[center][h1][color=teal]Ansgar Staudinger[/color][/h1][/center]

The stench of rot and decay in the air was really an unpleasant thing, Ansgar decided. That would have been a rather obvious statement, should he have been traveling with anyone and spoken aloud, but he wasn't, and he didn't, so it was a rather moot point. He wasn't even terribly well dressed for this whole mess, knowing he'd spend weeks trying to wash out the stink that just being here put into his clothes. At least the armor would just need wiped down, he mused, not like the old black iron had looked terribly good to begin with. It was sturdy and serviceable, all he needed and was concerned about. He wasn't one for frills, no room for it if he remembered right, and he glanced at his halberd, resting on his shoulder, carried at ease like he had in his army days. Taught him a good few things, those lads did, and it was a damn shame he would never see any of them again.

In the distance, his gaze was drawn towards the tolling of a bell most familiar, and he sighed.

Ansgar knew that was his calling, go march off to answer the call of some blasted bell. He was a dead man marching, Undead, bound by fate to throw himself into a pyre for the good of the rest of the world and its Age of Fire. He really wasn't over interested in the whole nonsense, humanity had gone and did to themselves worse than most of the beasties out and about the land did. He remembered the ranks of his brothers and sisters in arms, undead and human side by side against a far greater threat. Common threats tended to form strange bedfellows, and Daemons spawned from some crazed book delvers experiments into recreating a Flame like the old gods had, well, that was good cause enough to have in common.  Besides, have some flame belching daemon, have on fire, crashing down onto the ranks of a couple dozen pikemen and halberdiers, the battle line really didn't have time to concern itself if the one dragging them out of the way of one of those giant bloody axes was human or not.

The man considered walking away, ignoring the tolling of the bell, let some other sod deal with it. But what if there wasn't another sod? And what if the sod that did show up wasn't equipped for the situation? Inaction likely led to the downfall of his home to the hands of daemons, so he wasn't going to make that mistake again. Exhaling he marched onwards, the sound of feint voices, unintelligable from his distance, drawing him onwards. Hollowed madmen didn't talk, they gibbered and growled, but not intelligent conversation. Not as far as he had encountered, at any rate, so the sight of a bonfire, and a small gathering of people no less, was an oddly welcoming sight. Least he wasn't the only one getting his clothes dirty out here in this blasted swamp.

[color=teal]"Hail there, travelers."[/color] Ansgar spoke wearily, with the plain speak of a common soldier, as he sat down heavily by the bonfire, letting its warmth permeate his bones and take away the weariness for a bit. Looking at the man pinned to the tree, he raised an eyebrow briefly and shrugged a bit, making an off hand comment. [color=teal]"Looks like someone really wanted to drive a point home, or perhaps he has a stake to claim on the whole affair?"[/color] Gallows humor, as ugly as it tended to be, was a common mainstay for folks thrown into combat against typically certain death on a daily basis. And Ansgar enjoyed its bitter defiance against that which was purported to be impossible.