World of Warcraft has changed over the years. Cortyn describes these changes – from the perspective of a character.
The Heroes of Azeroth
What remains of the Draenei who once fled with the Exodar to help in this world and find a new home? Back then, the tasks were simple. The enemy was clear. Dragons threatening a village. Naga kidnapping children. Murderers and demons with evil intentions.
But since the arrival of the Burning Legion, everything has changed. I do not hear the Light – it has not spoken to me for a while. Instead, it is the voice of Xal’atath, my dagger. The people I meet see Xal’atath as just a powerful weapon. But it is more, so much more. Xal’atath knows things. It is hard to describe, but the blade is older than anything that has ever existed in Azeroth. Probably older than the Legion.
Long ago, in the past, demon blood was something unspeakably terrible. And now? An Illidari, Nal’ryssa, who wants to teach me her smithing skills, tells me I must make sacrifices. I must take demon blood into my body like rock. I acknowledge each of her blows individually. Blood sprays as the first stone lands in my arm. Blue blood. “Next?” Nal’ryssa asks, looking at me expectantly. She hammers three stones of felstone into my body. One in the arm, one in the shoulder, and one last in the wrist. Each blow changes my vision to green. Fel green. A brief flash of pain.
It takes a while to tend to the wounds that this treatment has inflicted on me. It would go faster if the Light would help me… but it doesn’t anymore. Why is that? Has it forgotten why I am doing this to myself? There is no time to think about it for long. I am expected.
Shortly after, I throw some crystals at the feet of the Nightborne. They shimmer purple, just like the eyes of the tortured elves who pounce on the crystals like wild animals, feasting on their magic. I smile. I have control. Only after this feeding are they sane enough for me to even talk to them – we have much to do. Suramar awaits me. And Xal’atath awaits Suramar.
Although Suramar is governed with a strict hand, the city is peaceful. A peace that my allies cannot tolerate. Under the cover of a magical illusion, I sneak to the city’s harbor. Here they are, the decadent elves of the upper class, wallowing in consumption, drinking arcwine, laughing and dancing as if the world outside wasn’t on the brink. Their laughter quickly fades as I ignite the shipments of Arcane Fire that set their pleasure ships ablaze. The men scream and jump into the water, as if they do not know that Arcane Fire cannot be extinguished. Children, who will be orphans by that night, flee panic-stricken through the streets, away from the heat.
“You did well,” whispers the sweet voice of my blade. Of course, I did well.
As I drag myself home, I feel the felstone scraping against my bones under my skin. By now, it feels pleasant. How could I ever doubt that? I hear Xal’atath, who is already looking forward to the next morning to consume more essences. Slowly, very slowly, the smell of burnt elven bodies, who could not escape the arcane fire of my attacks, fades from my nose. I fall onto my bed and close my eyes. My heart beats. Even though my eyes are closed, I see green fire before me. Xal’atath says everything is okay. Slowly, very slowly, she kills the last doubt in me. Yes, I am on the side of the Good, the Heroes, and Protectors. Sometimes sacrifices must be made. How good that my dagger is so willing to accept them.
We are the Good… aren’t we, Xal’atath?
