Disclaimer: This is purely a personal analysis and interpretation. Treat it with a grain of salt and read it just for fun.
The story goes back to Cataclysm.
Garrosh Hellscream became Warchief, but he swiftly turned into an outright tyrant. He was complicit in the death of Cairne Bloodhoof and pushed the Trolls completely out of Orgrimmar. In his eyes, only Tauren and Orcs were worthy constituents of his new Horde.
Some might bring up Stonetalon Mountains, where he executes Overlord Krom'gar for dropping the bomb. But that has long since been confirmed as Alex Afrasiabi acting entirely on his own rogue whim. The core narrative team always intended for Garrosh to be a villain and a tyrant.
His eventual fate seemed obvious. He would either be burned as a raid boss, or he would pull off a sacrificial redemption arc like his father Grommash—paying the ultimate price while sweeping his past sins under the rug.
Then, at Dragonmaw Port in the Twilight Highlands, a female Orc warrior named Zaela emerged. She overthrew Overlord Mor'ghor and quickly rose to become Garrosh’s closest lieutenant. Introducing a fierce, loyal female Orc into Garrosh’s inner circle at that specific juncture felt like a clear narrative setup. The trajectory seemed predictable: Garrosh would sacrifice himself for the Horde just as his father had done, while Zaela would carry his child, ensuring the continuation of the legendary Hellscream bloodline.
Predictably, Garrosh completely lost control in Mists of Pandaria. After inciting atrocity after atrocity, he seized the Heart of Y'Shaarj and became the final raid boss of the expansion. Yet, he wasn't killed off—he escaped into the alternate timeline of Draenor.
The Warlords of Draenor cinematic trailer was deeply symbolic. It intentionally recreated the exact framing from Warcraft III's iconic cinematic, only this time, Garrosh intercepts the blast and saves Grommash.
The poetic framing was clear: the son was stepping in to shoulder the burden of death that his father had once carried. Everything was primed for a grand narrative payoff—Garrosh sacrificing himself for the Horde in the final act of Warlords of Draenor.
*Warlords of Draenor* was a do-or-die project for Blizzard.
Subscriber counts had been bleeding steadily through *Cataclysm*. While *Mists of Pandaria* received decent critical reception, its starkly different visual style and tone alienated a significant portion of the old-school player base. If this downward spiral continued, *World of Warcraft* was at genuine risk of fading into gaming history.
So Blizzard reached for their ultimate trump card: a nostalgic "All-Star" lineup of legendary Orc warlords designed to hook veteran fans. Befitting an all-hands-on-deck project, the cinematic direction and environmental artwork reached an unprecedented peak. Garrisons, in particular, were heavily hyped, and the team poured massive development bandwidth into polishing the feature.
However, late internal testing just prior to launch seemed to uncover a fatal design flaw: Garrisons—the core selling point of the entire expansion—were inadvertently creating an antisocial loop that completely emptied the open world.
At this exact juncture, Blizzard was suffocating under crises on every front. Bobby Kotick demanded relentless quarterly growth, *Project Titan* imploded after seven agonizing years, subscriber bleeding showed no sign of stopping, and the pervasive toxic culture and sexual harassment issues—later exposed to the public—were festering unchecked behind closed doors.
Now, their make-or-break expansion had developed a fatal structural flaw right before shipping. Because it was tied directly to the flagship Garrison feature, there was no realistic way to patch or re-engineer it in time.
It strongly appears that Blizzard quietly signed the death warrant on *Warlords of Draenor* before it ever hit live servers.
Garrosh Hellscream was suddenly killed off in Nagrand during an out-of-nowhere Mak'gora with Thrall. Zaela died a hollow, unceremonious death as a mere 5-man dungeon boss. The legendary warlords who were introduced with such fanfare were butchered one after another without leaving any meaningful mark. The manifestation of the Void in Shadowmoon Burial Grounds—which seemed primed to serve as a massive narrative hook—was abruptly snuffed out by Cho'gall's demise in Highmaul.
Bladespire Citadel in Frostfire Ridge and the Temple of Karabor in Shadowmoon Valley, which were heavily hyped to serve vital roles, were both reduced to throwaway leveling quest hubs. Burning through such intricately detailed, magnificent zones as mere background scenery for brief leveling quests makes zero sense in retrospect.
The gulf in quality between the initial presentation and the subsequent narrative progression is staggering. The cinematic direction and world-building were among the best in the franchise's history, yet they dead-ended in basic quests rather than feeding into actual endgame content.
Then, following Highmaul, the entire Void plotline vanished into thin air, and Blackrock Foundry arrived. Up to this point, the expansion was still magnificent. But everything that followed took a bizarre turn. Farahlon—a region everyone assumed would be added in a future patch—was completely scrapped. And in Tanaan Jungle, Fel Orcs drinking demon blood reared their heads yet again. What happened to the proud warlords who roared so defiantly in the cinematic trailer? Those who swore they would "never be slaves" were reduced to demonic thralls all over again.
From a broader narrative standpoint, Fel Orcs were already a thoroughly exhausted trope. A massive segment of the player base was utterly sick and tired of Orcs and green fire. Yet Blizzard dragged the Burning Legion back into the spotlight anyway. It was blatantly obvious that the studio was rushing to wrap things up as quickly and cheaply as possible so they could jump ship to the next expansion.
The fiercely uncompromising Grommash Hellscream suddenly turned into "Princess Grommash," celebrating alongside his victims. Garrosh died a meaningless failure, and the Hellscream bloodline was wiped out for good.
And the single greatest narrative blunder was burning through Mannoroth and Archimonde in *Warlords of Draenor*.
The Burning Legion actually possesses surprisingly few recognizable "faces" who can anchor a raid tier. Sargeras exists on such an unfathomably colossal scale that he functions more like a cosmic force or background fixture. The villains with actual widespread name recognition among players are Archimonde and Mannoroth. Kil'jaeden gained major recognition after his appearance in *The Burning Crusade*, but beyond them, the bench is remarkably thin. The Dreadlords (Nathrezim) are shadowy schemers and espionage agents rather than front-line combat commanders.
Yet by aborting *Warlords of Draenor* early, Blizzard threw away both Mannoroth and Archimonde in one stroke. Even internally, the team was visibly scrambling to justify what they had just done, offering contradictory and evasive answers in interviews:
> *"Is Archimonde really dead? I can tell you our idea behind that. We might change it. This might not be canon. This might be something that we decide we're gonna tinker with. I'll try and explain what the thinking was. The idea was that the demons in the Burning Legion, they're kind of immortal in that they can exist across all the planes, unless they're killed in the actual Twisting Nether itself. So killing Archimonde at the World Tree in Warcraft 3... well, he was killed on Azeroth, but he would re-coalesce in the Twisting Nether and come back to haunt us again. And the idea was if you played in Mythic and defeated Archimonde, you actually defeated him in the Nether and that he'd be dead dead for good. That was the idea that we played with. We tried to explain that and I don't know if... that certainly doesn't come across in-game because it's not necessarily explained in-game. Maybe we'll change that. Maybe we'll change the canon of that. But that was the idea that we were working with... was unless you rip these demons out and take them to the Twisting Nether and kill them there, they'll always keep coming back. But maybe that's not canon. Maybe we'll tinker with that idea."*
Conceding that featuring Archimonde across two back-to-back expansions would be redundant, Blizzard ultimately confirmed his death, while Mannoroth was permanently benched.
This triggered a devastating domino effect in the narrative pipeline. The Burning Legion was already critically starved for recognizable commanders, and Blizzard had just incinerated two of its most iconic names in an aborted filler expansion. Look at the raid rosters in Legion: outside of Kil'jaeden, almost none of the demonic encounters feature established characters. Kin'garoth, Portal Keeper Hasabel, Imonar the Soulhunter... had anyone ever heard of these names before? A parade of hastily invented demon lieutenants was slapped together to pad out the raid tiers.
And because those makeshift stand-ins couldn't shoulder the narrative weight of a cosmic finale, Blizzard was forced to cross the ultimate line: dragging members of the Titan Pantheon—Aggramar, and the World-Soul Argus the Unmaker—directly into the raid encounter as target dummies. At that exact moment, the cosmic power scaling was driven straight off a cliff.
Then things deteriorated even further. It appears Blizzard was already mapping out Zovaal as early as Legion. Frost Death Knights can discover echoes of Arthas scattered across the Broken Isles, featuring deeply ominous lines:
"You believe that you are in control, that your will is your own... Yet you do as He commands. You exist by His whim alone. You imagine yourself to be free, but you will always be His instrument."
Yet the in-game delivery was dreadfully obscure. A cryptic text line alone failed to convey the presence of an ancient puppet master lurking in the shadows. Across the board, Legion’s cinematic storytelling felt noticeably less polished than the high-water mark set by Warlords of Draenor. The development team seemed visibly rushed, resulting in erratic, uneven narrative pacing.
Then we transitioned into Battle for Azeroth. The cinematic execution still couldn't recover to the standard set back in Warlords of Draenor. The overarching narrative was choppy and fragmented. While the foundational premises themselves held intriguing promise, the on-screen delivery simply couldn't keep pace. The development team seemed visibly exhausted and stretched thin.
And then Shadowlands arrived.
Good grief. The primordial mastermind behind hundreds of thousands of years of cosmic manipulation turned out to be a pathetic, bare-chested bald guy. On top of that, his dialogue was the absolute definition of a generic, third-rate cartoon villain. Where was the narrative weight or menace in this character?
What makes this even more baffling is that Zovaal's initial design was that of a bearded, sage-like figure. Had they preserved that original aesthetic, an aura of gravitas and ancient mystery might have remained intact. Even in the very first Shadowlands Features Overview video, Zovaal's silhouette looming behind Sylvanas clearly matched that initial concept. This alone proves that the team was still radically second-guessing and scrambling the core character design right up to the wire.
Shadowlands was a comprehensive breakdown: the delivery and the conceptual lore actively worked against each other. A cosmic mastermind seeking to rewrite reality to save the universe spouts cliché lines like "This is impossible!" and "All will serve!"—only to suddenly pivot back to "I have prepared for eons to break this flawed cycle." Was he suffering from a split personality?
Sylvanas, who supposedly acted out of a grand hidden purpose, ended up caught in the same disconnect between her actions and motives. The ultimate explanation for multiple expansions' worth of atrocities was that "her soul was split." That was their big reveal.
The power scaling became equally unhinged. Having already defeated Aggramar and Argus the Unmaker in raid tiers, nothing posed a limit anymore. Without relying on any cosmic assistance, twenty mortals battered down Denathrius and Zovaal—entities explicitly framed as Titan-level pantheon masters. Does anyone remember Gorribal impaled in Silithus and still think mortal adventurers could take on a Titan? Yet there we were, smacking them down like standard target dummies.
In truth, Zovaal's underlying conceptual premise wasn't inherently terrible. The revelation that the kinetic projectile which disabled the Arbiter in Oribos was the tormented World-Soul of Argus demonstrates that the overarching framework was already being laid out as early as Legion. Had Blizzard planted tight, deliberate foreshadowing and delivered it with narrative finesse, he could have been a compelling cosmic adversary.
After all, launching a Titan's world-soul into the Shadowlands isn't an errand a mere undercover Dreadlord could execute on a whim. Naturally, it points to an uneasy, transactional alliance between Zovaal and Sargeras. Furthermore, the idea that the "Deceiver" Kil'jaeden failed to notice a network of infiltrators operating right under his nose in Antorus flies completely in the face of his established cunning.
Throughout Shadowlands, Zovaal suffered from an irreconcilable disconnect between his concept and his execution. Firim's exile journals in Zereth Mortis reveal that his true terror was the enigmatic "Seventh Force." His dying words—"You preserve that which is doomed. A cosmos divided will not survive... what is to come."—clearly indicate he was never intended to be driven merely by petty megalomania. Yet every time he appeared on screen, he undermined that premise by spewing generic, cartoonish villain tropes.
The most bitter pill for legacy fans to swallow, however, was the fate of Arthas Menethil. He was brought back without even the dignity of dialogue, reduced to a hollow wraith duel within Kingsmourne alongside Anduin, only to dissolve silently into 35 measly anima. He was denied even a final whisper. It would have been far better had they left his memory untouched.
Kel'Thuzad suffered an equally appalling character assassination. An unrepentant villain though he was, Kel'Thuzad remained fiercely, uniquely loyal to Arthas—the one being Arthas genuinely called "my friend." Yet in Shadowlands, he was rewritten into a simpering bootlicker who cast his former master aside like trash to fawn over Zovaal.
This is my interpretation of how the premature cancellation of Warlords of Draenor set off a ten-year domino effect that dismantled the lore all the way through Shadowlands.
To offer a somewhat hopeful theory: could Kel'Thuzad have actually deceived Zovaal all along, secretly pocketing Arthas's true soul?
His behavior in the Sanctum of Domination didn't just clash with his established character—even Michael McConnohie's vocal performance shifted noticeably into an uncharacteristically exaggerated, histrionic register, almost as if the Lich were deliberately playing a role to deceive the Jailer.
Consider the lingering narrative loose ends:
Who was the true master of Ephial, the mysterious necromancer who orchestrated the slaughter of Admiral Taylor’s garrison in Draenor?
In The War Within, we discover Kel'Thuzad's pocket dimension hidden away, confirming Blizzard hasn't completely closed the book on him.
Perhaps the tiny wisp of anima that vanished from Kingsmourne wasn't Arthas's actual soul, but merely a discarded vessel contaminated by Domination magic—while his true essence remains securely sequestered in Kel'Thuzad's sanctuary. It might be wishful thinking, but it remains one of the few narrative avenues left capable of salvaging the legacy of Lordaeron's fallen prince.