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.