Virk Wiing's Journal

[Writes-Many-Posts]

Virk was born different in too many ways to fail to predict that he wouldn't fit in society. He was mad, his eyes had different colors and when he learned to talk, he always spoke of himself in third person. But his mother, Beatrice, and his father, Krov, didn't give up on him at any moment... Well, that was before his family was torn appart by his aunt, Thais, who was never favored by Virk.
The Wiing family was good until he turned three, for that year on, the family would be always about to suffer drastic changes. But his story isn't to begin there, instead, it will begin when he had already learnt to speak and walk, when he was a small uncommon eyed baby, who spoke of himself in third person and was happy no matter what happened.

 

[Writes-Many-Posts]

As a baby, Virk was free to do whatever he wanted. More than what he would ever be again. His small steps meant progression into the real world as his feet increased in size. But such a subject as age would never disturb or even bother a man with such a mind. Virk aspired to different things, a new meaning to glory, an abandon to the worth of septims and a response to the call of the nomad ways. And youth would not be an obstacle that would postpone his answer to the Call. He immediatly grabbed two stones and crushed them against each other for his first time in the outside. The sparks he created kept amusing him for months, until he found out he could shape sticks, rocks and other steel into weapons. Beautiful craft for a two and a half years old mad child. At the end of every day, his careful mother used to tell him many stories, and tuck him in the bed he claimed to be his fort. Merry life, which would very soon become a distant memory...