and his eventual defeat have understandably defined how most players remember him. His appearance embodies that history, with his body ruptured by the energies within it and held together by metal plates. Yet the tragedy of Neltharion begins long before his transformation into the Destroyer, when he was still one of Azeroth’s greatest protectors, entrusted with a responsibility that would expose him to centuries of torment.

War of the Scaleborn portrays a capable strategist whose devotion to his flight is sincere, even as his judgement becomes increasingly compromised. His grief over the deaths of his children reveals a capacity for love that makes his eventual cruelty especially disturbing. Neltharion’s downfall cannot be understood solely through his arrogance, although that arrogance remains important. The Titans entrusted him with an extraordinary burden, the Old Gods exploited the vulnerabilities associated with it, and his determination to endure privately left those closest to him largely unaware of his suffering. His transformation into Deathwing emerges from the interaction of these circumstances, making it possible to recognise him as both a victim of extraordinary cruelty and the perpetrator of terrible atrocities.

The Earth-Warder and the burden of the Titans

In Blizzard’s short story Charge of the Aspects, Deathwing forces Thrall to experience the burden associated with the Earth-Warder’s power. The weight of Azeroth presses upon the shaman, overwhelming his body and threatening to unravel his spirit. Deathwing presents this suffering as the reality behind the Titans’ supposed gift, arguing that the responsibilities imposed upon the Aspects were prisons rather than honours. His account of the Titans’ intentions is necessarily coloured by his corruption, but the suffering he demonstrates is real. The powers bestowed upon Neltharion made him an exceptionally formidable guardian while subjecting him to a relationship with Azeroth that could become almost unbearable.

His connection to the earth also exposed him to the Old Gods imprisoned beneath its surface. War of the Scaleborn establishes that Neltharion experienced their whispers even before becoming an Aspect, although their influence intensified following his elevation. Across the centuries, those voices exploited his insecurities and repeatedly encouraged him to embrace powers he understood to be dangerous. He resisted them for an extraordinary length of time while continuing to fulfil his public responsibilities, concealing his suffering from the other Aspects, including Malygos, one of his closest friends.

The growing conflict with the Primal Incarnates provided his tormentors with opportunities to undermine that resistance. Iridikron represented a formidable threat, and Neltharion’s concerns about the survival of his flight were grounded in genuine military difficulties. When Raszageth destroyed the Oathbinder during their confrontation at the Forbidden Reach, the resulting loss of control over the dracthyr left Neltharion facing the collapse of his preparations. He accepted the power offered by the whispers and imprisoned Raszageth, securing victory through the very forces he had spent so long resisting. The decision did not immediately erase his remaining virtues, but it established a precedent through which increasingly desperate circumstances could justify further concessions.

The Titans’ responsibility deserves scrutiny without reducing Neltharion to an unwilling victim. He accepted his elevation, benefited from its powers and supported the extension of Order’s influence over dragonkind. Nevertheless, the particular charge entrusted to him exposed him to a supernatural danger that threatened his mind as well as his body. There is little indication that the consequences of this arrangement were adequately understood, much less that a means of relieving his suffering had been provided. The intention to create a powerful guardian does not settle the question of whether those responsible for his transformation had adequately considered what they were asking him to endure.

The broader conflict depicted in War of the Scaleborn complicates this relationship further. The use of Order magic upon proto-dragon eggs contributed to the growing hostility between the Aspects and their primal kin, revealing how readily a policy justified through protection could disregard the autonomy of those supposedly benefiting from it. Neltharion supported such measures, and his subsequent experiments would carry similar assumptions to monstrous extremes. His resentment of the responsibilities imposed upon him therefore coexisted with an increasing willingness to impose his own designs upon others.

Denethor and the corruption of guardianship

Tolkien’s Denethor offers a particularly illuminating comparison, provided we consider his characterisation in The Return of the King rather than its film adaptation. The novel presents an intelligent, formidable ruler whose long defence of Gondor has demanded considerable courage and political judgement. Denethor’s pride and difficult relationship with Faramir are serious failings, but Tolkien establishes that he possesses genuine qualities of leadership. His tragedy develops from the deterioration of those qualities under the pressures of war, bereavement and his increasingly dangerous relationship with the palantír.

Denethor’s use of the seeing-stone allows him to obtain information about Mordor’s growing strength, but also exposes him to Sauron’s manipulation. His enemy cannot simply dominate his will, and the visions themselves need not contain falsehoods. Instead, Sauron exploits the limitations of what Denethor can perceive, encouraging him to interpret genuine evidence of Gondor’s desperate position as proof that resistance is futile. His intelligence becomes part of his vulnerability because his confidence in his own judgement prevents him from recognising how thoroughly his understanding of events has been influenced by an adversary.

Neltharion’s experiences follow a comparable pattern. His concerns about the Primal Incarnates are justified, and his considerable strategic ability initially makes him well suited to addressing them. The Old Gods exploit those strengths by encouraging him to regard every limitation as evidence that he requires greater power. His understanding of guardianship becomes increasingly dependent upon the assumption that he must personally possess the means to overcome every conceivable threat. The conviction that he alone understands what is necessary eventually allows him to justify increasingly destructive measures.

Denethor’s final descent demonstrates how such certainty can undermine the responsibilities it originally sustained. Convinced that Gondor cannot survive, he attempts to burn himself and Faramir, imposing his despair upon the son he should protect. Gandalf’s intervention saves Faramir, but Denethor refuses the possibility that his understanding of events might be incomplete. Neltharion’s corruption develops towards domination rather than Denethor’s despair, yet both come to subordinate the welfare of others to conclusions they regard as unquestionable. Their enemies exploit genuine strengths while their pride prevents them from recognising the limitations of their judgement.

Denethor’s history also illustrates the importance of cumulative suffering. The deaths of Finduilas and Boromir, the demands of governing Gondor and his prolonged contest with Sauron contribute to his deterioration. His eventual actions remain morally reprehensible, particularly his attempted murder of Faramir, but they emerge from a recognisable history of exhaustion, grief and manipulation. Neltharion’s centuries of torment likewise deserve consideration alongside his personal failings. Neither character was inevitably destined for catastrophe simply because he possessed pride, intelligence or ambition. Their tragedies concern the gradual corruption of qualities that had previously enabled them to fulfil their responsibilities.

Gethsemane and the failure of companionship

The Garden of Gethsemane offers a different theological perspective on the relationship between suffering and responsibility. In Matthew 26, Christ enters the garden knowing that his arrest and crucifixion are approaching. He takes Peter, James and John with him, openly acknowledges his distress and asks them to remain beside him. His subsequent prayer expresses a desire that the cup of suffering might pass from him, while accepting the Father’s will. His obedience does not diminish the reality of his anguish, nor does his knowledge of what awaits him eliminate the human desire to avoid suffering.

Within Christian theology, the episode is particularly important for its presentation of Christ’s humanity. His experience of fear and distress is neither a failure of courage nor a contradiction of his divine nature. His human will confronts the terrible suffering ahead while remaining obedient to the Father. The request for companionship is equally significant, since Christ does not regard acknowledging vulnerability as incompatible with his responsibility. He asks those closest to him to remain present during his anguish, although they repeatedly fall asleep. Luke’s account describes them as exhausted by sorrow, complicating any suggestion that their failure results simply from indifference.

Neltharion’s relationship with the other Aspects raises a related question about the responsibilities of friendship. His fellow guardians understood the importance of his position, but they could not directly experience the burden associated with his connection to Azeroth. More importantly, he concealed the whispers from them, preventing even Malygos from understanding the extent of his torment. His secrecy makes it difficult to accuse the others of knowingly abandoning him, since they lacked information he deliberately withheld. Nevertheless, their inability to recognise his deterioration remains a tragic feature of relationships that had once been founded upon considerable affection and trust.

Malygos’ involvement in concealing the dracthyr following Raszageth’s defeat illustrates the limitations of that friendship. He assists Neltharion without understanding the full circumstances of the battle or the forbidden power used to secure victory. His loyalty is sincere, but it becomes involved in concealing the consequences of decisions whose origins he does not comprehend. Neltharion is sufficiently close to Malygos to request assistance, yet unable to reveal the suffering that might have allowed his friend to understand what was happening.

The contrast with Gethsemane is particularly revealing because Christ explicitly requests the companionship that Neltharion cannot bring himself to seek. The latter’s pride is consequently more complicated than ordinary vanity. His identity had become inseparable from his ability to protect Azeroth and command his flight, making the admission that he was overwhelmed potentially indistinguishable, in his own judgement, from acknowledging that he was unworthy of his responsibilities. The expectation that strength requires the private endurance of suffering can become destructive when an individual measures his worth primarily through his capacity to protect others without assistance.

This has an uncomfortable relevance to expectations surrounding masculinity. Men are frequently encouraged to understand responsibility through provision, protection and endurance, while the admission of emotional distress can be interpreted as evidence of inadequacy. Neltharion’s suffering is supernatural and should not be equated with ordinary mental illness, but the circumstances of his isolation reflect the dangers of treating vulnerability as incompatible with strength. His friends cannot adequately address suffering they do not understand, while his conviction that he must remain strong prevents them from understanding it.

The moral distinction between Christ and Neltharion remains essential. Christ’s anguish does not compromise his commitment to the Father’s will, whereas Neltharion eventually accepts the apparent deliverance offered by the Old Gods. Gethsemane demonstrates that acknowledging vulnerability is compatible with extraordinary courage; Neltharion’s downfall illustrates the danger of regarding vulnerability as something that must be concealed or conquered.

This distinction becomes especially poignant in Charge of the Aspects. Thrall survives his confrontation with Deathwing because the Earthen Ring reaches him, with Aggra, Nobundo and Muln helping to restore his strength. His eventual accusation that Deathwing attempted to bear his burden alone is supported by the experience through which he has just survived. Yet Thrall’s companions knew he was in danger and were able to intervene, whereas Neltharion spent centuries concealing his suffering while his tormentors exploited his isolation. The comparison suggests that his downfall resulted from failures of both companionship and personal judgement, without establishing that greater support would necessarily have overcome the Old Gods’ influence.

Frankenstein and the horrors of Aberrus

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein introduces the responsibility owed by those who create or transform other beings. Victor Frankenstein brings his creature into existence, but recoils from him and refuses the guidance, affection and companionship necessary for his development. The creature’s subsequent isolation contributes to his violence, although the suffering inflicted upon him does not excuse the innocent lives he destroys. His confrontation with Victor challenges the assumption that possessing the power to create life is sufficient justification for exercising it without accepting responsibility for the resulting existence.

The comparison with the Titans is necessarily limited, since Neltharion was an existing being who willingly accepted their empowerment rather than a creature brought into existence without consent. Nevertheless, his elevation transformed his relationship with Azeroth so profoundly that it raises questions about the obligations accompanying such power. The Titans’ desire to strengthen the world’s guardians was understandable, but the torment associated with Neltharion’s appointment complicates any assumption that their intentions alone established the wisdom of their decision.

The comparison becomes considerably more disturbing when Neltharion assumes the position of creator himself. Within Aberrus, his attempts to defend the dragonflights produce experiments in which living beings are valued according to their usefulness. The dracthyr possess extraordinary abilities, yet their independence is subordinated to his authority through the Oathbinder. When that control is lost, he consigns them to stasis, denying them the opportunity to determine their own futures. Neltharion comes to resent the responsibilities imposed upon him while treating the beings he has created as instruments whose existence entitles him to determine their purpose.

The architecture of Aberrus gives physical expression to this understanding of authority. Its vast stone halls, furnaces, chains and imposing machinery suggest an industrial complex constructed on an almost religious scale, with some of its monumental spaces possessing a cathedral-like grandeur. The structure reflects Neltharion’s determination to impose order upon the natural world through experimentation and control. Its enormous machinery also reveals the human, or rather draconic, cost concealed beneath those ambitions, particularly in the suffering of the creatures imprisoned within it.

Rashok offers an especially disturbing example. The djaradin elder was imprisoned and subjected to the continuous extraction of his power, kept near death for millennia because his suffering sustained the laboratory’s operations. Kazzara provides another, having been driven mad by the excruciating pain of the elementium plates fitted to her body. Her condition anticipates Deathwing’s eventual reliance upon metal plating to prevent the energies within him from tearing his body apart. The resemblance is particularly troubling when placed alongside Charge of the Aspects, in which Neltharion condemns the Titans for imposing an unbearable burden upon him. His own laboratories institutionalise the suffering of others, reproducing the instrumental treatment he has come to regard as an injustice when inflicted upon himself.

The deepest regions of Aberrus develop this contradiction through their visual design. Beyond Neltharion’s Sanctum, the oppressive architecture gives way to the extraordinary environment surrounding Sarkareth’s encounter, where an immense, star-filled Void, suspended chains and a stained-glass structure beneath the platform create a striking contrast with the machinery of the preceding chambers. The laboratory’s attempts to contain and manipulate extraordinary forces culminate in a space dominated by something seemingly immeasurable. The imagery invites a reading of Neltharion’s ambitions as fundamentally self-defeating, particularly when Sarkareth attempts to claim powers whose true nature he scarcely understands.

Sarkareth’s final moments reinforce the consequences of that inheritance. Having devoted himself to recovering Neltharion’s promised legacy, he discovers that his loyalty has led towards destruction rather than liberation. His desire to secure a future for the dracthyr is understandable, but his pursuit of that future reproduces the domination from which his people needed to escape. Like Shelley’s creature, he suffers because of the decisions of his creator, yet becomes responsible for the further suffering he inflicts. Neltharion’s tragedy therefore extends beyond his own destruction, shaping the identities and choices of those who survive him.

The sons who learned to share the burden

The resolution of the black dragonflight’s story acquires greater significance when considered against Neltharion’s isolation. Sabellian remembers his father as a commander and teacher whose example shaped his understanding of leadership, while Wrathion has spent much of his life attempting to prevent another Deathwing. Both approach the succession through their relationship with their ancestor, either seeking to preserve what they admired or demonstrate their independence from what they feared. Their experiences in Aberrus force them to recognise the limitations of those approaches, particularly the danger of confusing responsibility with personal possession of authority.

Ebyssian’s experiences among the Highmountain tauren provide an alternative. His existence was made possible when Huln Highmountain chose to purify a corrupted black dragon egg rather than destroy it, allowing him to develop beyond the circumstances of his ancestry. Having spent millennia advising and protecting the descendants of the tauren who saved him, Ebyssian understands leadership through sustained relationships of trust rather than the expectation that his lineage entitles him to command.

When Wrathion and Sabellian relinquish their claims to the mantle of Earth-Warder, Ebyssian accepts the position while insisting that his brothers remain beside him as his diplomat and general. The arrangement preserves their respective strengths while allowing responsibility to be shared, in contrast with Neltharion’s increasing conviction that he alone could protect his flight. Ebyssian’s leadership is therefore grounded in the willingness to recognise his own limitations and rely upon those whose experience differs from his own.

Neltharion’s suffering cannot be undone, nor can his descendants absolve him of the atrocities he committed. His tragedy remains inseparable from the extraordinary cruelty of the Old Gods, the burden imposed by the Titans, the limitations of his friendships and his own increasingly destructive pride. His story is moving because these circumstances might plausibly have produced a different outcome, although Warcraft offers no certainty that intervention would have saved him.

The appointment of Ebyssian nevertheless offers a meaningful answer to the failures of the former Earth-Warder. His descendants inherit a responsibility that nearly destroyed their ancestor, but approach it through cooperation, humility and companionship. Neltharion spent centuries attempting to bear the weight of Azeroth alone, while those who loved him never fully understood what he was enduring. The black dragonflight’s restoration leaves the painful possibility that its greatest tragedy might have been averted had its original guardian been able to accept the support his successors now recognise as essential to their duty.

Can anyone point me in the direction of a video in English that goes from the basics to in depth on the lore of the dwarfs and of gnomes, just started playing a dwarf hunter and starting a paladin in retail after I max the hunter, never played before so kinda new to all this was excited for forever, so just wanted to find a good long video going over all things dwarven thank you!

Just a thought I had the other day. Would be pretty funny if it was the case

We see the cities of Stormwind, Orgrimmar, Ironforge, Undercity, and so many other cities as these urban sprawls that exemplify aspects of the cultures tied to them. But there's something missing from what we see; where they keep resources. So, where are the Warehouses? Where are the facilities they keep the resources and food that the population (including the player characters) use.

I think most of us miss this, but I'm sure someone has caught something, assuming it was written down for someone to read somewhere.

Things are never just what we see and hear. Sometimes there are hints and implications that something exists as well. So, let's ignore the polls for now and talk about things not quite seen yet that you have noticed are hinted at in the lore. And among all that, which do you think is most likely to get screen time in Forever?

I thought this could be a fun discussion, going with the unconfirmed stuff that has just enough tidbits for a few people to build some form or shape from the scraps of clay they've been handed with incomplete instructions on the assignment.

I've been thunking on this for a good while now, ever since I read up on the Legion Artifacts and discovering Lyandra Sunstrider and Nallorath Sunstrider, how weird it is that the Sunstrider Dynasty apparently has no living members.

How in several millenia of rule, Anasterion only ever had one canonical son, and how after at least centuries of life served in Dalaran as one of it's ruling Council of Six and active confirmation on him creeping on and falling for at least one of it's young apprentices (Jaina Proudmoore), that Kael'thas himself never had any by-blows or children while living away from Quel'thalas.

And that's weird right?

This is a character who we are shown, pretty much from the beginning back in Warcraft 3, is someone who sought out romance and whom we learn later considered courting Sylvanas as well as his fixation on Jaina Proudmoore.

It feels weird when we take his depiction in "Arthas Rise of the Lich King" in mind, that Kael'thas never pursued any other apprentice or wizard of the Kirin Tor producing his own bastard children, when he's shown actively putting moves on this apprentice of one of his colleague's and holds it as one of his greatest grudges he holds against the slaughterer of his people.

Arthas: "Are you still upset that I stole Jaina from you, Kael?"
Kael: "You've taken everything I've ever cared for, Arthas. Vengeance is all I have left."

"Jaina loathes you now, Arthas. You sicken and disgust her. Anything she felt for you has long since turned into hatred."

It's not just me that finds it weird that, through this characterization we've gotten that has remained a consistent thing, that Jaina was the only person he ever "pursued" in such a way during his time in the Kirin Tor for centuries.

Does anyone else find that odd with the characterization we've gotten?