Character: Garrosh Hellscream, Champion of Archimonde’s Felguard
“Honor is the most important thing in an orc’s life,” Geyah once said. “No matter how dire the battle, never forsake it,” she said.
But she was a foolish old woman. She did not see the things I have seen. I have seen worlds bathed in the emerald flame of the Burning Legion. I’ve seen entire civilizations brought to ruin and entire races wiped out, snuffed out like a candle. I’ve seen destruction that would destroy the mind and heart of a lesser man. But I no longer have a heart. I have embraced the inevitable. The blood of demons now courses through my veins and I pledged myself to the Great Defiler. Whatever dreams I once had as an orc, whatever values I may have held then, are now forfeit. Draenor, where I grew up, is no more. Azeroth was enveloped by the glory of the Burning Legion and all of its magic now serves the true masters of the universe.
I once stood upon the mountain that was once Ironforge. I watched as the snow melted and whole waterfalls, filled with dwarven blood, rolled down that mountain and filled the seas. I watched myself as the dwarven king was forced to kneel before the might of Archimonde, and was then slain like just another drunken pig in that gutter of a city. Their bodies were piled up together like we once piled the boars that were too old for meat, and the set on fire that consumed their bodies as well as their souls. And when their spirits cried out and were silenced before they could speak anything, I knew there is no stopping the Legion. I embraced my fate with all of my mind and abandoned what I once knew of honor. In that moment, I could truly say “victory or death”, and would no longer be stopped from attaining victory by honor. In that moment, I became a Felguard, the sword of the Legion.
Now all across the horizon everything you can see is devastation. Old riverbeds running dry, and mountains, stark and lifeless, jutting out of the dark, twisted landscape. The only things that still crawl upon this world serve the Burning Legion, wittingly or not. But none of them know, what is truly happening here. Archimonde saw the strength and determination in me and knew I was to become a great warrior. I became part of his personal guard and day after day, world after world, I won victories for him. I have slain thousands of innocents, and put down every stinking whelp that bleated on the face of the universe, I have slain dark dragons from out of time who sought to change time to my benefit, all in the name of the Legion. But then, then I was turned against other demons.
The Burning Legion is not a hive mind. Demons are not all the same. Although we all love death and destruction, there are… schisms. When I took upon the mantle of the Champion of Archimonde’s Felguard, my master sent me to quell down the rebellion of an ambitious Dreadlord. The Nathrezim think they should lead the Legion, as they were demons before all other demons. Their Dread Empire spanned across the stars before Sargeras ever thought of the idea of the Burning Legion. But I served Archimonde – it mattered not whether the Nathrezim had any merit. I obeyed. I destroyed the rebel dreadlords and bound their souls in stones that I then shattered, to stop them from ever returning. But a single thought of doubt crept into my mind – is there literally nothing sacred anymore? Will I be told to slay everything, demon or not, until I am no longer of use?
Archimonde had larger plans. He was the one who brought Azeroth to its knees. He drained the World Tree and torn the elven archdruid into tiny pieces while he was busy playing with wisps. He now contained the power that he believed could rival Sargeras himself. In the Dark Titan’s long absence he saw an opportunity. He decided that perhaps the Destroyer will never return, perhaps we shall make him unable to return. Perhaps it is now up to us to carry out the mission of destruction. Or perhaps… we were all pawns in Archimonde’s game to simply obtain more and more power.
But Kil’jaeden was different. He was always different. He chased the draenei across the universe until they had no place left to hide and were finally wiped out to the last. He truly believed in the mission. He believed the Burning Legion was really meant to bring a new order and everything we did, all the atrocities we committed in Sargeras’s name, were brutal means to an end. But if he was right, that the world needed to be destroyed and rebuilt from scratch, purged of all evil… would we not be the first thing purged of that new world? We are what Sargeras wanted to destroy – but Kil’jaeden did not see it. Kil’jaeden wanted to bring Sargeras back.
Finally, the Deceiver made plans to use the empty avatar buried by the human “Guardian of Tirisfal” in the peaks that were once the Broken Isles. He began a ritual that consumed thousands of soul and Archimonde knew he could no longer wait. He knew that if this ritual succeeds, Sargeras would be back and the Defiler’s time of freedom and true power would be gone. So he decided to act. We marched on the Broken Isles and took fight to Kil’jaeden’s forces. We fought to the best of our ability. But it was not enough. My Felguards died before my eyes and I was consumed by a flame cast from the Deceiver’s hands.
And here I am now, in this dark, windowless and door-less room, lit only by a single green candle. I scribble my dark thoughts on the walls of this cell and expect every moment to be my last. Every moment I expect some lowly minion of Kil’jaeden march into this room and snuff out my life forever. But it never comes. They keep me here, for reasons only Sargeras may know. Or perhaps, maybe they are not keeping me anywhere. Maybe…
…this is hell.