The beginning of my chronicles:

I Gaelson began these chronicles as a tool of self-examination.  My father, the Gael, Lord of the Well, was a man of the city of Halas. He was not an adventurer as many, aye, most of the men of Halas. He was a man of the healing arts and a man of property, being an owner of a water source for the city. He raised me to be a keeper at home, which my mother agreed to. But, when I was but a youth, she had filled me with tales of her fathers family and her mothers family, adventuresome people.

Long I lived within the confines of Halas. I had only a few times on errands of commerce ever crossed the lake from Halas to the great cave in Everfrost Peaks. I learned some of the healing arts and commercial skills. I even worked at building and smithing. But, I always longed to be like my mother’s stories. My grandfather Edzaer was a mighty man. Powerfully built was he. He disdained the gentler arts, the magical ways of the shaman, the ways of commerce and staying at home.

He and my father never saw eye to eye. As a mighty warrior, Edzaer had adventured far. With his wealth that he had gained, he bought our great house, the well that provided us our income when he was old and had paid for my father’s education in the various arts. But, he had always wanted a son to follow him in his adventuring way. Of the six children that were born to Edzaer, only my father had grown to be an adult. Edzaer’s first born, a mighty child, powerful in body, adventurous in spirit, ruddy in complexion and with a full shock of flaming hair, had been his father’s delight. When the plague came through and killed so many, it was with great grief and disbelief that my grandfather had buried his favorite son, his namesake and heir.

It was as if the other three children that died of the pestilence were not even his. Grandfather gave little notice to their passing. True, they were very young when they died and he had been away when they were born. He had only returned long enough to sell his treasures, heal his wounds and impregnate his wife. Each spring he would go off adventuring, leaving his newly pregnant wife and children behind. His first-born would go with him across the lake, swimming like a man. Then Grandfather would send him back to his mother with the promise that it would be only a few more seasons and he could go with him.

But it was not to be. His being several years older than the next born did not spare him from the plague. Grandmother nearly died herself. The town folk put her and her ailing children in a “pest house” where all the sick were taken. Most who were shut up in the pest house died. Grandmother was not a strong woman after recovering from the pestilence. Grandfather always said that it was her illness that made the next two children, a daughter who died just before she was to marry and my father.

My father was a pale, blond, thing youth who was given the nickname of “Skinny”. Old Grandpa Edzaer generally ignored his last born son “Skinny” Gael. When “Skinny” grew up and married, old Edzaer, on a break from his adventures, told my mother to give him a powerful grandson. He wanted a grandson to take the place of his first born and fill the shoes that his skinny son could not.

To his great disappointment, I was born. I was a sickly child. Old Edzaer had wanted me to be named after him, until he saw the puny looking baby that I was. He was then glad that I had been named Gaelson. Once, when I was very ill, old Edzaer pronounced that his linage was finished. He had managed to produce only one son to live to marry. That son had produced only one son, late in life. And that sickly child was soon to die and leave old Edzaer without heir, or so he thought.

But, I did not die. As I grew toward manhood I began to resemble Gael less and less. I grew powerful of body, broad of shoulders, thick of arm, chest and leg. But, my father encouraged me to enroll in the shaman’s school, not the warrior’s school. Old Edzaer was chest fallen at my high marks in the shaman’s arts as well as in the engineering arts.

Old Edzaer had laughed that I would be but a clerk in a shop. But, I was a builder. I made much of what is today Halas’ newer section. I improved the well so that it never went dry, even in the longest of droughts. And I protected the new well so it never froze over as the one in the square in East Halas is want to do.

But, that impressed old Edzaer not at all. Nor did any of my efforts seem to please my father. I felt as an outcast in my own family. So, I began to consider adventuring. A shaman can be a powerful adventurer, especially if he is truly cunning and powerful of body as well.  But, I then met the golden haired daughter of the great Stephen’s son.

She encouraged me to move to her father’s home. He was a worker in iron and steel. I followed in that trade for a long while. We had two sons, Gaius, named for a great warrior general whose books I had read and Fedaykin, named for a mighty warrior people from a series of books I had read. We also had two lovely daughters, beauties like their mother.

And, now I find myself looking across the peaks of Everfrost. My sons are both adventurers. Gaius followed me in the shaman’s arts. But the younger Fedaykin became a follower of the Wolves of the North, a warrior to the core like old Edzaer. They have both left Halas and made Qeynos their new home. I long to see them. And now Heathergael, my younger daughter, has become an adventuress like her older brothers. She has not moved far from home, usually camping in the great cave of Everfrost. But, she says she will soon move to Qeynos with her brothers.
 

The strong call of adventure and places unseen:

They say that old Edzaer had taken a wife among the savages that lived on the tundra after his wife, my grandmother, passed on to the realm of eternal light. He went adventuring there in his old age and was never seen again. Some say he still roams the tundra, an ageless warrior. But that cannot be. He was foolish to go there in his great age. But, he had wished to die as a warrior, fighting to the last. He disdained the idea of passing quietly in bed.
 
Yet, there have been stories of a warrior named Edzaer adventuring in the tundra, in Everfrost Peaks, in Qeynos Hills and even terrorizing the gnolls of Black Borough. Then, one day as I was visiting the vendors in the great cave, I saw him. Edzaer the younger is who he must be, I thought. He was a warrior, powerful and bold. He looked just like my son Fedaykin should look when he grows a little older. When I met him he claimed to be the son of old Edzaer.  That would make this man who was a decade my junior my uncle!

As we talked, he laughed and told me my elder son was my image. He had approached me because he knew that I must be Gaius’ father.  He had adventured with Gaius and his friend Drujen in the tundra and in Qeynos Hills and Black Borough. He had also fought side by side with Fedaykin, my younger son. Edzaer, the younger, was a poor man. Life in the tundra had not allowed him to accumulate any wealth as I had. When we met, he had only leather armor and a bear hat. He had little gold. And he did not have a commercial spirit to help him raise any money.

After he went on his way, I felt compelled to go on a journey to Qeynos. But, I had never ventured far from the peaks of Everfrost. But, I was determined. I gathered the skills by hunting bears, wolves, spiders, ice goblins and gnoll pups until I became sick of them.  I mastered swimming, abandoning my old habit of riding across the lake in Halas and swimming across every time I crossed to Everfrost.

Now I have ventured in the tundra, serving the Wolves of the North and going on many quests. I have purchased myself a beautiful suit of banded armor. A powerful shaman, Medinar, gave me a fine steel spear and a warrior, Skragg, gave me a greater lightstone.

With these I have ventured deep into Black Bourough and gained the admiration of the shopkeepers and Guards of Qeynos and become an anathema to the gnolls. But, I have also found many of the Guards of Qeynos that now seem almost to hate me. I am confused by this turn of events. I am finding that Qeynos is not quite the peaceful city I thought. There seem to be many bandits and smugglers in Qeynos. And there is a disaffection among many of the guards that looks like an insurrection might be brewing.

I have become a friend of the Bards and from them I have learned that there is a strong criminal element in the city and under it. I am starting to fear for my life in Qeynos! The disgruntled guards are not just disgruntled. They seem to actually be corrupt and organized. They may be in a league of crime with the smugglers and other toughs. I believe they are even dealing in the contraband Black Borough Stout!

I have decided to try to befriend this league of scoundrels and find out what is going on. If I do find them to be in league with evil, I am planning to ask Balar, one of the high Lords of my new guild, the Forces of Light, to assist in cleaning out the evil from within the walls of Qeynos! Of course, I could be killed in my clandestine efforts. Or worse, I might become corrupted myself! I must use great caution!

The Flight of Gaelson, Guard Killer of Qeynos:

Alas! I have been corrupted! And, I am but a babe when playing the games of intrigue! I am also a murderer of good men. I should be dead instead of them.

The corrupt guards of Qeynos found me out as I attempted to discover their plot. In a clumsy attempt to regain my standing with them I began to participate in some of their evil activities, but they were only setting me up. In my game I was caught by one of the just guards. He attacked. I had to use all my Shaman’s skills to survive. Unfortunately, the young man did not. He was a new guard, inexperienced and totally without cunning in the warrior’s skills.

In my confusion and guilt at having killed a just man I thought to make amends by using his death to aid me in unmasking the corrupt guards. I looted his body and sold his weapons and armor. This pleased my corrupt “friends.” But, it pleased them only because I had made myself to stink in the eyes of the just guards.

My attempt at turning my murderous bid for survival into a tool to fight evil only lead to a worse situation. One of the other guards saw what I had done and I, like the dog that I am, murdered him as well. This did please my corrupt “friends.” They now decided that they had misjudged me. My standing with them was now fairly good. And, as long as I did what they said, the just guards would remain ignorant. They now had me, or so they thought.

But, Gaius, my first-born son, somehow learned the fix I hag gotten myself into. He had been in Qeynos long enough to know the story of the criminal underground And, he convinced me that I was too weak to be able to do anything about it, yet.

He lead me across the Karanas and through a frightening gorge and the realm of the Clan Runnyeye to Misty Thicket and Rivervale. In this place I found some peace. I also found a wee people who regarded me with great apprehension. At first I feared that they knew of my murders. The Sheriff would not even speak to me.

But, I found that they regarded all from Halas with such apprehension. They are so small, and I, we, are so much larger. I soon befriended a wee lass of their people. Her fanciful name was Tigwindee. We fought the goblins of the Clan Runnyeye and the Orc invaders. Soon the little Sheriff and his Deputies were looking on me with fondness. I brought them the belts of the Orcs and the necklaces of the Goblins.

Soon Tigwindee went off to the Karanas on an adventure. She was going in a direction I was not to go for quite some time. So, we parted company. But, I still remember her with fondness. We had many discussions of an intellectual type that I have found few that would care to do if they could. Alas, my father’s raising in books and letters have made me lonesome in this adventuring world.

Foolish man that I am, I had imagined myself a strong adventurer when I had obtained the ninth order of shaman. Before I left the Rivervale area for Freeport and the Commons I had obtained the 14th order. In the Commons and the Desert of Ro and the Oasis of Marr I gained the 17th order. In all this time I had not returned to Halas to be confirmed in any of my advances. I learned the Shaman’s ways from the Druids and others foreign to Halas. But, I soon made my way back to Halas. I passed through Highpass Hold in my return home.

Ah, home! How long I had been away. How much I thought I had learned. How much I had to learn! I was well trained by the Shamen of the Temple of Halas when I returned across the Karanas to Marr.

And, I soon found that my adventures there were not serving any purpose. Marr is truly a foul place best left to the Specters that haunt it. But, Highpass is something else. It is filled with a noble folk who treated me kindly and regarded me with respect as I passed through. But, this home of Lord Balar is infested with Orcs, Gnolls and worst of all Goblins in the very castle. I see now that these foul Goblins are a cave folk, living underground in darkness. And they are of the darkness just as are the stinking Gnolls of Blackborough.

I have returned to Highpass and have struggled to help the good folk there rid themselves of these pests. In my battles I learned much. And men and women of Halas who have fought there beside me have carried news of my deeds to Halas.

Quite unexpectedly I received a summons from Halas. I have been granted admission to the 20th order of Shamen. I am to receive the boon of a surname! I have been summoned to Halas to receive special training and be awarded my surname. Lord Balar and others have sent me congratulations and expressed a desire to attend the ceremony of ordination into the 20th order.

But, I do not feel worthy! My past sins weigh heavy on me. My folly of attempting to deal with the false guards of Qeynos and the disastrous results still weigh on my heart.

In my confessions to my sons and Lord Balar I have found some solace. They all wish to join me in a hunt in Permafrost following my initiation in Halas. But, I am unworthy of the honors!

Gaelson