At the request of several companions of mine, I have agreed to write this journal for the benefit of those who might come after. In the aftermath of the Fall of Civilization, there are very few willing to record what the world was like during what the historians now called the Age of Miracles. Oh, many will tell of the events that brought on the Fall, & many will tell of the wars, the chaos, & the great event they call the Rending. But none really wish to record what the world was like at the height of perfection, at the height of Shem's civilzation.

But I? I walked every inch of this world. I traveled the glorious moons, I walked the depths of the oceans, I even saw some of the other planes that connect us to the divine. So I am tasked to record what everything was like, before catastrophe took it all from us.

It first struck me to see the world when I was a mere thirteen years old. I was working at my father's mill, hauling stone brought to him by the quarrymen, about to aide in the construction of a new mill wheel, when I looked out past the stream that did all the real work at the mill, & I saw, full on, the sun rising over the glorious Galdunic forests, the Grand Foret, & I knew I needed to go.

I dropped the rocks I was carting & slipped back into the house, being careful not to be caught by my mother, who had quite the temper, my sisters, who would tell my mother, or my father, who expected me to be working. I snuck up to my room,packed a small bag, went to the kitchen while my mother was taking water to my father, stole some food, then walked right out to the forest.

I never went back to my hometown, so long as I lived.

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Let me take a moment to tell you a little about Galdun: It is a proud nation. All nations, I have noticed, try to be proud about something, but Galdun is proud just to be Galdunic.

Most Galdunics are human, as are most Ranic peoples. The usual mix applies for any cosmopolitan nation, though--everything from your odd athak or gondal to a strong population of pseudohumans & halflings abound here. Of the animalmen, the most common are the arboreal sorts. Lycanthropy is a problem in the rural areas, but the cities keep a close watch on the issue. Only undead & demonic races are outlawed--Galdunics prescribe to the Tara'hinian version of Freedom, with their own twists--but there still exists the normal prejudice against enders, dopplegangers, & other nefarious races.

The major peoples of Galdun include, of course, the Galdunic people--of which I must admit membership. I will describe them in greater detail shortly. Also here in Galdun reside a small but noticeable population of the Roma, whose traveling tent towns became a safe haven to me in other parts of the world. When I was young & still Galduni through & through, I kept a close watch on my purse when I passed their way. I am sorry to say that view of the Roma, called jipzies in Galdun, pervaded the minds of the Galdunics.

The forests & rural regions boasted, as I said, arboreal animalman races. Amongst these, in the more mountainous regions of Galdun, lived a standoffish race of ursians, called by the locals as the Oursine, whose language & customs were so drastically different not only from other Galdunics, but from other ursians, that they bear (haha) note.

The Oursine are a clannish lot, living in the forested mountains near the borders of Galdun & on the other side, in Danuo. Their language is closer to that of the Kearin or Innesian folk on far Fasune than that of the Galdunics or Danuans near to them. Their customs, though, match none I have met before or since.

They have many curious customs, but the one that stands out is that of shaving. You see, the Oursine cannot stand the warm summers--though not nearly as warm as elsewhere--of Galdun. So every spring, they shave themselves completely (haha) bare. The fur gathered from this practice is then woven into great quilts, capes, cloaks, & rugs & sold or kept for decoration. In the harshest of winters, an Oursine can be found covered in the fur of a few decades of shaving. It can make them quite fearsome.

Such it was when I met them, one cold December morning. Wandering, avoiding the nearby villages that might involve people who knew my family, I was a little bit hungry & a very large bit cold. Not really thinking much beyond wanting to go east, I ended up lost in the woods in a brief snowstorm. I was tired, cold, & starving, & so I stopped to inspect my stores & find something to chew on.

When I stopped, I heard the sound of a low growl. I looked behind the tree I was leaning against to see the biggest, most fearsome bear that ever there was. Standing with multiple layers of furs, about ten feet tall, with claws as big as my head or bigger, this growling monstrosity stared black murder at me.

I fainted.

And awoke to the smell of stew cooking. The sight above me was of a log cabin's roof. The sounds were of a normal household. For a moment, in a panic, I thought I'd been sent home. I leaped from bed & found myself staring at a family of Oursine, all covered inthe previous years' furs. The combination of these over-dressed ursians & the cold air brought my own lack of clothing into sharp focus. After a moment's embarrassment, I covered myself.

When I spoke to them, I soon discovered not a one of them spoke Galdunic. Being that we lived in Galdun, this came as a bit of a surprise to me. I hadn't even thought that people on the other side of the world wouldn't speak Galdunic, much less those right next door. A little pointing, babbling, & laughing with sheer embarrassment later, I managed to get my clothes, a bowl of stew, & a pallet on the floor for the night.

The next morning, I was awakened by a gentle paw pushing on me. It was, I soon became aware, time for chores. Feeling that this was the least I could do for their hospitality, I pitched in. Three days later, I was speaking a few simple words & anticipating what came next. Boy, was I in for a surprise.

That night, a huge festival was held. Now, I'm not one to say no to a dance, but when your partner is five times as heavy as you are, you have to be careful, you know? Still, it was a good time. Much was eaten, much was drunk, much was sung, much was danced. In fact, they made a poitn of the eating. Everyone was encouraged--no, obliged-- to eat as much as possible.

Then, Pere Oursine came out. Standing about eleven and a half feet tall, with steel grey fur, wearing a thick deer-hide robe, Pere Oursine roared a mad, impassioned speech--the only word of which I understood meant "sleep."

And at the end of it, everyone went to the central log cabin of the town, & cuddled up close to everyone else. Not wanting to seem like I wasn't a joiner, I did the same.

We all got comfy & went to sleep.

The next time I woke up, it was a few weeks later, & I was more hungry than I had been in my entire life. I had, inadvertently, joined in on a hibernation ritual.

That spring, after several months on & off of hibernation, I was more or less attuned to the way of life of the Oursine. I still couldn't speak much of their tongue, but it didn't seem to matter. I pitched in with the chores, I got food & shelter, & we left it at that. For a few months, it was all right to get the feel for these people. Simple, routine work, but heartening. I was a little worried about the daughter of Pere Oursine, what with her giving me the look, but I thought I could handle it.

Then spring came. As the weather warmed up, the Oursine began to make soap. Lots of soap. Mostly gathered from the fat of the wild boars they ate, some from deer fat. The young cubs took to sharpening large razors. I pitched in with the cubs, because making soap is an unpleasant an activity as hauling rocks, if not more so.

On what would be the tenth day of spring by my reckoning, they all went down to the river. I followed along. I like to keep up with the local customs.

By the time Pere Oursine had his scalp bare (haha) I was on my way east again.

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Well, I thought it was east. Turns out, I was going due south by the time I realized what was going on. Still, my feet had taken me to the main highway. A passing coach slowed to a stop while I gaped at the well beaten road. A woman of substance leaned out & said in a thick central Galdunic slur, "Monsieur, are you lost?"

"No, Mademoiselle," young & foolish I said, "I am always where I want to be."

"Then perhaps," said she, "You would be so good as to tell me how far it is to Denmeine?"

Now, Denmeine is the fourth largest palace in all of Galdun. There lives the Comte d'Denmeine, a lavish old oaf who throws parties even the King likes to attend. It's said that he once built a golden bowl the size of a house & filled it with rum punch. The guests were encouraged to swim in it, but of course, no one came dressed to swim. Only the worst drunks got in, & they soon succumbed to alcohol poisoning & died. The corpses floated, bloated, rotting, in the bowl of rum punch for days while the party went on.

"If you would be so gracious as to let a humble traveler share your coach, Mademoiselle, I will be glad to direct you," I said, smiling in what I felt was a charming manner. It must have been. She let me in.

Two hours & two wrong turns later, just as she was about to eject me from her carriage & have me beaten, we rounded a corner in the wooded highway, & found the cast iron gates of Denmeine before us.

Six servants, each dressed in livery of Denmeine, a scarlet surcoat over a frilly pale blue shirt, with a navy blue tricorner hat, black boots, with slacks (also scarlet) tucked in, with handkerchiefs of fine yellow silk tucked into their coat pockets, each with an arm towel bearing the bear of Denmeine, came out & guided us into the massive palace. If you can imagine a building that is shaped like a five-pointed star, with each point ending in a large sphere that rests partly underground, then add a central tower that is made of metal & glass, a giant construction that looks like it will reach the very stars, or topple & crush the house, you have Denmeine.

I gawked as I walked in. Already adopting the haughty walk of the aristocracy despite my country upbringing, my open face was the only giveaway to my status, for the lady who brought me had outfitted me shortly after our arrival with a fine set of togs.

Inside was no less impressive than out. Tile floors depicted the Mother of Love (patron of Galdun) & the Father of Dream dancing in a ballroom of stars. Chandeliers of pale pink crystal hung from every ceiling. The walls were pristinely white, with sepia-toned frescos of angels fighting unseen monstrosities lining the edges. Hundreds of guests already occupied the halls, each one wearing outfits more outrageously revealing than the last. Comparatively, my benefactor was overdressed, for she had worn a full length ballgown that barley coverd her ample chest.

The Comte himself wore nothing more than a belt & a strategically placed towel.

I myself decided to get into the spirit of the thing. I snuck into one of the bedrooms--apaprently a ladies' bedroom--& raided the closet. Coming out in nothing but a corset & a mask, I made quite the splash.

I avoided the rum punch, though.

The orchestra the Comte had hired was playing a Kerupennish or Kaltish air--I can't recall exactly--& the food was exquisite & international. I had my share of warm buttered bread & sweetmeats before trying the Talunic dishes. I tell you, I still can't get over how good the Talunic cuisine is. But that's a tale for another country.

I spent my evening talking with Duc D'Arbesque & Mademoiselle Ritornie. I spent my night with the Mademoiselle & three of her servants, but this is not that kind of tale. The next morning, she saw me without my mask & my peasant's nose & chin gave away more than I had hoped, despite her hangover. It proved less effective than her drunkenness at hiding my stock.

I took the opportunity of her surprise to make myself scarce. Two days later, I was in Galdun City.

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