It feels like a damn eternity. It's maddening. I'm trapped here and...I can't get out.
I'm certain this was to keep me placated...an illusion. A nice feelgood place to keep me contained. Ugh...
How did I even get here? I went to the infirmary after the dry dock assault...I fought off Orc-No...nonono...I...keep it together Van. It was demons. And I didn't walk, I teleported...I used one of the Teleport Beacons and ended up in Dal-no...nonono....I ended up on...a legion ship.
It's how they get you...they tried giving me what I want. I almost fell for it again and again and again. But I'm not stupid. I'm not some glory hog who parades through the streets. I'm me and I'm the channnnn....nooo...nonono...I'm Vanidicus, I'm the Mage-Commander of the Magus Senate. Nothing more.
That's what they do. Even now, as I sit here in this big fancy office I know it's false. It's fake. This lovely mahogony desk? Fake. The violet banners? Fake. My aides. Fake. I could get up and kill them now, and there would be no recompense for me. Just understanding...or fear...I wonder which one it is this time? They just stand there, awaiting my orders, happy to carry them out for the big damn fucking hero of Dalaran. Hurray.
Each iteration of thissss...this fucking illusion orrr...simulation or something...they try to keep you in one place or give you the one thing you want. The first one was the most convincing I think. I remember teleporting to the infirmary and uhh...I fought off cultists. They were bitches. Weak. Not even worth my time. Would be assassins who made to catch me off guard. Then after that, I was called back to the front and I stood before the Burning Throne itself. Under my command did the armies of Dalaran march forth. We burned and we slew and I savaged the demonkind. I stood at the forefront as the greatest champions I'd ever seen rushed the portals alongside us and we met the Dark Titan's generals...Oh it was glorious. And when they fell, so too did their master. And Azeroth knew peace.
I wonder sometimes if peace is what I wanted most. Or...want most...rather. It makes me wonder. I had everything. I took a wife. I continued my studies. I commanded clean up operations and sweeps. In time the legion vanished from Azeroth and their bodies and remnants burned. I did so much with myself. I lived a whole life it feels like...I grew old. I learned how to play a fucking...what's it called...a trombone? Some goblin instrument. I remember how it came apart as well..vaguely...it's difficult to think about this.
I was in Stormwind, retired from Dalaran, became one of the Mage-Lords, recognized for a lifetime of service and...something wasn't quite right. I was in the old town...walking through it to get to the keep and be honored by High King Wyrnn and...an old wall was there. Out of place with the others. Different stones. Different carving technique. I looked at it and I pulled a brick out and recovered my mother's wedding ring from behind it. That's when it came apart.
It was when my father went off to war for the last time, he told me that mother had gone to the family farm in westfall and didn't want to lose her jewelry...so he gave it to me for safekeeping. I put it where I thought it was safest, in a loose brick I'd found. But I knew...the wall was leveled. The ring gone. I'd gone back to the old recovery sites a hundred times in my life...it's gone. I think about it a lot though...every day. It was the crack in the facade and I knew something was wrong.
Then I was in iteration two. The opposite. Everything I hated. I...I remember the legion winning. The assault failed. And as fear and panic swept across the world, traitors popped up left and right. I think...half the senate turned in the wake of it. I killed so many of them. Ambushes...demolition traps...my arcane power being greater then theirs. Dalaran burned....fell from the sky. I fought in the ruins for days until...well...I don't think my captors thought that far ahead. Hahaha...oh, how do you maintain the illusion when the world ends? When Sargeras Himself burns the planet? Reset it? Start the illusion over? Do that enough times and the cracks show. I'd wander around too much or too far off...I remember I killed Mab once, my blade right through her...I don't want to even think about it. ...That was the deathknell of that iteration and when I began noticing the pattern. They pull details from your mind to make this work...shit you think about a lot and try to tuck them away for subtly....it's clever...
...too clever. Too fucking clever for their own good. Now here I am again. In...probably the third...or maybe eighth iteration? Fuck me I don't know anymore. I fought off the Orcs after the Horde betrayed us and invaded in the middle of th...no...nonono...I...
...they want me to...think I fought off the Orcs. Took the opportunity to size the city after we finished off the legion. They got Brisby...assassins...the Kingslayer Garona. I flayed her and set her back to orgrimmar in pieces. Then I burned it. Revenge feels good...so good. I'd waited for that for decades. I don't want peace...I...do. I want the fighting to stop and now I...wanted to do this first. They made me chancellor after Brisby fell. Yay. But I can't believe what tipped me off this time. It'ssss..frankly incredible. They thought I'd be romantically attracted to Captain Shadeson...urgh...I can't finish that thought without vomiting about how the legion mangled that cunty elf. She's probably waiting for me in my quarters right now instead of out there shooting things like she should be.
I wonder how many times they'll make me fight in here. How many times I'll be...betrayed...or have to kill my comrades or...it's maddening. I HATE IT!
"I WILL TEAR YOUR FUCKING BRAIN OUT DEMONS! DO YOU HEAR ME?!" Vanidicus leapt up from his chair, smashing his fists into the wooden desk, the crackling arcane power about his fists sending chips of wood flying. "WHEN I GET OUT OF HERE I'M GOING TO TORMENT YOU FOR ALL TIME! YER SUFFERING WILL KNOW NO END, I WILL KILL YOU IN THOUSANDS OF WAYS AND REND YOUR SOUL INTO PIECES!"
And Vanidicus's sudden frustrated screaming the two aides which stood at the far side of the room twitched a little, their resplendent Kirin Tor armor clattering a little as platemail shifted about, obviously somewhat shocked by the outburst.
"Chancellor...are you ok?" The left aide held his hands up, moving slowly toward Van, the man's expression still ablaze.
Van looked down, then up again, and glanced about, his violet eyes burning with arcane power, then his gaze fell upon the mage. "Yeah...yeah..." He was breathing hard.
"Were you thinking about the legion again?" The aide ventured. "The war is over, sir."
Van sighed and flopped back into his chair with a dull thud of soft robes hitting cushions. "No...no...not that." he said with some exasperation, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "What's your name, mage?" Van said, without looking up.
The aide paused a moment and then reached up to remove his Kirin Tor helmet, shaking his head a bit as he pulled it off. "Thompson, sir."
Van looked up at the man, letting his hand fall to his side, he tucked it into his side slowly. "Thompson." Van stood up from his chair, hands still in his robe. "Who am I?"
The aide looked at him with some concern. "Chancellor Alexander...sir?" He looked somewhat worried. "Are you feeling ok, sir?"
I'm not the chancellor. I'm not the chancellor. I'm just Van. I'm just a soldier. I'm not the chancellor.
Van's hands moved swiftly from his robe, drawing his spellgun and before the aide could react, Van had pulled the trigger and blasted the man's head away, spraying a chunk of gore into the fine carpets. The other aide gasped and quickly made for the door.
"The chancellor's gone crazy! Help!" There was a clattering and a thud and the scattering of papers as the fleeing man slammed into someone.
Oh...so they did react this time. The legion is learning...