So in the most recent stuff involving Arator’s journey to find himself and our handholding this 40-year-old “kid” and his weird haircut, we get some drastic shifts in Turalyon’s personality. And not just in the present tense with the influence of the Sunwell and whatever else.
In placeholder flashback cutscenes, text reads:
FLASHBACK: Kurdran and Danath narrate the infamous Battle of Blackrock Mountain that occurred 30 years ago between the Alliance and the Horde. Turalyon and Lothar fight back to back, but Orgrim Doomhammer destroys Turalyon’s shield, knocking him down.
Orgrim kills Lothar and Turalyon goes berserk - the first instance of Turalyon’s Light turning to wrath and blind rage.
For context, here is a snippet from the novel Tides of Darkness covering that moment.
For months Turalyon had been struggling with his faith, and with one particular question: How could the Holy Light unite all creatures, all souls, when something as monstrous, as cruel, and as purely evil as the orc Horde walked this world? Unable to reconcile the two he had been unsure of himself and of the Church’s teachings, and had looked on in envy as Uther and the other Paladins gave blessings and shone bright with zeal, knowing he could not match their abilities.
But something this orc, this Doomhammer, had said just registered on some level below conscious thought, and Turalyon tried to trace it. “Until your world belongs to us,” the Horde warchief had gloated. “Your world,” not “our world” or even “this world.”
And that was the answer.
“By the Light, your time here has ended!” he shouted, rising to his feet. And a brilliant glow sprang up around him, so bright orcs and humans alike turned away, shielding their eyes. “You are not of this world, not of the Holy Light. You do not belong here! Begone!”
The Horde warchief grimace and backed away a step, a hand shielding his eyes. Turalyon took advantage of the moment to crouch again beside Lothar’s body.
“Go with the Light, my friend,” he whispered, touching a forefinger to the fallen Champion’s shattered forehead, his own tears dripping down to mix with the dead warrior’s blood. “You have earned a place among the holy, and the Light welcomes you into its loving embrace.” An aura sprang up around the body, glowing a pure wide, and he thought the features of his dead friend relaxed slightly, growing calm, even quietly content.
– and the ruined weapon slammed hard into the massive warhammer’s black stone head, the impact traveling down the heavy wooden handle and shaking it free of its master’s grip. The hammer fell harmlessly to the side. Doomhammer’s eyes widened as he realized what had happened, and then he closed them and gave a faint nod, waiting for the rest of the blow to fall.
But Turalyon had turned the blade at the last second, and struck the orc with the flat instead of the edge. The impact drove Doomhammer to his knees, and then he collapsed alongside Lothar, but Turalyon could see the rise and fall of the warchief’s back.
“You will stand trial for your crimes,” he told the unconscious orc, the light building around him. “You will stand in Capital City, in chains” – and it was brighter than brightest day now, and every orc turned away, cowering from the blinding light – “as the leaders of the Alliance decide your fate, and there you will acknowledge your full defeat.”
Kneeling before and shedding tears over a dead friend before taking his killer captive for the purpose of enacting justice doesn’t quite seem like “blind rage”, does it?