(With the release of MoP Classic, I am sharing a true story from the past.)
The air above the Barrens shimmered with heat and the promise of war.
From the southern horizon, dust rose in vast spirals. Beneath it, clad in sapphire and silver, the Alliance Vanguard moved like a tide of judgment. Standard-bearers held high the banners of Stormwind, Ironforge, Gnomeregan, and Darnassus. At the head rode a single figure, clad in radiant plate that caught the sun like polished mirrors.
Highlord Blom, Holy Paladin, Champion of the Light, and the uncompromising fist of justice.
His name had become a rallying cry across the Eastern Kingdoms and Kalimdor alike. Blom had fought in Northrend, bled in Pandaria, and now, he marched on Orgrimmar—not for conquest, but for judgment.
Garrosh Hellscream had gone too far.
After desecrating the Vale of Eternal Blossoms, unleashing the Sha, and purging all dissent within his own ranks, the Warchief had turned Orgrimmar into a fortress of steel and blood. Not even the Horde was united under him anymore. Vol’jin of the Darkspear had called out for help. But where the Horde whispered of rebellion, Blom brought fire.
He was not here to support the Horde rebels.
He was here to burn Garrosh from the throne and humiliate the very idea of Hellscream’s “True Horde.”
The Siege Begins
As the Alliance legions surrounded the canyon leading to Orgrimmar, siege engines rolled into place. Dwarven cannoneers readied their payloads—runed shells that crackled with arcane fire. Night elf Sentinels slipped into the shadows to scout the perimeter. Gnomish engineers calibrated explosives, and high elven magi from the Kirin Tor chanted spells of war.
Blom dismounted, drawing his warhammer, Lightreaver. It shimmered with ancient runes and seethed with Holy fire. His eyes, aglow with righteous fury, turned toward the massive gates of the city.
A Darkspear messenger arrived, battered and wary.
“De rebels are inside, Highlord. We can open the back tunnels—”
Blom raised a gauntleted hand.
“No. There will be no shadows today. No quiet rebellion. The Light burns brightest when exposed to darkness. Let them see what justice looks like.”
The assault began with a thunderclap.
Cannons roared. Siege towers rolled forward. And above it all, Blom strode through the chaos, shield raised, Light blazing like a miniature sun around him. Arrows shattered against divine barriers. War machines melted beneath searing beams of judgment. His presence alone caused Horde grunts to break and flee—until they were driven back by the terrifying Kor’kron enforcers loyal to Garrosh.
The Inner Keep and the Humiliation of the Warchief
Hours turned into a day. Blood soaked the sands of Durotar, but the Vanguard would not be stopped. Garrosh’s “True Horde” fell back, inch by inch, until the battle reached the gates of the Underhold, the vast underground fortress Garrosh had turned into his bastion.
As the gates opened and the final stand began, Blom stepped forward alone.
“Garrosh Hellscream,” his voice rang out, magnified by magic and conviction. “By the authority of the Light, the High King, and the pain of ten thousand souls, your reign ends today!”
Garrosh, towering and furious, bellowed and charged. The duel was thunder given form. Hellscream’s Gorehowl met Lightreaver in clashes that shattered stone. Fel energy bled from Garrosh, augmented by Y’Shaarj’s dark heart, but Blom pushed back with unwavering light.
“You wield madness. I wield justice.”
In the end, it was not strength that won—but faith. As Garrosh raised his axe for a final blow, Blom caught it with his shield, shattered the haft with a burst of holy fire, and drove his hammer into the orc’s chest, sending him flying into the throne behind him.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Blom walked to the throne, tore the Horde banner from the dais, and held it high before setting it alight with divine flame.
The entire cavern was illuminated by the blaze.
Aftermath: A Shamed Horde
Blom did not kill Garrosh.
He left him alive, bound in enchanted chains, and dragged before the people of Orgrimmar. Horde rebels, civilians, and Alliance soldiers alike gathered in the central Ring of Valor to witness the trial. There, Blom stripped Garrosh of his armor, his weapons, and his title—not with cruelty, but with the authority of judgment.
“Let all who follow the path of tyranny know: your strength is not fear. It is cowardice. And the Light does not suffer cowards.”
The Horde would never forget it. Not the image of their Warchief, broken and ashamed, forced to walk through the Valley of Strength in chains. Not the paladin who had done it without compromise or vengeance—only purpose.
Vol’jin would go on to become the next Warchief, with the Horde licking its wounds, dignity shattered.
And Blom?
He returned to the Eastern Kingdoms a hero, though he refused the title. He disbanded the Vanguard after the war and vanished from public view—some say to return to Lordaeron’s ruins, others to wander the world, preaching justice.
But one thing was certain.
Garrosh Hellscream’s fall was not a battle.
It was a revelation.