Everyone has as story to tell—beggars on the streets of Cantha; merchants in Lion’s Arch; noblemen in Vabbi—each is just as important as the next. Many are tales of triumph, others are stories of the simple life and some are legends long lost and forgotten. They may be performed as epics in the grand halls of Makuun by children of Lyssa, or spoken simply over a warming fire in the Shiverpeaks. Regardless of how tall the tale or how small the venue, every person has a story and every story should be told. They teach us, they entertain us and they warn us, but most of all, they inform us of life, conflict and achievement.
The importance of storytelling was instilled in me long ago by my father Kail Braegoren. “Even a simple person like you or I can be immortalized in a story,” he used to say. Now, Kail Braegoren was anything but a simple man, but that is a tale for another time. It was because of my father that I began to keep a journal. I wrote about daily events, kept notes about merchant prices and penned my thoughts about nearly everything in a small, nondescript, leather-bound book. Most of it was gibberish, and it was anything but personal, but it was my way of organizing the world.
It was my mother’s death that helped me to realize the fickleness of life. She was there one moment, full of life and love, and gone the next. She was taken away from us so suddenly that we were barely afforded the chance to say goodbye. After reading her journal I began to appreciate life more and I began to explore my purpose. I was flooded with so many emotions and thoughts that needed sorting. Was I meant to follow my father into the Lionguard? Was I meant to join the faith of Dwayna as my mother? Was I meant to strike out on my own? Was my life of my choosing or was I a pawn of the Gods?
Since the death of Lavian Furu I have been traveling. I haven’t stopped for any great length of time and the only home I can account for is the presence of my friends and allies. My goal is my purpose. My quest is my purpose. It is of my purpose that I write in my journal. That, however, is of little significance to anyone but me. It is the destination I am interested in, not the journey-at least it was.
One day, lost in the desert, I sat down, frustrated and tired, and read over the gibberish in my journal. The words danced on the pages and performed for me the chronicle of my life. I remembered my follies and successes, the many people I befriended along the way and the foes I vanquished as well. I recalled some of my struggles and was reminded of my achievements. The clarity of the life I had lived raised my spirits and renewed my vigor. Perhaps it was the journey after all, and not the destination, that was important.
Shortly thereafter I began to write my memoirs. The pages that follow contain stories of people, events, struggles, and achievements in my life, written in the format of a story. I tried writing it as I would speak it, as the events were collected in my diary, but it didn’t have the flavor of a story. I have been told that it reads as a “complex tale of a simple man.” Perhaps my father was right: even a simple man like me can be immortalized in a story.
I hope to share with you my thoughts and emotions about life by writing how I’ve lived. Perhaps you will find courage to chronicle your life and tell your story as well.
*Author’s Note: some chapters may contain spoilers relating to the plot of Guild Wars*