Took longer than I would have liked, gotta love being sick Dx

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Name: Ansgar Staudinger
Age: 31
Sex: Male
Race: Human
Class/Sub-class: Rogue / Duelist

Appearance: 
[img]http://orig01.deviantart.net/9947/f/2014/302/9/9/sedeas_by_nathanparkart-d84mvkn.jpg[/img]

Abilities: 
Dueling - “It’s all a game and show, each movement, blow and counter blow, even the life blood fleeing the body of a fallen fighter. All a game.” When taking up his stance against a single foe, he gains increased combat prowess, granting a far more effective method of attack against single targets.

Keen Defense - “Did you [i]really[/i] believe I would let your attack connect in a harmful manner? Not at all, all part of the show.” When dueling, his defense is heightened as his reflexes help protect him.

Riposte - “A strike to lower the guard, and a blow to the vitals to bleed them quick through a faltering guard.” The rogue will strike with one of his twin blades, the first intending to stun a foe long enough to sneak a second blow in, that is a guaranteed critical wound to whomever is unfortunate enough to face the rogue.

Dual Weapon Mastery - “The twin blades are my tools of the trade, the battlefield my canvas. The blood of my enemies, the paint for which to create my masterpiece.” Not merely content to wield twin daggers, or a main blade and offhand dagger, the master of Dual Weapons can wield two full sized one handed weapons to lethal effect.

Lethality - “I can see the gaps in his armor. Left shoulder, right knee, wherever plate meets joint is but a weakness to exploit. No brute force needed, just a smooth passing of blade into flesh leaves them bleeding and a failure to their cause.” The expert eye picks out weak points vulnerable to the striking blades of the rogue, and allows him to utilize grace and elegance over raw strength, even with weapons grander than daggers.

Personality: Ansgar Staudinger is a very solemn, serious individual. He does very little to jest, less to convey emotion when at all possible. He reacts to a given problem or situation rationally and practically, not constrained to the bindings of morality or kindness. If a situation warrants dishonorable fighting or cruel methodology, than Ansgar has no problem engaging in such things. The only thing the man seems to take any sort of interest and, even, joy in is the art of single combat. He has lost all faith in the Maker, or any other god like figures for that matter, solely convinced that the races of mortals, from the ubiquitous humans and ostracized elves to the sturdy, potent dwarves and united Quanari are what they make of themselves. Whether a pauper, or a hero king, it all depends solely on the self, not on the blessings of gods and Veil spawned creatures too dangerous to trust.

Ansgar has little in the way of long term friends, not out of a dislike of people or a lack of people to know, but he just cares little for the companionship of others. Those few he had ever considered counting amongst his friends were rarity’s in his blur of a life, punctuated with bloodbaths against all sorts of foes, from Darkspawn on expeditions to the Deep Roads for various reasons, to acting as an ad hoc assassin against targets of value within large scale battles, marking a target and heading to them with dogged persistence. The man will never yield or give up, no matter the odds, a fact that makes him valuable if one hires him. And an utter nightmare, should one find themselves opposed to such a twin blade wielding duelist.

History: Born to Antiva City, within Antiva itself, Ansgar was the last scion of a family of rogues and thieves that had fallen on hard times for the past several generations, and Ansgar was the last son to be had within the family, the rest either dying off or marrying out of the family. Abandoning the lineage for greener pasture and fairer waters, as the saying goes. Raised in poverty and surrounded by the ruined remains of his once notable lineage and name, decaying signs of wealth and abandonment clear, had a profound effect on the growing boy. His family had long since sworn off any Maker or god figure, and if there was indeed one, the boy blamed them fiercely. How dare they punish the whole family and lineage for a decision of the few, and if they had not meted out punishment, why let them fail if they were such good and just figures? The boy was bitter towards any figure that claimed to be a god of any sort, or even their representatives, and often found himself accepting illegal work whenever it came to harming or opposing such groups.

So thoroughly embedded in crime at such a young age, Ansgar was soon the literal last living member of the Staudinger blood lineage, his parents dead on the blades of assassins. With no guiding figures, Ansgar was soon finding himself outside Antivan borders, forced due to either being arrested and locked away for a long time, or moving on. Barely old enough to take care of himself, he took the last heirloom of his family. A pair of twin blades, obsidian black in color, nameless yet had always been passed down from generation to generation. One item of the family, never pawned off or lost to the ravages of increasing loss and poverty. Some would have seen that as a sign, but all Ansgar saw was a means of sustaining himself. Joining up to a mercenary company, he fell in fast company with a scout within the group, who adopted the lad as the son she had never had. The woman would drill him mercilessly on the arts of combat with two blades, and alongside the work the company did, the woman was the closest the now young man had ever seen as a real mother figure.

Most of everyone he ever cared about were lost during an ill fated expedition into the Deep Roads. A man claiming himself a Grey Warden had appeared and hired on the mercenary company to help with an expedition into the Deep Roads, and while Ansgar distrusted the aloof figure, he was not in charge. The company master took his coin, and they made their way to the dwarven city of Orzammar, where the Grey Warden secured entry into the Deep Roads. After many nights of uneventful, if tense and suspenseful travel, everything went to hell in a handbasket. Hordes of Darkspawn beset the band of mercenaries, and the Grey Warden vanished into the stone, as far as anyone was concerned. Left to die, the company sold their lives dearly and only the arrival and intervention of the Legion of the Dead prevented Ansgar himself perishing. But he had to personally put his mentor down, the woman had succumbed to the Taint and had to be slain, lest grave horrors took her over. So Ansgar put her down, and died inside, losing that last bit of humanity. Only the council of the Legion members present dissuaded the young man from throwing himself into the Darkspawn infested Deep Roads, instead retreating to the surface to seek vengeance against the one who had cost him his adopted family.

That Grey Warden, or the one who claimed to be one, had to be somewhere. Ansgar had coin, all he could carry from the dead fellows from his old company, and it was spent towards finding this man. His life would become a blur of violence and warfare at this point, the increasingly jaded and unfeeling man growing into a known figure amongst the mercenary circles. A man, bearing the tattoos of a lost company, blades of black that pale in comparison to his soul and heart. More often than not he worked for little coin, lashing out against any who could have provided information on this faux Warden, according to his early research. But it did not lessen his hatred and disdain for the Grey Wardens in general, and he had icy, if barely peaceful, interactions with the few he crossed paths with in his search for this faux Warden. During a siege he would eventually find the man, and after a long battle he would finally have his vengeance, years of training and experience in the art of dueling winning him the day. But he felt no relief, no respite, and he wandered on. An aimless figure, working for whomever would hire him.

Ansgar was a living revenant, without a cause or purpose. So he made his own purpose and goal. He would be the single most effective duelist and fighter in the land, or he would die in the process. He had nothing else, no legendary cause to follow, vengeance was already claimed and did nothing for him, it was a sad tale of a vengeance that failed to do anything for the seeker. But it was one rarely told, as the Duelist wandered to wherever conflict and violence could be had, testing himself against the worst that said areas and conflict had, before moving on like the ghost he felt like he was. Life or Death meant little, and as his skill improved and the odds of his death in combat grew slimmer against ordinary foes, he considered descending into the Deep Roads, never to return when the quakes began and Darkspawn swarmed. The duelist threw himself against the creatures, fighting left and right alongside whomever dared to stand against the Darkspawn with him, and while they were pushed back he was already a known figure amongst the soldiers mustering against such an invasion. When the call went out, Ansgar answered, as it was the single greatest threat to ever face the land while the duelist yet lived. Perfect for either pushing himself to the next level, or finally dying.

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