History
History Is Written By The Viktus
To whom it may concern:
I'll be honest, I don't really know why I'm doing this. Enlisting in the military? Not like me. Not like me at all. In fact, it's so not like me, that I guess it might wrap right back around to being the most likely thing to happen in my life. So please excuse me if I circle around a bit, as I’m not even sure if this is a good idea.
My name is Viktus Monaghan, aged 19 years, Gilnean-born and Gilnean-bred. I'd say Gilnean-lived, but that would imply that I actually had a life behind the Wall. Don't think anyone who knew me would ever say that was true. Spent my days begging on the street to support what would laughably be called a 'family' in certain circles. Not that I ever thought of that deadbeat as a family. Wasting away in the bottle while his only son rummaged through bins and nicked the occasional pocket to get some coin or a sprig of food. Yeah, yeah, yeah… he was a veteran of the Second War under Lord Godfrey and helped build that damned Wall. I know that. But the first person who calls him a Gilnean Hero gets a fist in the mouth. Hero, my ass!
Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah. So the deadbeat married my mother and soon after that, yours truly was born. As a little kid within Gilneas City, I guess life was good. At least for a while. But that sure as hell didn’t last. Apparently at some point my mother got bitten or stabbed or something and got turned into a goddamned beast, and was then summarily killed by dear old dad just like his bastard lord commander Godfrey drilled into him. So yeah… mom dead, family ostracized by Godfrey cause we were cursed, father feeling guilty and drowns himself in a bottle. Great way to grow up.
Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah. So while I’m your basic street urchin doing what I can to survive, a full on assault by these goddamned worgen drives the city into hysterics. I do what I can. Not much, I’m not a fighter. But I lead folks through the streets to safety when I can… heck, I know them like the back of my hand at this point. Strike from the shadows when I need to protect myself. Dunno what happened to dad, don’t really care. Just as well anyways, as wouldn’t you know it, I get myself bit too. And now I’m one of these goddamned beast just like my mother was. But let’s be fair here, I wouldn’t say that’s all bad. I’m stronger, faster, more imposing than I ever was as just a kid. Never mind the fact that my pockmarked face gets covered over with hair now too. So I’m not as ugly a bastard this way. Which is nice.
Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah. So a whole bunch of us go with our king on a journey across the ocean to the lands of these freaks with the ears who live in a giant goddamned tree. Needless to say, I don’t stick around. Not really my style. I wandered south, sneaking my way back to the human lands. Northwatch. Theramore. Good places. Good people. Learn a lot from them, doing odd jobs here and there, helping the war effort. Never joined up, though. Don’t think I was ready. Didn’t think I’d ever be ready. But after watching them both get razed to the ground, I’ve started coming around. I was so tired of hearing my father’s rambling, slurred stories about fighting the goddamned scourge and orcs that I never wanted to get anywhere near that life. Even seeing my home overrun by the worgen and the undead, I didn’t care. But Theramore? That’s different. Dunno why. Couldn’t tell you why. But it is. And that’s why you’re getting this letter.
I think maybe it’s time I grew up a little bit. And from what I’ve heard wandering the streets of Stormwind, no better way to do it than to learn from the best. And the Servitors of Lothar? They’re the best. I can only hope you have some use for an ugly, little bastard like me.
Sincerely,
Viktus Monaghan
I'll be honest, I don't really know why I'm doing this. Enlisting in the military? Not like me. Not like me at all. In fact, it's so not like me, that I guess it might wrap right back around to being the most likely thing to happen in my life. So please excuse me if I circle around a bit, as I’m not even sure if this is a good idea.
My name is Viktus Monaghan, aged 19 years, Gilnean-born and Gilnean-bred. I'd say Gilnean-lived, but that would imply that I actually had a life behind the Wall. Don't think anyone who knew me would ever say that was true. Spent my days begging on the street to support what would laughably be called a 'family' in certain circles. Not that I ever thought of that deadbeat as a family. Wasting away in the bottle while his only son rummaged through bins and nicked the occasional pocket to get some coin or a sprig of food. Yeah, yeah, yeah… he was a veteran of the Second War under Lord Godfrey and helped build that damned Wall. I know that. But the first person who calls him a Gilnean Hero gets a fist in the mouth. Hero, my ass!
Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah. So the deadbeat married my mother and soon after that, yours truly was born. As a little kid within Gilneas City, I guess life was good. At least for a while. But that sure as hell didn’t last. Apparently at some point my mother got bitten or stabbed or something and got turned into a goddamned beast, and was then summarily killed by dear old dad just like his bastard lord commander Godfrey drilled into him. So yeah… mom dead, family ostracized by Godfrey cause we were cursed, father feeling guilty and drowns himself in a bottle. Great way to grow up.
Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah. So while I’m your basic street urchin doing what I can to survive, a full on assault by these goddamned worgen drives the city into hysterics. I do what I can. Not much, I’m not a fighter. But I lead folks through the streets to safety when I can… heck, I know them like the back of my hand at this point. Strike from the shadows when I need to protect myself. Dunno what happened to dad, don’t really care. Just as well anyways, as wouldn’t you know it, I get myself bit too. And now I’m one of these goddamned beast just like my mother was. But let’s be fair here, I wouldn’t say that’s all bad. I’m stronger, faster, more imposing than I ever was as just a kid. Never mind the fact that my pockmarked face gets covered over with hair now too. So I’m not as ugly a bastard this way. Which is nice.
Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah. So a whole bunch of us go with our king on a journey across the ocean to the lands of these freaks with the ears who live in a giant goddamned tree. Needless to say, I don’t stick around. Not really my style. I wandered south, sneaking my way back to the human lands. Northwatch. Theramore. Good places. Good people. Learn a lot from them, doing odd jobs here and there, helping the war effort. Never joined up, though. Don’t think I was ready. Didn’t think I’d ever be ready. But after watching them both get razed to the ground, I’ve started coming around. I was so tired of hearing my father’s rambling, slurred stories about fighting the goddamned scourge and orcs that I never wanted to get anywhere near that life. Even seeing my home overrun by the worgen and the undead, I didn’t care. But Theramore? That’s different. Dunno why. Couldn’t tell you why. But it is. And that’s why you’re getting this letter.
I think maybe it’s time I grew up a little bit. And from what I’ve heard wandering the streets of Stormwind, no better way to do it than to learn from the best. And the Servitors of Lothar? They’re the best. I can only hope you have some use for an ugly, little bastard like me.
Sincerely,
Viktus Monaghan
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