A Story About Me: The Tale of Georges

Why won't anybody write a story about me? Why? I just don't get it. I'm a person too. I have feelings just like everyone else. So why won't anybody write about me? They'll write about Master Tir and Gremio and Luc and the whole gang, but nobody will write about me. Heck, they won't even mention me! They won't even acknowledge my existence! Nobody cares about me at all!

But why? I'm one of the 108 stars! I'm part of that group, too! Okay, so I really don't play a big role in the war. But who did? There were about twenty people in that army that played big roles, and the rest of us were just more or less there. This really is unacceptable. Think about the ratio. Out of all 108 stars, twenty of them were well-developed, leaving a gaggle of 88 to sit around doing nothing except drinking Ledon's tea and eating Lester's cooking.

Guess what? This is where I came in. Up until Master Tir came to Kirov, all the characters ever did was drink tea, eat stew, sleep, talk, and maybe fight. But when Master Tir came to Kirov, he found me, a humble wanderer! I introduced him to this lovely game of cards, and here is where I came in. I showed the young master the love of something called a "mini-game", and he took a shine to it very well.

Well, after he beat one of my records, I joined him as promised. Now that I was in the Liberation Army, the boredom of the troops would decline significantly. Once I arrived, a flock of insane people that had nothing to do came to me, and begged to play with my cards. Of course, I allowed them.

Well, time passed and my significance faded. My style of entertainment became less popular once that wretched kid Marco came into the army. Him and his game of find the coin! It was so quick, so mind-numbingly simple, that even the Kobolds could understand it. My card games bemused many a people at first, and even near the war's end, many still did not understand my trade.

Is this the reason why nobody will write about me? Is this the reason why I am so unpopular? I said before that I am not even mentioned--not even mentioned!! I know far more useless characters than myself that get mentioned (I won't give any names), so why am I not even spoken about? It does not make any sense at all.

So, with this burden of unwantedness on my shoulders, I set about to explore the world and ask somebody--anybody at all, really--to go and invent a story about me. I first limited my prospects to Kirov--after all, everyone knew me there best. I met with no success. My journeys took me to lands south of that area, i.e. the Warrior's Village, Gregminster, the Dwarf Mines, Kalekka, etc. Nobody, not even the aspiring writers, wished to include me into their tales.

I ended up journeying north, towards the City-States and the Highland territories. At the time, Muse was bustling with the usual populous and here I thought somebody would record my life. But no, nothing came of it. In Two River I was rejected, even by the oppressed Wingers, and the people of Tinto merely laughed at me. Greenhill seemed like my last genuine hope, what with its students and all, so after getting rejected from Matilda, I came there.

Imagine my surprise when I found no-one willing to chronicle my life. Nobody, nobody at all, wished to tell of my escapades. Some had never even heard of the Liberation Army, let alone me! Disappointed, I began traveling the world over, hoping against all hope that one blessed nation would take me.

I frequented Crystal Valley, Harmonia, the Grasslands, Zexen, the Nameless Islands, and the Deep North where giants live. I spanned the whole of the continent, and then some, and still found no willing writer. By the time I had traveled the bulk of my land, I had aged three years and had little to show for it, except for my taste in traveling.

I decided that I had only one last option. Leaving the exotic lands behind, I went back to Toran with a heavy heart. As I returned to this land, I found an acquaintance of mine, Hugo. My heart leaped for joy as I remembered how Hugo would often record things for Master Tir, so I ran after him and greeted him with a smile.

"Hugo, old boy!" I shouted. "It's been such a long time! My, you've grown into a man!"

"Uh… Gregory, was it?"

"No, Georges, the man with the card games." I wasn't too offended at the notion of correcting him. After all, I would have forgotten many people as well in these past few years.

"Ah yes!" he shouted. "I remember you now! Pity; I never was able to beat your card games."

"Ah yes, that's correct!" I said. Quickly sensing that this conversation was going nowhere, I instantly changed the subject and told him my plight. "Hugo old friend," I proudly began, "I was wondering if you would care to write a story about my life."

"I'd really rather not," he sniffed. My heart sank down to the soles of my feet as I heard him brush me off, and with a farewell he was gone.

"But why, Hugo?" I asked. "I'm just as important as you were! Don't you realize how I cured so many people of their boredom?! And you know that if Master Tir hadn't recruited me, Gremio would still be dead! So, why will you not write about me? I have a very interesting life! Why?"

"Because," answered the scholar, "there already exists a story about your life."

And you, dear reader, have just finished reading it.

The End