At first, I could not understand what was going on.

In those first few weeks and months, or however long it truly was, the world was nothing more than a confusing blend of colors and noise to me. My mind refused to function properly, as if I were in a fevered dream, and the few thoughts I could form were nothing but a jumbled mess that followed neither rhyme nor reason.

Not that it would have done much good had I been able to think properly, I quickly learned. I couldn't stay awake long enough for it to matter in any case. Consciousness was a fleeting thing, coming and going like the time. Sometimes, I would feel myself rousing, my mind on the brink of truly waking up, only to fade back into a slumber embrace before I could comprehend anything. A perpetual cycle of nothingness and barely being there.

Then one day I simply woke up, and nothing made sense any more.

Above me stood four gigantic, beautiful figures, talking in hushed tones in a language I did not know. To of them had blue eyes, one had green and one had purple, and three had blonde hair of different shades, one had silver. All of them held lithe figures, all of them had curves any woman would kill for, and all of them had a pair of pointed, knife-like ears.

As strange as it was, they looked just like a race I remember well. A race from games and films, from the minds of men and women all the same. Created, not born, and existing only for entertainment and imagination.

Elves.

I tried to move, tried to escape from these strange beings. My body did not listen, only my head moved, lolling to the left. I could not move it further. I could feel my ears, longer and sturdier than ever before, flapping against soft silk sheets, and I saw a strand of silver from stop my head. I went ramrod straight in confusion; my hair had always been brown. Looking around the room in more detail, I saw that I was surrounded by white wooden bars. At first I presumed I was in a case of some sort, a toy for these giant elves to play with, a lucid dream that started as a nightmare. I soon found out that this was not to be the case.

Across from me, just in my field of vision, I could make out the silhouette of another, smaller giant. It was a pudgy looking thing, with pale pink skin, pointed ears, and a great tuft of golden hair. It was asleep, soft inhales and exhales of breath were escaping its nose. On either of its sides, those same white wooden bars were in place. It took a moment longer than I would like to admit to discern what those bars represented, but I did learn quickly enough.

I was in a crib.

Cribs were not meant for men, they were meant for babies, like that giant one across from me. It was the same size as I was!

Babies did not grow to be nearly six feet tall. Not even the babies of gigantic elven women, or at least I hoped they didn't. From that, I could infer, however crazy it sounded (and damn did it sound crazy), that I was not a baby.

For a while I just laid there, staring at the bars of the crib and the other baby, ignoring the elven women as they smiled and cooed. I did not care, I needed to collect my thoughts. Even when they left, turning an overhead light off and keeping the door cracked open, I did not move.

I couldn't bother with the pretense that this was nothing but a dream; it looked and felt far too real for it to be that. I had always prided myself on being a logical person, even under heavy pressure, and so did not try to deny the reality that this was. No matter how ridiculous or fantastical it sounded.

I had been reincarnated. Not only had I been reincarnated, it was in a new world at that. Elves only appeared in fiction and fantasy, and so that was where I assumed I was brought to.

It was unusually easy for me to accept this fact and move on, I later noticed.

Perhaps my ease of acceptance was due to my remembering all too clearing how I died in my first life. It was rather difficult to forget being murdered by your girlfriend after all. The shock and pain of that betrayal was still quite fresh in my mind. What was reincarnation when compared to that? Nothing, that's what.

So, as I lay there, the inevitable question of what should I do now? came up.

I had already done all that was expected of my in my first life. I grew up, went to school, got a job, got married, had a kid, had a divorce, tried to move on with a new woman and died. It was undeniable that it ended badly, which meant I would strive for a better ending in this second chance at life. To no do so would be an affront to far too many.

Wherever I was, I would do all I could to be great. A great servant, a greater leader, a greater craftsman… perhaps even a great mage if this world I was born into was as fantastical as its elven denizens. I would not be average, not again, never again.

I then felt my eyelids grow heavy, and could not keep them open. My infant body once again did not respond to the desires of my mind, and so I could not stay awake. I drifted one more into a fast dream.

This time, as I slept, I dreamt of what could be, instead of what once was.

Months blurred quickly, and I finally learned my new name.

Tharama.

A curious name; I hadn't ever heard its likeness before, not in my first life at least. I found myself taking pride in its originality, a sign that I would be like no other. My new twin brother had a similarly unique name; Lirath. We were bound to be different, him and I.

Then I learned my surname.

Windrunner.

In my first life, I had put nearly a decades worth of time into the game World of Warcraft. Its land and lore, the people that played and the people that were made… I loved all of it. It was a game in which I cultivated friends, formed relationships that lasted the whole of my life, and was introduced to different peoples and cultures that expanded not only my understand of Earth but of humanity as a whole.

Windrunner was a name that anybody that played Warcraft knew. Sylvanas Windrunner was the Queen of the Forsaken and one of the leaders of the Horde. Vereesa Windrunner was the leader of the Silver Covenant and widow to Rhonin Redhair, the former leader of the Kirin Tor. And Alleria Windrunner was one of the most speculated characters in the game; the lover of Turalyon and the mother of the half-elf paladin Arator the Redeemer.

Windrunner was a name that was synonymous with respect in Warcraft.

I now I was to bear this name.

At first I was absolutely delighted. To be a member of the Windrunner family and experience my most beloved franchise in the flesh sounded wondrous. Then, as I contemplated what being a Windrunner would entail, I promptly lost my lunch. My new mother had that I came down with something whe the truth of the matter was that I realized that this wasn't going to be wondrous at all; it was going to be a living hell.

The game was called World of Warcraft for a damn good reason. War was more common than peace here. Be they supernatural threats, political and territorial struggles; there was no end to the carnage that was in this world I now called home. It was one thing to look at it through a computer screen, laughing and raging with friends and strangers alike over skype calls as I traversed Azeroth. It was another thing entirely when this was to be my life.

My goal became clear upon that revelation. Greatness was not the only thing I could strive for. I needed to be strong, stronger than most, strong enough to be put in a league all my own. As strong as the heroes of this world, peoples like the Stormrage brother or Thrall or Varian or Khadgar or even my newfound sister Sylvanas. Strength was synonymous with freedom, and it meant that I would be able to do as I pleased whenever I liked.

To be as strong as them was a goal, but there was absolutely no way I would follow in their example. Thrall had been raised a slave and Varian Wrynn had been a soul-bisected pit fight. Khadgar had been magically aged by well over half a century and mine own sister became and unfeeling banshee that lost any semblance of self after the death of the Lich King. And the less spoken about the sleeping habits of Malfurion Stormrage, the better.

All of these peoples were heroes, and all of these peoples had miserable pasts and existences.

Aside from that, I just refused to be a hero. Were I still a child, mentally at least, I probably would have wanted to become something like that. Going on adventures and saving people, all the while earning the adoration of my fellows sounded like a smashing idea.

Idea being the key word. I knew better than to walk that path. Heroes were not real. They were nothing but myths, stories that people told their children to make the world they lived in seem a better place. The few heroes that might have existed never out happy lives; all that seemed to await them was pain and betrayal. I had did in pain and betrayal, and had no intentions of meeting a similar end this time around.

No, in order to guarantee that I reach the strength I craved, I couldn't follow their paths. I would have to gain my strength in the same manner that the villains of Warcraft got theirs. By way of gifts, and benefactors, and theft.

I didn't intend to take risks with their own powers mind you. Were I to try to wield Frostmourne it'd be the end of anything I could call a personality, and the Legion was likely the worst benefactor to exist. But there were other options available to me. Azeroth was home to a plethora of artefacts and fonts of power, ripe for the taking; the entire expansion of Legion was based around such artefacts, after all.

It was better, in my professional opinion, that they go to a worthy cause. Better that I take these power than it would be for somebody to misuse them. I could almost guarantee that I wouldn't misuse these artifacts. In fact, I would use them quite well.

Now I just had to figure out how I would get to that point. I already had the Why, now all I needed was the rest. Where would I go? Who would I go to? When would I leave? What artefacts would I claim?

How the hell was I going to pull any of that off?

…

…

…

I would determine that at a later date. At this moment, I felt the needed to scream blood murder.

I just shit my diaper.

Fuck being a baby!