Name: General Aramus Araellius Galenos

Age: 55

Height: 6'5"

Weight: 190 lbs

Body Type: Tall and muscular, though his body is showing his age more and more.

Face Type: A square face, very defined.

Complexion: Slightly tanned, white.

Eyes: Blue eyes, his eyes are often welcoming, complimenting any smile that he throws your way.

Hair: Grey hair, well kept, quite long (strapped in a pony tail)

Clothing Style: Aramus is almost always wearing his armour, as he believes that an enemy is never far behind him.

Speaking Style: Due to his old age, sometimes Aramus can ramble during his conversation, normally he is very direct with his words.

General Demeanor: Despite his status as a General and the history he has, Aramus is a very calm man. He uses this demeanor to help calm those around him, this has been mostly directed towards Rohwyn, his commander.

Career: Aramus has done nothing but fight since he was fifteen years old (though this was not his choice) and has been a captain, lieutenant, mercenary and a General in his life-span.

Prejudices: Criminals, cultists and anyone that would endanger the life of another without reason.

Best Qualities: His knowledge. Aramus has lived a long life and thus has a lot of knowledge to give to those younger members of the regiment he serves. He is also extremely fond of reading and thus increases his knowledge on a daily basis.

Worst Qualities: He is absolutely terrible at fishing, often resorting to jumping in rivers and trying to punch the fish into submission.

Weakness: His age, unfortunately he isn't as spry as he was once, thus can find it very difficult to keep up with the younger people around him, though this is not always the case. There is good days and bad days. The memory of his wife and his mother are also weaknesses, since he has never been able to accept either of their deaths, despite it being many years ago in both cases.

Hobbies: Exercise, which he is very prone to doing, as he feels he needs to keep his body in shape and of course, reading. If Aramus is not training himself, he will be found with a mug of mead and a book, reading his day away.

Talents: Due to wanting to become a scholar before he was forced into becoming a warrior, he is very good at writing fictional stories and accounts of non-fiction, battles that have been fought, situations that have been resolved, etc. He is also an incredibly good trainer for those wishing to better themselves in the art of combat, this is through fourty years of doing nothing but that.

Biography: I've not written much for Aramus, but here is the latest installment to his backstory:

“Not my way”

Part I

A young man sat at a desk, a place that he felt the most at home. He was busy writing about the differences between good and evil, a topic that often plagued his mind. He had often walked the streets of his city, coming across horrible acts of violence and often wondered why such a thing needed to exist.

The man smiled as he set his quill down and ran a hand through his thick black hair. The man was fairly handsome and had all the qualities that a woman would look for in a man, however he always felt different. He had often suffered under the pressure of his father, the man that had devoted his entire life to the sword. Though the man admired his father for fighting against evil, he had done nothing but try to persuade him to try and solve the conflict without the end result being a fight to the death.

The young man was named Aramus, a name that had been passed down in the Galenos bloodline for generations. Every man that had taken the name of Aramus in the family had grown to become a mighty warrior, a sword that fought for truth, perhaps more so than a paladin of the light.

His father had always looked upon Aramus with a degree of disappointment; the way that Aramus had chosen to live his life was completely unlike what his namesake implied. Aramus hated violence, choosing to simply write away his days with the ultimate goal of becoming a scholar.

Each day was lived in the same way, day in, day out. However, one night changed the norm.

Lucas burst into Aramus’s room in the dark of night, his hands stained with blood.

“Aramus! Wake up!” he yelled.

Aramus shot up in his bed, turning on the light beside him and peered at his father.

“Father, your hands and your armour… what’s happened?” he muttered with a look of confusion painted across his face.

“Your mother has been murdered, she tried to help a member of a gang in our streets, she paid the ultimate price and so to will they!” he yelled, his face was a mix of emotions, the more prominent being that of anger and sadness.

Aramus climbed out of his bed and held his hands to his face; he began to quietly weep into them. His mother had been a wonderful woman, she was beautiful, calming and more importantly, accepting. Her life as a priest had been spent helping anyone that would accept it and this was not the first time she had been attacked for trying to help the wrong person… but dead? Murdered?

Lucas walked across the room to Aramus and yanked his hands from his face.

“Now is not the time for tears boy!” he yelled angrily.

“Then what would you say it is time for? More pointless bloodshed? IS THE BLOOD OF MY MOTHER NOT ENOUGH FOR YOU?!” screamed Aramus as he lifted his head and returned the same look of anger that his father had often directed towards him.

“You would live the rest of your life, knowing that you had not avenged the death of your mother? The woman that accepted you for what you are? Why do you cry if you are not willing to avenge her death?” yelled Lucas.

“I cry for my loss, I cry for Azeroth’s loss and finally, I cry because all I have left… is you” said Aramus as he forcefully pushed his father back across the room.

Lucas looked at his son with a fierce glare before spitting on the floor.

“I will not let you sit in this room and cry for the loss of anyone! You will take up the sword and you will follow me, we will come back and mourn once we have their heads” said Lucas through gritted teeth as he moved over to a cupboard that stood in Aramus’ room.

The cupboard was covered in dust, despite the rest of the room being spotless in every other aspect. Lucas roared as he wiped cob webs away from the cupboard frantically before yanking the doors open, grunting as one of them broke away and crashed to the floor.

Inside was a suit of armour that Lucas had made for Aramus a year beforehand, a sword and shield accompanying it on a shelf above.

“I’m going downstairs, if you aren’t outside the house wearing this armour in ten minutes, you will never see me again” muttered Lucas as he walked away from the cupboard and out of the room, slamming the door forcefully behind him.

Aramus slowly walked towards the cupboard, tears still streaming down his smoothly shaven face. He rubbed a hand across his forehead as he stared at the armour and weaponry, clamping his eyes down again for a moment, as if trying to push the last of his tears out.

With one final loud cry, he reached into the cupboard and began pulling the suit of armour on. As he prepared the suit and grabbed the sword and shield, he began to feel the anger of losing his mother beginning to swell inside him.

He looked at his hands, clasped in chain mail, one tightly gripped around the hilt of a broadsword.

“This is what violence causes… now for one act of violence I will commit murder and I can already feel my resolve wavering” he spluttered through tears.

He walked across the room and picked up his quill, staring at a photograph of his mother briefly before he began to write.


I am truly sorry for what I am about to do.

I beg that when you are surrounded by the light that you adored,

That you do not hate me or damn my actions.

I love you mother.

More than you will ever know.

These are the last words to be written by Aramus of the house of Galenos, the words of a man that will soon become a murderer”

He snapped the quill in his hands and ran to the door, swinging it open with force and charging down the stairs. As he came to the front of his home, he could see his father already engaged in battle with the murderers of his mother.

It was almost as if the rage inside him was turning his tears to steam as his face rid itself of emotion and he charged into battle, immediately removing the head of one of the men.

As he continued to fight, all that he could picture in his mind was the warm face of his mother, her arms open wide to comfort him, usually due to his father’s words. The last thing that his mother had ever told him, was to keep his chin up and ignore the taunts of his father, that one day, he would solve the problems of Azeroth with his diplomatic nature, his words.

Because of this, it was almost as if Aramus’ limbs were moving without his content, his mind constantly focused on the image of his mother, hearing her voice in his head over and over like a broken record, all of which was going on as Aramus joined his father in murdering the men.

The battle was soon over, the murderers of his mother lay in bloodied heaps on the ground. The grip around his hilt had not wavered as he breathed heavily and peered at the death that lay in front of him, their blood spilt not only on the ground but on his blade and even on his face.

“My son, that was truly glor-“ started Lucas.


“Because of you, I have gone against everything that I am. I will never be the man that went to sleep this evening”

Before the two could even engage in an argument, the law enforcers of the city arrived on horse back, all of them with their weapons drawn.

“Lucas Galenos! Aramus Galenos! For shedding blood on the streets of the king, you are under arrest!” they yelled.

“Come now, Aramus!” shouted Lucas as he grabbed Aramus by the arm and yanked him into running from the soldiers.

They ran behind them home and into the stable, quickly mounting two of the horses and charging towards the oncoming soldiers. Lucas slammed his shield forcefully into the face of one of them, sending him back and resulting in two soldiers being thrown from their horse.

Without thinking, Aramus simply swung his sword out to his side, beheading a soldier. He was numb, his eyes were glazed over and still the same image of his mother played inside him mind, the never ending cycle of the mother he adored with all his heart.

As the pair charged away from the city, Lucas peered to his son, watching as his face held no expression, his limbs made no movements.

“You will thank me, one day” he said.