Angvar Thestlecrit

Goffred Giulianoff's page

668 posts. Alias of zimmerwald1915.

Full Name

Goffred "Fredo" Giulianoff




Void Wizard 5




5'5, 155 lb.




Lawful Neutral




Abyssal, Celestial, Common (Taldane), Draconic, Infernal, Shoanti, Varisian



Strength 11
Dexterity 16
Constitution 14
Intelligence 19
Wisdom 12
Charisma 13

About Goffred Giulianoff

Male human (Chelaxian) Void elementalist 5
LN Medium humanoid (human)
Init +3; Senses Perception +3
XP 5000/9000
Harrow Points 3

AC 23, touch 15, flat-footed 20 (+4 armor, +4 shield, +3 Dex, +2 deflection)
hp 33/33 (5d6+13)
Fort +3, Ref +4, Will +4; +3 to resist spells and spell-like abilities

Speed 30 ft.
Melee dagger +2 (1d4/19-20x2)
Ranged light crossbow +5 (1d8/19-20x2)
Special Attacks reveal weakness, spells
Wizard Prepared Spell List (CL 5th; concentration +9):
3rd - dispel magic (specialist), water breathing (opposed)
2nd - command undead (DC 16), invisibility (specialist), scorching ray, web (DC 16)
1st - burning disarm (DC 16), charm person (DC 15), mage armor, protection from evil , shield (specialist)
0th - detect magic, mage hand, message, guidance
Opposition Schools water
Base Statistics Without mage armor, protection from evil, and shield, Fredo's statistics are AC 14, touch 14, flat-footed 11

Base Atk +2; CMB +2; CMD 15
Str 11, Dex 16, Con 14, Int 19, Wis 12, Cha 13
Special Qualities arcane bond (cat familiar), cantrips, void awareness
Feats Alertness, Greater Spell Focus (transmutation), Heighten Spell, Persistent Spell, Scribe Scroll, Spell Focus (transmutation), Spell Specialization (burning disarm)
Traits Dangerously Curious, Dropout
Chosen The Locksmith
Skills Diplomacy +4,Intimidate +2, Knowledge (arcana) +11, Knowledge (history) +11, Knowledge (local) +11, Knowledge (nobility) +10, Knowledge (planes) +9, Knowledge (religion) +8, Linguistics +9, Perception +3, Profession (lawyer) +5, Sense Motive +3, Spellcraft +13, Stealth +6, Use Magic Device +10
Lanugages Abyssal, Celestial, Draconic, Infernal, Shoanti, Taldane, Varisian
Combat Gear 2 vials of acid, lesser merciful metamagic rod, wand of magic missile (18 charges); Other Gear dagger, Gaedren's files, grooming kit, light crossbow with 18 bolts, ring of protection +1, robe of bones (goblin zombie (2), human zombie, human skeleton), scholar's outfit, scrivener's kit, scroll of identify, shaving kit, Vimanda's silver dagger, Vreeg's spellbook, wizard's kit, wig, Zellara's Harrow Deck, 1,720 gp, 24 sp, 3 cp

CAT CR 1/4
Female Cat
N Tiny magical beast
Init +2; Senses low-light vision, scent; Perception +5

AC 16, touch 14, flat-footed 14 (+2 Dex, +2 size, +2 natural)
hp 13/13 (4d8-4)
Fort +1, Ref +4, Will +5
Defensive Abilities improved evasion

Speed 30 ft.
Melee 2 claws +6 (1d2-4), bite +5 (1d3-4)
Space 2-1/2 ft.; Reach 0 ft.

Str 3, Dex 15, Con 8, Int 7, Wis 12, Cha 7
Base atk +2; CMB +2; CMD 8 (12 vs. trip)
SQ alertness, deliver touch spells, share spells, empathic link
Feats Weapon Finesse
Skills Climb +6, Perception +5, Stealth +14; Racial Modifiers +4 Climb, +4 Stealth +14

Fredo wears a mustache and beard to compensate for his prematurely balding scalp. His brows and eyes are both dark and strong, and sit over a thick nose. The burn scar on his face is mostly healed, but can still be seen in the right light or if you look closely. His ears are narrow and stick out to the sides; some have mistaken him for a half-elf. In truth, Fredo is of mixed blood; his father Eilso was Chelaxian and his mother Maria, who still lives in Sirathu, is largely Varisian with some distant Shoanti descent. He wears several layers, a black barrister's gown over his old green transmuter's frock.

Fredo squirmed against the two large hands gripping his shoulders. He could not see the men they belonged to. The hallway under Citadel Volshyenek was dimly lit, and they were pushing him from behind. Step by step, they were forcing him forward to a doorway at the end of the hall. The door itself was old, but sound wood, set in a threshold of the same dark stone as the hall. There was nothing threatening about it, but Fredo did not want to pass. He dug his heels into the floor, and was shoved to the ground for his trouble. His hands were bound behind him and could not stop his fall, so his face hit the floor with a sickening crunch. The grit on the floor lodged in his burnt cheek. The guards chuckled. Keys jangled, and one of them went to open the door. The other, still laughing to himself, picked Fredo's head up by his hair.

Alone in front of a mirror, and at parties, Fredo had cursed his scalp for letting his hair thin so easily. Now, though, it let him wriggle out of the guard’s grasp, leaving a wad of hair behind. He turned around and fled back up the hall as fast as his legs would carry him, not looking back at the shouts of the guards or the slaps of their pursuing boots on the floor. He made it about twenty paces before one of the guards caught him in a flying tackle and bore him down to the ground. Fredo screamed as one of his ribs cracked, and moaned as the guard made it worse by throwing Fredo over his shoulder. It didn't look like they were taking any more chances.

The door led to a small room. A sconce holding a continual flame hung from the ceiling, set so that it lit the center of the room, with its table and two chairs, brightly, while leaving the corners all in shadow. The guards shoved Fredo down into one of the chairs, and left. Across from Fredo sat an unremarkable-looking man using an ornate silver dagger to flip through the pages of a file. Fredo sat as tall as he could in the face of this man. It helped ease the pain in his side, and it might help hide his fear.

"Goffred Giulianoff," the man said slowly, setting the file down and sheathing the dagger lovingly in his belt. "Why don't you tell me how you got that burn on your face?"

Fredo answered in a flat voice. "I was preparing fires in the Hall of Shaping so that older students could practice their Pyrotechnics. Fire can be wild, but its wielder may never be. His body must stay under control at all times if he is to master what emerges."

"Very good," said the man. "A near-perfect quotation from the chapter on hazards in Ornelos' Primer on Devil-Summoning. Now, I'm no devil-binder," he continued, standing up and leaning forward, propping his body up on his hands. "You want to guess how I know that?"

"You flunked out of the Twilight Academy?" That earned Fredo a slap, right across his burned cheek. He grimaced at the pain, and then at the pain in his side as he shied away from the guard. He ended up doubled over, his face a few inches from the tabletop.

"Don't get smart. I know because I read it out of your copy. It was found…" he said, pulling papers out of the file and setting them before Fredo, "at the scene of the crime." Fredo's eyes went wide when he saw the face the artist had sketched. Somehow it looked to have escaped the burns all over the rest of the man's body. "Maybe you can tell me what you and your brother were really doing with a pack full of bombs less than a block away from Carowyn Manor?"

"I wasn't with him. I don't know what he was doing." Fredo’s mind raced as his throat croaked out the denial. What would Aleko be doing with bombs near Carowyn Manor? And how did he get Fredo's book? Fredo had looked everywhere for it when it had gone missing, but Aleko was an outsider. He could not have taken it.

"Really," said the man, breathing hot on Fredo’s ear as he leaned in. "Maybe another quotation will refresh your memory. 'We must spread our principles, not with words but with deeds, for this is the most popular, the most potent, and the most irresistible form of propaganda.' Did not your father keep books by Jubannich?"

"He was also the prefect of Sirathu until he passed, and a loyal Korvosan." Fredo's throat was almost entirely choked up now. He coughed, and spat blood onto the table. Papa, Eilso, had died only months ago of a stroke.

"Be that as it may, 'your excellency', I have you on attempted murder at least. Why don't you think about that?" The man clicked his fingers and the guards reappeared to drag a limp and unresisting Fredo to his cell.


Fredo sat up against the wall of his cell, breathing slowly in and out. His side still hurt, but much less since the coated doctor with his mask pushed up over his brow had bound his chest up with bandages. The tightly tied gauze and rags kept the broken bone in place, but they also made it hard to breathe deeply, and with each inhalation Fredo's chest strained against its bonds. Maybe his torso would be as chafed as his wrists soon.

A door opened, and slammed back shut, at the end of the hall, and Fredo could hear the stump of boots headed towards his cell. A number of the other prisoners called out to what was clearly a guard, but Fredo stayed silent, not expecting they'd want to talk to him again so soon after the first time. He was surprised when the guard did indeed stop outside his cell, carrying a bundle wrapped in brown paper and twine, as well as an envelope. He was more surprised to see that it was the guard who had interrogated him. He looked different in the brighter light, almost handsome and good-natured. Fredo wouldn't have recognized him if not for the gleaming silver dagger on his belt.

"You're free to go," he said, shoving the parcel and envelope through the bars and reaching for his keys. Fredo didn’t move from where he was, but reached over for the items.

"May I ask why?" he said. The guard had opened the door and, seeing that Fredo wasn't going to move, knelt down to unlock his manacles.

"Some other college brat came in and gave a statement that he did set you to lighting fires. He also came in with a bound imp, which told us it had pushed you into the coals as a prank." The manacles snapped off. "I don't believe it," he continued, straightening up and going back to the door, "but we don't have enough to hold you anymore. Keep it that way."

And just like that, the man was gone. Fredo hefted the package, then tore it open. From the weight and the feel he was not surprised to find his spellbook and components, as well as his other possessions. The envelope was more of a mystery. Turning it over, Fredo saw it bore the seal of the Acadamae, and he opened it carefully. It contained two pieces of paper, which he read in order.

"Dear Neophyte Giulianoff,

"Please find enclosed the results of your Hall of Shaping Entrance Exam. These results notwithstanding, it is incumbent upon the faculty to remind you that students and staff of the Acadamae are obliged to avoid the appearance of impropriety should they wish to maintain their places. The circumstances of this message's receipt should indicate to you our position on your place within our institution.

"As such, it is our duty to inform you that all possessions on loan from the Acadamae, including but not limited to study texts, writing implements, spell reagents, lodging, and uniforms are to be repossessed forthwith. You shall be allowed one week from the receipt of this message to collect any personal belongings you brought with you to the Acadamae. Should you fail to do so, ownership will devolve on the Acadamae.

"We wish you great success in all your future endeavors,

"The Board of Acadamae Regents”

The message on the next paper was comparatively short, printed in big, ornate letters and stamped again with the Acadamae's seal.

"This is to certify that Neophyte Goffred Giulianoff has passed with honors his examination to enter the Hall of Shaping as an Acolyte of Transmutation."


Two days later found Fredo at the post office. It hadn't taken him long to collect his possessions from the Acadamae, but he hadn't yet found a new place to live. He'd been staying at a cheap inn. He expected he'd have to stay there several more nights while he waited for replies to the letters he was posting. The replies from Theumanexus, the Stone of the Seers, and the Twilight Academy would tell him whether he could stay in Korvosa and look for a flat or if he would have to leave. The clerk took the letters and looked for quite a long time at the return address, as if trying to remember something, before she put them in the bin to be mailed. "Mister Giulianoff is it?"

"Yes…" said Fredo, not really sure where this was going.

"Your picture's up on the far wall," she said, pointing. "You're wanted at the Citadel." She whispered. "I don’t think it's for anything bad, just questioning."

"Thank you," said Fredo uncomfortably, stepping out of the line. He supposed it was better he find out like this than to have the Guard capture him again. He sighed, and left the post office.

When he got to Citadel Volshyenek he was pleasantly surprised not to be clapped in irons again. Instead, he was escorted to the cell of a man with long black hair and a squashed nose that might once have been very prominent. His eyes were wide and pleading, and he was panting. The guard with the silver dagger was standing in the cell with him. "Do you recognize this man?" he said.

"No," said Fredo. "Who are you?" he asked the panting man. He started to answer, but the guard smacked him on the mouth.

"His name was on sales receipts we found on your brother's body." Fredo swallowed and blinked rapidly a half-dozen times to keep his throat and eyes clear. "He ran an alchemist's shop, and we believe he sold your brother the bombs he was going to use on the Carowyns."

"I've never seen him before in my life," said Fredo icily, his fists clenching and unclenching. "Would you like me to use smaller words?"

"Get him out of here," said the guard to the one who had escorted Fredo. The latter shrugged and motioned for Fredo to come, and he did. As they were leaving the alchemist called out "I never met your brother either! I couldn't have sold him bombs! My entire stock was stolen by Gaedren Lamm!" The guard with the dagger laughed as the door closed behind Fredo and his escort.

"Who is Gaedren Lamm?" said Fredo.

"A nobody," said the guard. "There was a small-time crook by that name a few years back but he's probably dead by now. Every poor fool looking for an excuse uses him as a scapegoat. If you ask me he's becoming the git counterpart to Blackjack." The guard shook his head.

"But what if he were still alive?" said Fredo. "And suppose that man's story is true. Why would he want me and my brother to look like assassins?"

"No idea," said the guard. "Pissed off the Carowyns lately? Or some other blue-bloods? It's not unheard of for high politics to be done by low-down dirty folk."


Fredo twined his fingers behind his head, and leaned back. He could just see the edge of the wooden frame behind him, though he could not read the law license it held. He tried not to think about how he would have preferred a transmuter's diploma instead. "I don't know what to tell you, kid," he said wearily. "I just don't think you have enough to prove your claim."

"But my mom—"

"I know what the letter says," said Fredo, rubbing his eyes. "I assure you I read it very carefully. I don't think the Arbiters are going to accept written testimony." He leans forward again, a look of mingled sadness and righteous anger on his face. "Even if they did, we might get one with…unenlightened ideas about Varisians." The child's face fell.

"Look," said Fredo, "I'll argue it if you really want me to, no charge. I just don't think we'll win the rights to this fishery you're talking about. We just can't prove the old owner was your dad."

"That's alright, mister," said the kid, hiding his face behind the letter. He doesn't seem as sad as Fredo expected. "Thanks anyway." He got up to leave.

"Do you have someplace to stay?" asked Fredo. He knew the answer before the boy gave it, and what it meant.

"Yeah," he said. Fredo flicked him a coin, and the boy caught it.

"Keep that," he said. "I'm sorry, but it's the best I can do."