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The Musings and Other Writings of K. Meindhert

Authored by
Klause Eldrys-Nadír Meindhert, Fritänkare

Preface
I thought it best to start this text with a note the my reader. I'm not an experienced author, nor do I claim any great literary talent to match the scholars of our fine nation. I do, however, possess a great wealth of hands-on experience and a rather analytical mind, which leads me on to the purpose of my little book of memoirs.

In my position in the Civil Service of Wintreath, I have traveled to many places and seen many things. As my travels continued, I slowly became aware of a stark lack of knowledge in regards to our beautiful region. It all comes down to the fact that our citizens are not predisposed to the going on of adventures, strange happenings and the like. The biting cold winds and weekly blizzards that are all too common in many parts of Wintreath discourage travel well enough, but even those from our warmer climes suffer from a similar apathy but for the opposite reasons - why go somewhere else when it is so nice where I am?

As a Fritänkare, I have always felt that seeing what there is to be seen is an important part of any life. I decided to write this text as a 'travel guide', I suppose one would call it, for those who cannot or will not go to the places I have been, and the places I will go to.

NB: I have provided illustrations where possible, so the reader can gain a sense of the places I describe.

Chapter One: On the Origins of the State (and Why I Travel)
My family line, that of the Meindherts, traveled to Wintreath along with the Stark family - who became the ruling family upon the secession from Spiritus. Although we sought no power or riches, we came well prepared to live a reasonably noble life reasonably comfortably. The family head resided in Frostlake for some 9 years prior to Inric Stark's momentous declaration of independence, and as such was well-placed to offer his assistance in the newly founded region of Wintreath.

Since those troubled times, our region has come a long way. Cities stand where once small lumber communities whiled away the years, bridges stand over once impassable rivers and gorges, ports mark the lines of our coast and the illustrious Outpost Chains defend our borders. It truly is a good time to be alive as a citizen of Wintreath. But in such a wide and varied land, one asks, how can it be possible to see what Wintreath has to offer a discerning individual of good taste? The answer is simple: The Royal Railroads.

I took my position in the Civil Service in my 28th year, fresh out of the Hammerfell University Whitecliff College. After 2 years, I bent my will to securing a traveling post - I had long desired to experience this relatively new region for myself, to witness the great moments in its formative years. With nothing more than the clothes on my back, a small but sturdily constructed back-pack, a pistol and a pipe, I left Frostlake.

I hope to document my travels as well as I am able, and as well as time permits.
Frostlake
Frostlake holds pride of place in the heart of any Wintreathean. Poised majestically on an island in the middle of Frost Lake, our capital is a bustling hub of activity at all hours. As one leaves the administrative heart of Frostlake, centred around the Royal Palace and the Houses of Storting, the impression of quiet wealth immediately settles around you. Houses are clean and well-kept, often 3 or 4 stories tall, with many windows and balconies. Taverns are old with illustrious histories, each being able to claim one important Act or another was beaten out over their pub tables. Shops hustle for the attentions of busy commuters, and the train-stations. Well.

Frostlake has 4 main Royal Stations: Grand North, Grand South, Grand East and Grand West. Each station is an expansive construction, covering 15 rail-tracks from their particular point on the compass. From here, one can travel to anywhere imaginable so long as you have an up-to-date timetable and a little patience with the behemoth-like engines that roll into the platforms every 15 minutes. Some scheme of organisation is in operation, of this I am sure, but to the every-day passerby it remains invisible, hidden behind rolls of steam-engine smog and the heavy glow of the illumination.

When I have boarded my train from Grand Western I will sketch a rough map to append to this page of my diary - as much a note to myself as to my future readers!