Born and raised in a small ocean side village on Atlas, Arthur would spend most of his time working for his father. Cutting down trees to supply the family carpentry business, and travelling to local markets and towns to sell or trade logs and wooden goods to those who would buy. During his free time away from work Arthur would spend his time fishing to provide food for himself or for extra coin in his pocket to spend and the tavern where many of his nights blurred together with intoxicated revelry with friends. He was no stranger to the inside of a cell at the guard post, nothing major but a few drinks here and a fight there would earn him a night behind bars just to wake up sober and sore ready for another day of work.
With the effects of the Vaeyl reaching Arthur's home town, all the young men of fighting age packed up and marched towards Haense to join the other forces of the descendants in hope to protect those unable to fight against the advance of the Red Vaeyl. Shoulder to shoulder with his brothers in arms, they pushed the Vaeyl back to Last Hope, ready to end the threat once and for all. During the final battle, as they charged with with weapons raised high, the line broke sending the armies into a free for all, mixing the friend and foes among each other to fight until only one side was left standing, through skill or luck, it didn’t matter as long as he survived, Arthur thought. As the battle raged on the forces of the defendants were pushed back, Arthur looked around the battlefield among the piling bodies and familiar faces caked in blood and mud as he retreated with the other descendants through the Frozen Ravines of Serrimor.
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Much of the battle and retreat through the Serrimor and the trip to Arcus has been a blur to Arthus, he tries not to remember the horrors of battle and the loss of life, but he can’t always push them back, so he turns to the closest drink to drown his sorrows, sleeping wherever he falls.
