Folodu Amrunrosse - updated bio

Full Name: Folodu Amrunrosse
Nicknames: Flo, Fol, Folo

Biographical:

• Level:82  
• Class:Dirge RP 
• Power:Highly skilled  
• Race:Koada'Dal  
• Gender:Female  
• Date of Birth: 
• Age: approximately 200 years 
• Hair:Golden Blonde 
• Skin:pale ivory 
• Eyes:one eye is light blue, the other dark blue 
• Height:4'9" Weight:130 pounds 
• Place of Residence:Freeport 
• Place of Birth:Qeynos 
• Relatives:Chevanima, daughter 
• Enemies: 
• Allies:Ariahdnia, Sytan
• Occupation:Carpenter, entertainer, philosopher, writer 
• Crafting:95 
• Appearance:A pale skinned, short, blonde Koada with dense muscle and sturdy calves. Usually in neck-to-toe armor or as little as possible. Always carries weapons unless otherwise required not to. Keeps her hair in an efficient braid. Usually smiling. Keeps a one-pound bag on her hip, regardless of armor or casual-wear. 
• Fashion of Choice:revealing if possible, heavy chain weaves if not. 
• Armor of Choice:Chain 
• Weapons of Choice:Daggers, short swords, long swords, machetes, voice, sound 
• Special Abilities:Very quick, develops strange weapons 

Personality:

Alignment: Chaotic neutral

Motivations:Food, survival, fun, honor, entertainment, benefit of the group, selfishness, hedonism, duty

Disposition: Outlook: optimistic, conscientious, spontaneous, intrepid, flexible, warm/cold, agreeable, engaging, candid, rebellious 

Religion/Philosophy:Assists the aims of Fizzlethorp Bristlebane, adores Erollisi Marr 

Sexuality:Hedonist, beauty-driven. Bisexual. 

Positive Personality Traits:Tries to bring small groups together into a larger gathering and raise the overall enjoyment. Fun-loving and loyal, driven by emotion and want and comfort. Not afraid to work and get hands dirty, and will try to find the most efficient solutions to any given situation. Will not give up when someone asks her for advice, unless asked to stop giving advice.

Negative Personality Traits:Very much pleasure driven, and when not sworn to a service is very hard to keep on task. Will not give up when someone asks her for advice, sometimes to the point of annoyance and worse.

Misc. Quirks:Eats very odd foods, develops solutions to problems that have not come up. Chooses the perception people carry of her very carefully.

Affiliations:

Guild: Vigiles Amicae

Guild Rank: Honored Soldier

Faction:

Interests:

Likes:

Apples, sweets, wild game, savory foods, groups, lust, passion, tenderness, debate and proving that arguments are invalid, tinkering, stories, graphic description, hunting 

Dislikes:

gnolls, drolvags (though not as bad as gnolls, as they are more comically proportioned), undead, god-killers and overly powerful people, people who try to restrict her, telepaths and empaths who approach her mind without permission, coercion, drama, stressful situations, slavery, jaegarmeister

Favorite Foods:

Apple pie, apples, apple fritters, apple cake, boiled spider legs, chocolate, tender steaks, most fruits, licorice Favorite Drinks:

Applejuice, apple cider Favorite 

Colors:

reds, blacks, blues, bright greens, pinks 

Hobbies:

tinkering, making odd objects, making up stories, flirting, clothing, confusing others.

Details:

Played by What Famous Person:

(suggestions welcome)

Theme Songs:

Power Symphony: The Way of The Sword, Blues Traveler: Hook, HIM: Dark Light

History:

Born of Qeynos, she was raped by a friend of her family's, who was telepathic, at a young age. She killed him immediately after and fled for fear of what she had done and what had happened and has been living in Freeport for a very long time. She has had many lovers and many adventures. She is found frequently in various taverns or randomly around Freeport. She has a Ayr'Dal daughter, with very Tier features, that she dotes on and will talk about length to anyone who will listen for long enough. She is very much pleasure driven, but will ensure her duties are met.
The longer she goes without some restraining duty to keep her activities in check, the worse she will slide into hedonism and enjoying herself to cope with having nothing keeping her busy and occupied.

Has opted on speed and efficiency rather than on raw strength and poisons: Move faster than your enemies, and don't carry things that can be used against yourself or your comrades.

To Worship Bristlebane - An Authoritative Guide part 2

Competition

    The goblin tribes have long been a bane to our cause, many times interfering, or worse - copying (in poor approximation), with our Great Prank. However, there has been some occasions to note in which they have managed to get things quite right.
    The aforementioned anecdote is not to be construed as a consistent truth, nor an exception to prove anything, much less a rule. The following tale is mostly true, provided we were drunk through half of it and our recollection is not necessarily accurate to all details.
    One fine week when the weather was particularly fair, the Gigglegibber Goblin tribe decided they were going to prank the notorious Misty Isle Mister - a halfling of some repute among certain circles. They began with something relatively harmless pie-making, supposedly in response to a Gifted Ginger Pie. These claims are false misinformations and hear-say based on no facts in reality and should be studiously ignored.
    However, the pie they attempted to prank with was quite atrocious: mud and wasp guts burned over an open fire. The Mister was, dare I say, unimpressed. We concocted the plan to return the pie, which the Gigglegibber ate greedily. It was revolting.
    In retaliation to this failed prank, the Mister developed a scheme to weasel some the the gambing goblin’s money away from their horde. We replaced real gold coins with gold-foil wrapped coins. The goblins, unfortunately, did not get it, and took it as a peace offering. The goblins planned and plotted. I returned a week later.
    The goblins planned to trick the local pie-maker out of her pies. They gave me a sack of coins and told me to make the pie-maker leave her stall. She adamantly refused, and so I was sent to gather a trinket from the Loping Plains. When presented with the trinket, she departed to give it to Fizzlethorpe. I took the pie and replaced it with coins.
    The pie shop, I would like to note, was failing and the family starving. This deed saved both shop and proprietor. The goblins could not understand that the non-eatable coins were more valuable than the eatable gold coins. This is so far the only known incident where the goblins have managed to do something right while at the same time Not Getting It and Having No Clue What To Do.
    We passed the Communal, no longer remembering what was in it, and all was good.

Renunciation

    There has been only a single incident where someone wanted to recant their religion and follow a new path. This is not for the faint of heart, and requires enough reserves in the Gigglegibber storehouse to last a half-hour, maybe fifteen minutes tops. The Ultimate Prank must be pulled off at the same time as a heist and a stand-up routine. I warn you now, dear Prankster, that the following might result in death, or worse.
    The Ultimate Prank involves faking one’s own death, having a funeral, and stealing a bottle of whiskey during your own wake. The goblins keep no schedules, and so trying to hold them to using their cave to be closer to their storehouse is nigh-impossible. Doing all of this and holding a stand-up comedy routine requires the Skill of Fizzlethorpe Himself. I would go into detail on how the one ex-pranker managed it all, but it has been considered Anathema to Speak Of It.
    For safety, you should now burn this book. All copies and notes must, of course, be stored away from fire, unless you are in need of fuel for winter, in which case have at.

Folodu Amrunrosse

A letter on fine vellum, in a perfect copperplate hand

Archivist's note:
This letter has been pieced together from fragments discovered among the late Legate Bellum's personal effects. It seems all the fragments of the original are present, except of course the envelope which must have carried it through the post. It is undated, but from contemporary official reports, we know that the Legate reported finding this letter on his desk less than three days after the raid on the Crimson Rose.

---

Legate Fafnier:

     Accept my most sincere condolences on the difficulties you and your Company are facing with the loss of not one, but two of your number. I am sure the disadvantage can hardly even be measured, as my estranged, esteemed brother is hardly a replaceable quantity, and surely any creature he would seed a child with is remarkable in her own right.

     Though we have never been on the best terms, as we are too alike to ever be easy in one another’s company, I would offer you my assistance, however small. Even divided as we are there is a certain comfort in knowing he is secure. Our politics and methods have long diverged, but I have never allowed that, nor his resentful character, to color my affection for him. He has long had the habit of going missing, and at the most inconvenient times for his associates, but then he is young. The follies of youth are always less amusing when one is too close to them.

     I recall one incident, in particular, when he vanished into an infamous bordello for decades. No doubt he was intent on freeing the tarnished blooms, and rehabilitating the debauched patrons to lives of virtue and celibacy. He has ever had a charmingly simple ethos, willing to sacrifice every good thing for the redemption of a stranger.

     It is charming he has attached himself to you and your little Company - certainly he has been indispensible in assisting your own liberation efforts - at least until recently. I am sure you are already doing every possible thing to recover him from whatever romantic distraction has diverted him, but if there is any information I can lend you in the matter, I would be happy to take time away from my flock to assist you. I understand in your last campaign you did not receive the support you needed in time to make the desired impact on young Lucan. It was a great pity to hear of the many losses which followed, especially when I learned you were among the fallen.

     I trust your own native generosity will move you to forgive my younger brother his cautious nature. I am certain there were many factors which impacted the lack of reinforcements and the subsequent untimely delay in restoring you to yourself. No doubt there are lingering complications from that - the Restorative Arts are among the most complex patterns known, but I flatter myself I have long been a master of them. I would even be able to mitigate the difficulties of the contagion you suffer, if you would flatter me with an audience.

I would of course wish to know if there is any way I might be of assistance to you in recovering my errant brother and his lover from his folly, howsoever small. Please, seek me out at your convenience in the Lady Erolissi’s temples within Qeynos, if you can. I would speak with you, have you the time.

Archbishop Marconis Fiac

A plain, red-spined book - Apocryphal Journals: Folodu Amrunrosse

Archivist's note:
It is clear from contemporary records that Amrunrosse was fastidious about keeping her journals on her person or otherwise well secured, yet in the recent reorganization of the archive we have found loose signatures tucked among unrelated treatises on the applied arts of entropy as relates to the keeping of vegetable gardens in various climates.
Each is no more than eight pages of vellum, stitched with waxed linen thread and apparently in good condition, aside from having been at some point separated from the rest of its volume. The handwriting appears to be consistent from one entry to the next, though there are huge swaths of the work still missing.
What remains has been bound together in a probable chronology, and wrapper leaves were added around each original signature to hold such notation as is possible. The entries are undated in the original hand, but as many of the incidents are cross-referenced in the public archives, so a loose chronology may be posited.

---

This entry is less focussed than most, and seems to be trying to fill in random, potentially political events between this entry, and the blithe survey which seems to have been written some time before it. 

It is unclear whether this stowaway incident was in fact the same as mentioned previously, as it seems the younger Amrunrosse developed a habit of escaping her guardians and tutors.

It is advised that the student of history take her offered chronology and editorial commentary with a hearty grain of salt. In all the records we have of her hand, public and private, there is every evidence of a profound sense of her own centrality to events. Like most of the bardic-trained, it does seem she was drawn into many of the pivotal events of her time, and this must have only confirmed to her that she was therefore a driver of them.

---

There has been much in the last little bit. Life is either slow, or overburdened. It always amazes me to see it shift between the two.

As a start to all of it, Cheva was playing in the harbor, and decided to play on a ship in the harbor. When the ship was ready to sail, this boundary did not hold up and she decided to be a stowaway. As soon as I found out, I was on the nearest ship I could find. She, of course, was on a simple supply run down the coast and back. I ended up shipwrecked with a bunch of pilgrims on a snowpack glacier. “Playing in the harbor” does not mean the ships in the harbor, and certainly not taking said ships in the harbor.

Luck was on my side, that I had opted to have my normal kit with me. I must say - my travel companions were less than helpless, and many of which needed rescued from the various dangers of the ice. Must keep in mind - do not work for free even once. If nothing else, take the money and sneak it back into their belongings later. Once you do one thing...

Later in the evening, I was able to find out from a Fier' in the Amicae that Cheva was returned. That was very relieving - it is more than unfortunate that he ran afoul of Marconis in a mission onto the tundra himself. We don’t know a thing about where they may have gone, so for now there is not much we can do but search.

On a completely unrelated note, a few evenings ago I spent learning some about Tier tastes. I will gladly wear a collar for her again. I cannot explain, exactly, why it was so desirable, but to have someone wish to own you! And to serve! This has been my only positive interaction with masters and slaves, and I really enjoyed myself thoroughly. I do not think Ari has taken such a keen outlook on it - but as I told her, I will test her and show her and me if she is the monster she fears.

Our little magus, Randie, seems to be having some trouble. He has lost some old friends and it has hit him hard. However, he also seems to have inherited a dragon’s horde... very odd. I feel for him, though. A lot on his shoulders, and so far as I can tell, there isn’t anything for him to actually do any longer. He gets to make up his own fate, when he never used to. He will get to feeling better.

Varric has come back from the dead, it would seem. I saw him last performing or guarding at the Lotus the other night. He apologized about falling off the face of Norrath, and that it was not anything planned. Very odd, still, that one.

The same night in the Lotus, I caught up with Vaka again. After arresting some girl for attacking some newly turned vampire, I wanted to know about a thing the girl said - she is a part of a group who “doesn’t exist”. Must be a very young operative, to even admit that. It could spell trouble, and it could be someone a little soft in the head. Either way, it is good to know potential challenges.

I still miss Xil, from time to time. And missing him reminds me of Fafnier. I hope Sytan can resurrect him soon. It has been far too long since I have heard his voice and enjoyed his company.

To Worship Bristlebane - An Authoritative Guide

This is a guide to services held in honor of the greatest God, he who is of the slightest of hand, drunkard among drunks, Bristlebane.
This guide is complete and unabridged, with slight modifications to help the uninitiated better understand our ways.

            The author of this work, Folodu Amrunrosse, has gone to great lengths to ensure this is factual in all parts, except the time when the goblins actually did something right. All named for that incident have been changed because we were not actually there for it, and had to make something up. All mentions of people either living or dead are most likely true recountings, unless they aren't. Reader discretion is advised on page two.



      In order to best serve our great God, we must first have several key components arraged. These include, but by are no means limited to: a bottle of Halasian Whiskey which shall from here on be called Communal; a firestarter, preferably in mage-form; a sacrificial goat; one frozen trout, thawed; one set dice, loaded; Hat of Officiation; Gavel of Forewarning.

      In to begin, you must get your fellowship, assuming you have one, together, preferably with some prior notice. It must be noted that the group must decide on who will arrive last, and ensure that they have been given not only the wrong directions but also the wrong time. Giving the wrong day is just bad form.
     When the last person arrives, they are required to pull a prank on the first arriving member - the group cannot assist pointing out who that is, lest the skill of the last be called into question. The prank must be pulled off during some point in the meeting.
      The first order of business is to read the Minutes, but no one ever listens and the waterclock has been acting up lately anyways. Since Step One must always be missed, we must proceed on to Step Three, the sharing of the Communal Whiskey.
      Once everyone has had a glass of whiskey, except for Farmer Bijot who has started drinking at dawn again, the group shares the recent pranks they have done. Sound effects and props are not necessary, but are appreciated.
      The Fourth Order of Business is the passing of the Collection Plate. It is generally accepted that everyone will try the usual theft, but there are times when someone has an idea to share, such as stealing the theft from the neighbor preceeding them. It is considered bad manners to steal the collection plate itself. So far, Friggle Raxxiton has the record of stealing the collection-plate-bearer, who has not been seen since. When asked, Friggle only smiles like a fox. On incidents like this, the Communal Whiskey is passed around in congratulations.
      The next order of business is Step Two: sharing the whiskey, which by now is fairly communal. From this point, the meetings tend to devolve into either hysterics or stories. It is considered ill mannered to not egg the other members on. At this point, weapons are confiscated and fighting is prohibited - not like anyone listens anyways. When everyone calms down, the Officiant releases the sacrificial goat, no one really recalling why it was brought in the first place. Plans are made for the Next Big Prank. These are usually forgotten in the after-meeting torpor and nap.
    Since there has not been a Secretary or Writing Utensil brought since the disaster when the ink got spilled, everyone tries to commit the Minutes from the meeting to memory. Another round is shared communally and the meeting is adjourned, usually to be completed in the street when the Militia tends to arrest the members for being drunk in public - also, naked. In Lucan's fountain.


    Folodu Amrunrosse











The Goblin incident Is Not To Be Mentioned.
That is all.

A plain, red-spined book - Apocryphal Journals: Folodu Amrunrosse

Archivist's note:
It is clear from contemporary records that Amrunrosse was fastidious about keeping her journals on her person or otherwise well secured, yet in the recent reorganization of the archive we have found loose signatures tucked among unrelated treatises on the applied arts of entropy as relates to the keeping of vegetable gardens in various climates.
Each is no more than eight pages of vellum, stitched with waxed linen thread and apparently in good condition, aside from having been at some point separated from the rest of its volume. The handwriting appears to be consistent from one entry to the next, though there are huge swaths of the work still missing.
What remains has been bound together in a probable chronology, and wrapper leaves were added around each original signature to hold such notation as is possible. The entries are undated in the original hand, but as many of the incidents are cross-referenced in the public archives, so a loose chronology may be posited.

---

The following entry appears to have been set down towards the end of the Shadow Age, and the discovery of the Velian continent. The author - if we can be at all confident it is a genuine memoir - would suggest that the Vigiles were operating in their current form rather earlier than was previously thought by reputable historians.

---

It has been some time since I kept one of these. I hope to do it more justice than my previous ones.

Cheva ran off several months ago – I must be more specific in the future. “Playing in the harbor” does not mean the ships in the harbor, and certainly not taking said ships in the harbor. The girl reminds me far too much of myself. She was lucky and landed in Gorowyn, finding my dark Lady, my mentor Sytan, and Valacor. I, of course, landed on the wrong end of the world trying to find her, got in a shipwreck, and tracked all over the tundra for very little purpose, except for finding someone who had seen her. I left the barren chunk of ice immediately, my informant and an ally in the search in tow.

The informant was attached to my dark Lady’s house, the Vigiles Amicae. He was a Fier of savage disposition, as the classic thought goes. I am much indebted to him. It is unfortunate that he has run afoul of Marcanis. I am glad there is a mind I have only come in contact with briefly. Terrifying. I would lend my services, if they are asked, but at the present it would be far too challenging to disengage from my current assignment to see to him. He is a decent boy, if young. His sister is a hothead, however, and will bring ruin to everyone. I am intrigued at her unique physique, but the personality is unstable enough to give more than a few warning signs.

I have pledged myself to the Amicae as a soldier – I am greatly pleased to have a family to serve again, but I am more certain in myself now, and will watch for the warning signs that lead to leaving the Circuli. I will not allow a tyrant in my sphere again. My dark Lady has shown no signs to being like that, but the vigil will not be abandoned. Unfortunately, rank will mean a degree of separation that I will probably be unable to work around. I will miss her company and companionship, and expect that we will be strained to even be friends, but I will try my best – it is all I can do. I love her and miss her. I will serve her as I promised, and help the house be great in all the ways I can find.

I have recently been promoted to lead a squad. I have heard very little about any of them, so I will be giving them each an assignment to test for their level of competency as they report for duty – which unfortunately is somewhat slowed by my needing to be on the current assignment I am on. I hope they are lead well by Vanside while the units are equipped for the mission. I wish to become better acquainted with her during this time so I can make sure those under my care are taken care of as best I can provide, given the circumstances. I hope also to have good relations with her as a friend – I am not sure how well that will work. We are very different in our approach to life and work, and she does grate on me in her own way. I had some custom corsetry and gowns made to replace my older, antiquated ones. Having a weapon easily to hand is the most reassuring thing I can hope for, even if I cannot carry my normal blades openly. Luddicia is quite talented at meeting the needs I had.

I think the vampires of the house might be cause for concern. They are more paranoid even than I, and seem to be asking questions to try to intentionally make people uncomfortable. I know it is their way, but I cannot fathom why they try to antagonize so much. Perhaps it is just the wish to make us stronger, but right now is not a good time – but when is it ever really?

I have left Cheva in the care of Sytan while I am on assignment. She is growing so fast, and is far too much like me. I hope she grows out of some of her habits, and I must find way to apologize to Sytan for what I put him through. I never did say I was sorry about stabbing him that first time…

I cannot understand where Cheva got the idea of wanting to be a Knight of Great Virtue. Not that she wants to hear what a knight needs or should be, but I think I have found she is very fond of stories of knights. I will have to invent some that have the lessons she needs to know. I miss her and love her with all my heart. One day, I must find a way to tell her of her father – she would be enamored of the stories of him, I think. I miss him, too, but the bite is no longer so hard.

I am glad, in a way that I saw him long enough to ensure he was settled with a new partner. Once I got over my own wants and desires, I found that I wanted him to be happy, and really wanted to be the one to make him so. I am glad, again for my adopted sister, whom helped by loving him, too. I have not much to say on her, given it has been years and she has never sought me out.

I have a new life, and dwelling on the old can only get me so far. And besides, I have the greatest part of the relationship to Xil in Chevanima. I learned from the wolf-mother that the time is precious – I will never understand why she opted to give it up, and I will never make that mistake. She is mine to raise and love, and damn anyone who tries to get in the way of that!

A crumbling, stained letter

Archivist's Note:

This private letter is an exceptionally rare survival from the period, and it was discovered in a volume of mythic wondertales during the recent reorganization of the archive. It has long been suspected that the anonymous, handwritten manuscripts of wondertales were once part of the private collection of the Praetor, but the attribution pages have been lost in one of the re-bindings, as the signatures were never well-sewn to begin with. 
There are no provenance records for the series of manuscripts, which themselves are only of minimal interest, written as they are to make history more palatable to the uneducated. Nonetheless, the presence of the following letter - which appears to be genuine - seems to support the idea that those manuscripts may have been the property of the Praetor, and suggests they may be worth re-examining for further historical importance.
A transcript of the letter follows below, translated from the levua, as the original document must remain protected from light and handling. It has aged badly as a result of some acid contamination in its past, and the transcription is as faithful to the original text as possible. Every effort has been made to preserve the agitation and passion of the author, which is so clearly visible in the hand.

---

Dearest Ariahdnia,

I write this letter with no real direction.

These last few months have been more difficult then I would like to admit. When you asked me to help you forget - I knew I was going to regret it. There has been so little in the past that I would have wanted you to remember that made it to that book of yours, and I'm afraid to know what has passed that never did.

I'll admit when we first met, your charge would have been just: you were nothing more then food. Now - I wouldn't think of you as anything less then a friend and lover.

I admit I have held you further away then most, there are [unintelligible] things I've done that I'm not proud of - - some to those you may know [an inkblot, possibly an omission] some to you. In time I may share all of it with you - but at my own pace. The last time you died - - - I watched everything I had worked to earn with you die with it.

 How much of us you have recorded is beyond me. Honestly - - I may never know. I only know that you trust me less than y[unintelligible: likely, "you"] out[unintelligible: possible "outwardly" but may be untranslated ekete'uan] show, despite our past - - and - again-! -I will strive to change that.

I no longer wish to remain a trusted friend and ally. I wish more than midnight visits and deceptive respects[sic: clearly an allusion, but the context is now lost]. Our last night together was one of many passionate and cherished nights together for me - and I can only hope you feel the same way when I say that I hope there will be many - many more to follow.

Always watching, Always waiting.
~Valacor Valinos