Warcraft Dragons: are they actually dragons, or just super-elves?

This thread is very subjective in nature because at its core it tackles the idea of whether or not fantastical creatures should be simply humans, who look like magical beasts and gods, but think and behave the same way as humans from the real world, or should their way of thinking be alien? Obviously, there’s no clear answer. But, still, there’s a lot to discuss.

• Timeline:

For starters, let’s catch up on how the lore of dragons has been evolving in the Warcraft franchise. Their first appearance dates back to Warcraft II (1995): the game manual introduced Alexstrasza, the queen of dragons and the most powerful creature on Azeroth, together with Deathwing, the armored leader of the renegade dragons.

“Dragons are native to the untamed northlands of Azeroth. Reclusive by nature, Dragons have had little contact with their earthbound neighbors over the centuries.”

“Mighty chains of adamantine steel bind the most powerful creature in all of Azeroth - Alexstrasza the Dragon Queen.”

Warcraft dragons, as we know them, were envisioned by Richard A. Knaak in “Day of the Dragon” (2001), the very first novel set in the world of Azeroth. It’s important to note that this particular novel was written in a rather peculiar way: the plot was being brainstormed by Knaak from one chapter to the next, and when Blizzard declined some of his ideas, he simply offered them new takes. This is where the Dragon Aspects came from. Deathwing as a royal court schemer. Dragons’ ability to transform into mortals. Etc.

Note: Knaak explained how he worked on DotD novel in his AMA (2016): https://www.reddit.com/r/books/comments/4bstqo/hi_im_richard_a_knaak_nyt_and_usa/

Actually, Knaak adds his all-time favorite genre tidbits in his every work, even if it’s a commissioned piece. Just look at his latest original setting Rex Draconis: kind minotaurs, wise elves, and… mighty dragon-gods, who transform into mortal forms to manipulate their world and its politics.

“Now, with humans and minotaurs on the brink of war, an uneasy alliance of characters must uncover the truth about an ancient war once again stirring, a war between two manipulative races using all others as their pawns…” — the official description of Rex Draconis: Under the Dragon Moon (2018)

You guessed it right, the two manipulative races are dragons. Of course, they are.

Knaak’s influence wasn’t that noticeable in Warcraft III: in that game dragons were a mix of their original and basic WC2 incarnation with some Knaak-made lore on top of it:

“Their breath is a fearsome stream of fire, and they have been known to swallow enemies whole and slowly digest them over the course of a day.” — Warcraft III manual on Red Dragons

Can you imagine a red dragon from modern lore eating a person alive? Interestingly enough, WC3 had some curious ideas about dragons that were forgotten since then. For example, this tidbit was never explored even to this day:

“Though there are few great blue dragons left in the world, their magical powers are awesome to behold. Native to Northrend, the few blues stay relatively close to the great Dragonblight, where they commune with the ancient dragon spirits who died in ages past.” — Warcraft III manual

• Are dragons just… elves?

And here we are. The age of World of Warcraft. Right now, too many dragon characters, and even the very idea of them, no longer represent the fantasy of great wyrms. They almost feel like elves, who happen to possess an ability to transform into big lizards. “Drago’dorei”?

Let me illustrate my point. When you think of Alexstrasza, what image pops up in your head first? Her true dragon form or her elven disguise?

If one tries to scroll through the list of her official artwork, it’s easy to notice that most pieces portray her as this elven shapeshifter, not a dragon god. I feel that if you are going to show some of the artwork with her to someone not familiar with Warcraft, that might as well be their first guess.

Most of the time, we see dragons in their humanoid guises. Usually, that of elves or humans. Even the halls of the Wyrmrest Temple, built specifically for dragons, are too small for their true forms (at least, as they are shown in-game). Hence we have funny scenes like the one from Legion when the Deathlord (death knight player character) used Asphyxiate spell to magically choke (Darth Vader style) a bronze dragon disguised as a gnome inside that temple.

• No more Knaak, but even more dragon romance:

Knaak is no longer commissioned by Blizzard since his “Dawn of the Aspects” novel (2013), so his characters were entrusted to Christie Golden.

“I thought you killed all the characters already…oh, wait. Just mine. =)” — Knaak’s tweet to Christie (2018)

In her writing, the issue with how the dragons behave more like humans or elves has become even more pronounced. Knaak borderline worships dragonkin and treats the wyrms with awe. Golden has no such quirk, so she mostly writes dragons as overly arrogant elves or kind humans, because that’s the basis she was provided with. Her works also highlighted one funny detail that’s been there since Knaak, but which has detonated only with her own help…

…Romance stories about dragons and mortals. It’s not merely another subtype of the “elven woman falls in love with a human male” trope that’s so incredibly popular in Warcraft. It’s… an entire branch of the romantic/erotical fantasy subgenre. Just like how there are many stories about macho vampires, there’s an entire bookshelf of novels about ancient dragons who search for their one future beloved for some whip-roleplay till the end of time. These dragons can transform into humans, and spend 99% of their time as pretty dudes with six-pack abs, searching for their local Mary Sue from the nearest coffee shop.

This concept was indirectly brought to us by Knaak: just remember Tyrygosa and Jorad Mace from the manga. But since the author feels such almost religious awe before dragons, that particular story didn’t go past the flirt phase, while in other similar instances from his writing you could still feel the wyrms’ proud stature. The issue is that no matter how bizarre the Knaak dragons had been, their concept managed to work in his books. He’s the one who started their metamorphosis into elves, but he had never forgotten to portray them as mysterious, powerful, and imposing. From time to time, he was also providing them with more interesting humanoid forms. In Rex Draconis, dragons still retain certain dragon traits in their mortal forms. In “Day of the Dragon”, Malygos transformed into something akin to an ice Nerubian. Pretty cool. But since then, he takes the shape of a magical elf… :cry:

Golden simply had to work with the material she had been given. So, personally, when I read her books with dragons, I feel like I’m reading about basic two-legged humanoids who drank a dragon transformation potion. One of the reasons why the romance between Kalecgos and Jaina was a bit weird for me, or why we got scenes like this one from “Thrall: Twilight of the Aspects” (2011):

“Alexstrasza leaned forward. Their lips met, soft and sweet. One of the great pleasures of the elf-like forms they both felt so comfortable assuming was that skin was more sensitive to receiving a loving touch than scales. They drew back, smiling, the argument—if indeed it could even be called such—forgotten.”

I’m not sure, but I doubt that we could’ve gotten a moment like that from Knaak. But once again, he started that engine.

Think about it. Such a lack of imagination here. These beings were born as dragons, not humans. Why should they even enjoy having overly sensitive skin? Maybe wearing this skin could’ve instead made them feel fragile and insecure? Why do they enjoy intimacy in humanoid likeness? Do we, as humans, find the mating rituals of ants to be erotic? Maybe the dragons could’ve viewed such intimacy in the same way. Maybe the dragons could’ve viewed even the most beautiful elves as no more pretty than any forest monkey? Why should they have human standards of beauty?

“Alexstrasza leaned forward. Their antennae met, soft and sweet. One of the great pleasures of the beetle-like forms they both felt so comfortable assuming was that chitin was more sensitive to receiving a loving touch than scales.”

• It got better

That said, since the Cataclysm things slowly have gotten better in that department. Now, we have female elven characters who fall in love with someone other than human males: Thalyssra and Lor’themar being an example (well, that development also nuked the idea of his future romance with Liadrin from “Blood of the Highborne” by Micky Neilson, but it’s a story for a different day). Ysera’s rebirth cinematic really nailed her portrayal as that of a mighty wyrm (with gorgeous bushy eyebrows~).

And, of course, In Legion, we’ve got storm drakes of Stormheim! True wyrms! No transformations into mortals, simply a fantasy of at times wise dragons with bestial habits. In that regard, they are similar to the nether dragons from the Burning Crusade, who despite the ability to take mortal forms, remained rather distant and shut-in.

This thread is about dragons being too human. There’s an elephant in the room, of course. A counterpoint. Deathwing from Cataclysm (2010). But he deserves a separate article. The issues with his character are very different: yes, the game showed him as an epic evil dragon, but Deathwing was also a manipulator, a cunning schemer. His problem was almost opposite to the one discussed in this thread.

• Dragon rite of passage:

Plot-twist. This thread is the translation of the text I made back in January 2021, and since then we got a bit of new dragon lore in the short story “The Visage Day” by Steve Danuser (part of “Folk & Fairy Tales of Azeroth” (2021)). So, here’s a un update.

The story is centered around Chromie’s upcoming Visage Day. This is a new concept that was never mentioned before. I’ll let the characters describe it for me:

“Since we Aspects first realized our kind was destined to share Azeroth with the young races, we have each taken a visage that allowed us to see the world as they do. Just as importantly, it informs how they perceive us. Do you wish them to see you as a trustworthy sage? A tyrant to be feared? Distant and aloof, or warm and generous? This choice is deeply personal, and it says much about who you are as a dragon.” — Nozdormu

“Many ages have passed since we dragons first peered down from our roosts and watched the young mortal races begin to spread across Azeroth. As we saw their villages grow into cities, and their cities become kingdoms, the timeways told us that we must find a way to live alongside them. And so it was decided that we would each assume a form that would allow us to walk freely among their kind and see this world as they do.”— Alexstrasza

I think it’s the pinnacle of the dragonkin narrative evolution into basically human-shapeshifters. In their culture, it’s so important to have a mortal visage that they have a special day, a rite of passage, when they choose the main mortal likeness that represents them the best. But previously, I got the impression that while dragons choose a visage based on their personal preferences, the choice never felt to be one of such gravitas. On top of that, often they simply have to choose a form that’s best suited for a particular task at hand: like how Deathwing took an orcish form to learn more about the Horde, as described in the Chronicle, vol. 2 (2017).

The short story seemingly plays with the idea that each dragon will probably live part of its life amongst mortals. What’s the point otherwise? Once again, I never got this impression before because the Dragonflights have duties bestowed to them by the titans. Perhaps, some of them never had a reason to interact with mortals at all.

Previously, I never thought that dragon-mortal relations are so frequent in nature and important (since the days of old, mind you) that they require a special ceremony in the life of every dragon. But why is a mortal visage treated as something that’s going to represent themselves the best? Almost reads as bias towards mortals, who cannot choose their bodies. But it’s probably not the case. Still, it shows just how similar their line of thinking is to that of humans, to the point of beauty standards.

Overall, I think that the concept of the Visage Day was brainstormed specifically for this short story: to show Azeroth as a very inclusive place with Chromie’s ceremony that exemplifies this. Why not, really? But was it possible to deliver the same message (even with the same character) via a story with a better world-building concept? Maybe. Well, it’s not that big of a deal.

By the way, this story about Chromie is an in-universe fairy tale. So, in theory, it’s possible that in reality, some details of this rite can differ from those described in the book. An unreliable narrator, remember? But I doubt that it’s the case because it would’ve killed the value of this book.

• Let’s wrap this up

To finish the part about the short story on a more positive note. An alternative viewpoint. Since the Dragonflights were blessed by the titans, very much humanoid beings (when they are not nebulas made of stars), the Visage Day can be considered a clever idea.

At this point, dragons can’t be cured of the “Elven Curse”: this portrayal has become their classic, and completely moving away from it would equal character assassination. But, personally, I feel like the situation can get way better if we are going to see dragons as giant reptiles more often (or, at least, as not-elves). There should be a bigger focus on their true nature. At times, the game writers actually manage to do just that. But will they be able to nail this portrayal in a hypothetical expansion themed around dragons on an even bigger scale than Cataclysm? Will we remember Alexstrasza as an elven shapeshifter, or is there going to be a mighty image like this one from breathing2004?

Time will tell. At the end of the day, dragons are fictional beings. Creations of our imagination. Some like them as cruel bestial predators. Others prefer greedy treasure hoarders. Or wyrm-gods. Or mythical guardians. Or even romantic shapeshifters. To each their own, but what do you think?

At the end of the day, this whole thread can be summed up with the question from the first paragraph: should various fictional fantasy creatures (from dragons to Old Gods), once you remove all their frippery, be just humans? Or do they need to have an alien thinking process? It’s for the author to decide. And I’m not even going to start on the topic of whether or not a human being is actually capable of writing a character that’s going to be truly inhuman in their line of thought.

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One of my favorite dragons is Dragon from John Gardner’s “Grendel”. Very interesting stuff! A bit of a discussion follows with a link to the original source. I did not write it; but it gives a good sense of the character. Chapter 5 of the novel is the entirety of Dragon’s appearance in it.

The best dragons and their stories to me always represent how humans attempt to find their place and meaning within a vast omnipotence and omniscience that they perceive the world around them to be. The dragons of WoW have occasionally skirted with this idea but usually come across flat.


Grendel finds himself in the presence of a huge, red-golden dragon that lives in a cave filled with gold and gems. The dragon has been expecting Grendel, and he takes cruel pleasure in Grendel’s fright and discomfort. He laughs obscenely and points out that Grendel’s reaction to him is just like the humans’ reaction to Grendel. Angered by the dragon’s spitefulness, Grendel picks up an emerald to throw at him, but stops at the dragon’s sharp words. Grendel, pausing to consider the dragon’s comparison between himself and the humans, decides to stop scaring the humans merely for sport. Reading his mind, the dragon scoffs at the idea, asking him brusquely: “Why not frighten them?”

The dragon claims to know everything about everything. As a more highly evolved creature than Grendel and the humans, the dragon has a vision of the world that is beyond anything these low creatures can comprehend. The dragon sees both backward and forward in time, though he quickly disabuses Grendel of the notion that this vision gives the dragon any kind of power to change things. The dragon ascertains that Grendel has come seeking answers about the Shaper, and he begins by explaining the flaws in human thinking. Lacking the total vision that the dragon has, humans approximate by gluing isolated facts together and trying to link them into logical chains and rational systems. Every once in a while, the humans sense that their systems are actually nonsense—that is where the Shaper steps in. The Shaper, through the power of his imaginative art, provides the Danes with an illusion that their systems are real. In reality, of course, the Shaper has no broader vision than any other man, and he is still working within the same limited system of facts and observations. His system may be neat and ordered, but it is entirely contrived.

The curmudgeonly dragon launches into a sprawling philosophical discussion, in which he has difficulty making his points understandable to the simple, childlike Grendel. Grendel, for his part, is skeptical about the dragon’s conclusions, but he listens anyway. The dragon explains that humans have a tendency to extrapolate theories and grossly generalize from the limited evidence they have, hampered as they are by their restricted vision of the world. The dragon also explains to Grendel how all nature inevitably moves toward more complex forms of organization. He illustrates his point by comparing a vegetable to an animal. If a vegetable is split into many different pieces, nothing changes from piece to piece; its organization of molecules remains consistent throughout its body. An animal, however, has a center of dominant activity—the head—and if that center is severed from the rest of the animal, the entire coordination collapses. The dragon makes the same comparison between a rock and a human. The rock, a less complex object, makes no distinctions about what it attracts gravitationally. Man, on the other hand, organizes, makes selections, and then acts systematically upon his environment.

Grendel and the dragon reach a frustrated impasse. Finally, the dragon reveals that the world Grendel knows is no more than a small ripple in the stream of Time, a gathering of dust that will fade away completely when enough years pass. All of man’s monuments, systems, and inventions will eventually fade from the world entirely. Even the dragon himself will be killed someday. In light of this vision, the dragon scoffs at Grendel’s attempts to change or improve himself. He grants that Grendel does have a kind of purpose in life: he is man’s “brute existent,” the enemy against which man will come to define himself. Grendel drives man toward the lofty planes of art, science, and religion, but he is infinitely replaceable in this capacity. Whether Grendel sticks with man, helps the poor, or feeds the hungry is irrelevant in the long run. The dragon, for his part, plans only to count all his money and perhaps sort it out into piles. After ridiculing humankind’s theories about God, the dragon gives Grendel a final piece of advice: “seek out gold and sit on it.”


In the words of the crabby but oddly charismatic dragon, Grendel finds a vision as powerful and provocative as the Shaper’s. Indeed, throughout the rest of the novel, the philosophies of the Shaper and the dragon battle against each other within Grendel’s mind. In contrast to the ordered worldview of the Shaper, the dragon sees the world as a chaotic, meaningless place, a vision that speaks to the spiritual disconnectedness that Grendel has been experiencing up to this point. The dragon finds the Shaper’s efforts to impose meaning on an inherently meaningless world to be ridiculous and small-minded. The meaningful patterns and systems that man creates—history, for example, or religion—are hollow and unfounded. In the face of this all-encompassing vision, the most passionate response the dragon can muster is a crankily resigned cynicism.

In philosophical terms, Grendel’s visit with the dragon pushes Grendel’s inherent existentialism to the more extreme philosophy of nihilism. Existentialism is a school of thought that presupposes the absence of God and a total lack of meaning in life. As such, existentialism asserts that there are no intrinsic morals or values in the world: man has complete freedom to assert any meaning—or no meaning—as he pleases. Nihilism takes existentialism a step further, to an even bleaker worldview. Like existentialists, nihilists deny the existence of any inherent meaning or value in the world. Under such a system, meaningful distinctions between things are impossible, and therefore all attempts to make such distinctions eventually come to nothing. To the dragon, the values of piety, charity, nobility, and altruism are totally interchangeable irrelevancies. The dragon’s notion that the passage of time will erase all evidence of mankind speaks directly to one of the anxieties found in the original Beowulf text. As a record of historical acts of bravery, the entire purpose of Beowulf is to ensure the fame of its hero and the culture of warriors he represents. For that community, fame acts as a bulwark against the ravages of time. The dragon, however, would reply that fame, too, must fade with time.

Though the dragon is a fully realized character—indeed, the only character besides Beowulf with whom Grendel has any significant dialogue—many critics have proposed that the dragon is not a real being, but comes instead from within Grendel’s own psyche. The dragon seems to live in another dimension, one reached not by a physical journey but a mental one, as Grendel has to “make his mind a blank” in order to approach the dragon. Moreover, several characteristics of the dragon are echoes of things Grendel has previously witnessed: the dragon’s “nyeh heh heh” laugh, for example, recalls the laugh of the goldworker Grendel once watched at Hart. The dragon is a curious amalgam of dragon imagery from widely varying sources, including Asiatic mythology, Christian texts, and the works of J.R.R. Tolkien, which were enjoying a surge in popularity at the time of Grendel’s publication.

Despite the dragon’s claims of complete, unlimited knowledge, we should follow Grendel’s lead and regard the dragon and his teachings with some amount of skepticism. The dragon hardly bears any of the characteristics one would expect in a sage old teacher. Wheezing, greedy, and slightly effete, he spouts a torrent of philosophical chatter that seems to parody man’s own convoluted attempts at making meaning. In fact, the dragon actually quotes a human philosopher extensively in his lecture to Grendel: whole passages are lifted without attribution from Alfred North Whitehead’s Modes of Thought. The dragon’s instruction to “know thyself” is lifted from an inscription at the oracle-shrine in Delphi, Greece. The dragon is more closely linked, though, with the existentialist philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre, a man whose philosophy Gardner often vehemently criticized. In fact, Gardner frequently commented that, aside from Beowulf, the second “source” text for Grendel is Sartre’s Being and Nothingness.


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