[i][color=9e0b0f]"Ignore the cries, we know where the slaughter yet lies..."[/color][/i]

[i][color=9e0b0f]"Slow us down, they will, ignore their cries..."[/color][/i]

[i][color=9e0b0f]"You cannot suppress us forever, [b]ignore their cries[/b]"[/color][/i]

[color=00746b]"Would you lot be silent for one Maker blessed day?"[/color]

Angstar had a habit of muttering responses to the voices in his head, especially when they decided to complain and rant about the fact he wasn't halting any prior courses of action and throwing himself head long into the next slaughter. He couldn't call them fights, most days, not when the enemy could not kill him fast enough. He wasn't proud of that, mind you, it was merely the state of the matter, and he glanced down at the notice that had reached his hands. He couldn't remember how, the how of many things oft eluded him around the times he had been fighting, but the daemons in his head had seemed to agree with at least the part about heading towards the thickest concentration of the Dark spawn seen in years, and of all the people still alive in the world, human wise, he had a very good handle on large concentrations of Darkspawn. Ostagar rang clearly in his memories of this, but he pushed that from his mind. He didn't need to remember how he became what he had, not so readily. He knew what his kind were called, so he left it at that when making introductions.

He arrived at the camp after several days quick march, something he still thanked his service in the Fereldan army for learning how to do properly, he knew rookies who just outright ran all day and were dead the next day, relatively speaking of course, because they didn't know how to move fast, constantly. That and he often went days without sleep or rest as it was, even if he did try to lay down he often couldn't sleep, mostly because of his unwelcome companions in his head, so he just kept marching until he found himself tired again, and could lay down for a blessed rest before awaking to reality again and marching on to his next destination. Sure enough, the Minanter river and its fortified camp came into view, and he was not left unchallanged for long, sentries approaching the forboding, solemnn looking warrior and demanding his name and purpose for approaching, clearly expecting a fight. [color=00746b]"I am Ansgar Staudinger, of Fereldan. I come to answer the call by Lady d'Fleur, here, this explains it better than I."[/color] Upon offering the note he had acquired, the sentries seemed trained on what to do.

He was directed to a tent to the East of the camp, on a small hill, and he bid the men farewell, ignoring the urges by the demons. They always wanted the same thing, and were rather unimaginative about how they went about trying to get him to do it. Brute force, driven by the bloodshed of the real world. They had some strength when Ansgar was stuck in with the enemy, but otherwise, it was annoying at best. But, as he approached the tent, he had to wonder what sort would have answered such a call. The note called for heroes to stand against the Darkspawn, and he was anything but a hero. He did pull his armored hood down, no sense concealing himself from future allies. He made it clear, mentally, to the demons that anyone he fought with were not targets as well. He could easily control that much in a fight, and they cared little as long as they shed blood. But, the Reaver focused on the now as he opened the tent, entering and taking stock of his surroundings.

The woman in knights armor was likely Lady d'Fleur, going off the word that the brave few to have exchanged words with him about the subject knew. Looks were oft deceiving, so he gave her fair look little other thought. Next was the Tevinter Magister, they had a nasty habit of standing out. It was the air they held, even the decent ones still had it, and the demons particularly loved when mages were around of any sort. It rather grated on his nerves, but it was hardly their fault. Young looking rogue scrapper, from the words he caught approaching the tent, had quite the mouth on him. Last from inside the tent was a dwarf, good lot they tended to be, he looked like a prime example of their kind. Sturdy, well armored, and ready for a fight. He had no misgivings about that one. All these thoughts ran by in scant seconds, enough time for him to incline his head towards Lady d'Fleur and offer his greeting, the what to him would be explained upon request, although everyone likely noticed the unpleasant air that seemed to haunt him. [color=00746b]"Lady d'Fleur, and associated allies of her, I am Ansgar Staudinger, of Fereldan, answering the call."[/color]