Hailing from the lowland county of the Laurel Mount, this pimp of olde fought his way from the swamps and thickets to where he would find the wide open spaces of Westphilia under the benevolent wang of Shaftlemagne. There he would find many adventures. In later years he returned the the Laurel Mount to wed. Soon afterward his light was extinguished. Though it burns less brightly now, the fire of his soul can be felt sometimes by his olde companions, mostly whilst in the RiverCity and while imbibing the mead.

It is said that Ros' heir grows strong in his homeland. Perhaps one day when his hoes are numerous he will feel fit to join us.