Writing Prompt: Your Worst Timeline

New year, new you. Specifically, an alternate universe version of you.

Back in the tail end of Mists of Pandaria, the book War Crimes was released, and the climactic encounter at the end of it involved collected rulers and champions of Azeroth facing against the alternate universe versions of themselves, specifically hand-chosen to be a bleak mirror into an alternate reality where things Did Not Go Right.

(examples: Thrall faced against a Thrall who never escaped Durnholde and became the Warchief of Blackmoore’s Horde, a Kalecgos who went mad from being unable to convince Jaina to stop her attack on Orgrimmar, an Anduin who became king far before being ready, etc.)

So, with that, I want to hear from y’all: What’s your characters’ Worst Timeline versions of themselves? What event in their life went different to turn them into the bleak, sinister shadow of their current self?

I asked this on the Wyrmrest Accord discord and got some FANTASTIC responses, from demon hunters who converted too early and didn’t have the life experience and emotional support to resist the Legion’s call, to upstanding military men turned into underhanded despots out of a want for order, and even back-alley scoundrels loathing their more successful versions of themselves.

So, what went wrong?

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Worst possible timeline is where the Titans couldn’t beat the Old Gods on Azeroth and the entire planet is corrupted.

Malygos wins the Nexus War and Tianagosa becomes enslaved instead of dying:

Kersiagosa stood proud over the destroyed body of a rebel. The magi were trying to regroup and get a pull on the leylines of Azeroth, but she would not stand for it. The leylines were hers! Theirs! Malygos’s! She would kill anyone to make him happy, even Alexstraza herself.

That pesky red flight was aiding the magi in their rebel desires. Offering means of magic without the leylines, offering power. Tiana spoke words aligned with the rebel sympathies, but Malygos put her in her place. Now Tiana stood proud with them, proud to wear the enchanted collar on her neck.

Kersia was glad to fight against the magi along side her sister. Tiana’s powerful enchantment magic was a wonderful asset to their forces. Together, they would serve Malygos and the world. Together, they would annihilate any who oppose his will.

Together.

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Myorga was in chains when the potion was administered to help her control her worgen curse. However, instead of “curing” her the potion made her stronger. She broke free of her chains and murdered everyone. She was eventually hunted and put down, never to regain control of her humanity again.

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“Stop squirming, wretch!” the Scarlet footman snapped, backhanding the bedraggled Argent prisoner across the face before forcing the hapless man to march up the steps of a nearby stone keep. Little sympathy was shown by the other Scarlets scattered around the compound; most remaining focused on their current tasks with only a handful shooting the prisoner a rather bored look.

The interior of the keep was somewhat austere, with only Scarlet banners and a few religious items and hunting trophies to decorate the bleak grey stone. The footman lead the prisoner down a corridor and into some kind of study–more richly furnished than the other rooms and a blazing fire in the large hearth to keep the cold of Northrend at bay.

“Lord Blackborne!” the footman began, forcing the Argent to his knees before snapping a sharp salute to an armored figure seated behind the room’s parchment-laden desk. “The prisoner, as requested!”

“Dismissed,” came the reply; the Scarlet commander waving a dismissive hand to shoo the footman from the room, without bothering to look up. Several minutes passed after the footman’s exit, before the commander finally rose from his seat–a dour expression on his face as he stalked over to inspect the prisoner. His armor and weapons were well-maintained; accentuated by a strict military bearing and embellished with rich textiles and socketed rubies. Despite the lavishness of dress, this Scarlet had clearly seen his share of battle–his left eye blinded with wicked-looking claw marks and small flecks of premature silver peppered throughout his dark blonde hair.

“Well? Aren’t you going to kill me then, and be done with it?” spat the Argent, shooting an uncertain at the Scarlet.

The Scarlet commander, Morician Blackborne, simply laughed in response–a cruel, mirthless sound. He clasped his hands behind his back, beginning to pace in a circle about the captive. “Kill you? No…not yet…I have bigger plans for you…”

He paused, kneeling for a moment to look the Argent in the eyes. “I saw you fighting for your life against that group of Scourge, and it was I that ordered my soldiers to flay the hides of those fiends and bring you here to offer you a choice. For you see…I too was once in your boots.”

The Argent simply stared at Morician, dumbfounded. Morician smiled coldly as he continued. “Yes…I was an Argent once, and like you I was also sent out on a mission. A mission to die. It was there that I lost my eye, and nearly my life as the Scourge forces closed in. As fate would have it, a contingent of Scarlets happened along, driving off the monsters and saving me before I could bleed out. In return, I was sworn into their service. It has been quite…advantageous…affording me more opportunity and recognition than I ever received from the Argents.”

Morician rose to his feet, gesturing grandly about the room. “Clearly, the Argents have abandoned you, while the Scarlet Crusade has need of stout hearts such as your own in its service of the Light. I offer you the same choice I was offered so long ago: join us! Serve me, and I will ensure that you receive the proper training and equipment to fulfill your true purpose!”

The Argent simply stared, uncertainty flickering across his face. It had been a hard-fought campaign in Northrend…one that had few comforts and seemingly fewer victories some days. The offer was tempting…to have more power…to be free from the worry…“And if I refuse? Then what?”

“Then you die, like all the rest who dare oppose us,” Morician sneered, drawing his sword and inspecting the blade. “I suggest you choose wisely.”

The Argent looked down, debating with himself for a few moments. As good as the offer sounded, he had also witnessed firsthand the cruelty of the Scarlets. To join them would certainly be abandoning the very ideals he had been fighting for. He shook his head in response, peace flooding his mind at remaining true to his moral code.

“Pity…I thought you smarter than that,” Morician scoffed, before driving his blade through the man’s breastplate.


Author’s Note: The story of what actually happened in the canon timeline can be found in my archive thread, under the title Dying Light.

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It was done. The world was in ruin. A horde of black and violet scaled dragons roared as lava and earth surged and shifted. The cities were in ruin, the oceans were losing water, the skies were darkened by ash.

Mortrexia roared in anger against the mortals. The fools that tried to be the masters of this earth. She bowed her head as the chains of the titans shattered, as the old ones stood again. The insects all started coming from their hovels in worship with the dragons.

Azeroth was their territory. Not the titans.

Theirs.

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The trick with demons was that they lacked drive. Immortality was wasted on them, because they didn’t have a genuine interest in achieving their goals in a timely fashion. In their minds, they had forever, they could afford a few mistakes because they’d last so much longer than mortals. They could just outlast them!

Sithradis, formerly Giddis Blackbolt, didn’t much appreciate this mindset. He was patient, cunning, manipulative… but he was also driven. When he had a goal, he set forth with all his creativity, all his conniving, all his power, all his knowledge. He was strategist and tactician both. And now, as he stood overhead the prostate forms of Anduin Wrynn and Sylvanas Windrunner, he allowed himself a chuckle. One he cut short to catch the arrow Sylvanas thought he was unprepared for.

With a wave of foul power, he paralyzed both with unnatural terror, and leaned down, plucking the arrows from Sylvanas’ quiver, breaking them one by one. And when the last arrow lie useless in the dirt, upon the fields of Tirisfal, Giddis lifted a single hand, dust floating up into an image of Stormwind… and then another, into the image of Orgrimmar. “Thank you both so much… for making this so much easier for me.” He swept his hand through the Cathedral’s image, and in Stormwind, the carnage began.

Why waste your resources fighting a war against two kingdoms, when you can set those kingdoms upon each other, and then hit them while they’re both down? Really, Giddis couldn’t have planned that better himself…

Oh wait, he thought with a sadistic grin, I did.

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“I dont know cronenberg Morty, it beats death.”

The worst possible timeline version of Vile is one where he discovers pilates and yoga before weightlifting, and as a result he became vegan and his fel powers all turned yellow.
And the only fight he could win is against the Green Lantern.

Ok now I actually have to write this for my twin night elves and post it here later. Their lives are pretty hecked up already, how can I screw them up more?