[center][h1][i][color=598527]Ansgar Staudinger[/color][/i][/h1][/center]

[color=598527]"Fire and Damnation...."[/color] The Ereb tactician muttered to himself as he was making his way to Dragonrage Pass. Quite the name, Ansgar mused, the reason for such a naming could be seen for a variety of manners. One story was the rage of one of the dragons created such a pass, fanciful, but unlikely. While the Manakate kind certainly took upon themselves the form of a dragon, Ansgar was not one to put faith in divine dragons. Nay, his faith was much simpler, and far more reliable. But that was for another day of consideration really, as he made his way through the brush. He didn't want to be caught out in the open should he find trouble rather than anything else going on. And it was wise to assume as such, trouble was all he would find as fate conspired to further delay his already late schedule. Of course he would stumble across trouble that intended to prevent him from progressing further, to try and make up time on his already late schedule.

Quite a few Gleivnir fellows, including one of their Warriors and the rest Footmen. Sure, a footman by himself was a laughable threat. But what appeared to be twenty five or so of them? Coupled with a Warrior leader? That would be, to an outside, casual glance, quite the threat indeed. However, there were a few key points that people tended to forget. Any group that relied on their leader overmuch, such as large groups of Footmen by virtue of their lack of actual skill outside fodder, could be vastly confused and scattered by a well placed blow to the head, or leader in this case. Gleivnir folk, thankfully, were not of Varjo and were not as heavily focused into fighting as those lot might be. From his hidden position, Ansgar noted a few more things. The royal guarding some abhuman girl, narrowing his eyes, he made out that it was, indeed, King Azure of Arachnea. Great, the tactician thought, this would make things more difficult. He could not leave a royal of an Concillium kingdom hanging in the breeze, as they say, but the numbers made this tricky. He suspected he spotted others beyond the footmen and their leading warrior, so he had a gambit he could play then. If they be friends, he would be able to buy time for the King and the incoming allies to strike at the exposed rear of the footmen. If they were foes, well, he'd figure that out. Buy time for the king and his ward to flee, then ditch the footmen and allies in the woods.

Deciding on a course of action, Ansgar quietly grasped his Arcthunder, focusing his attention on the Gleivnir warrior, opening his tome and feeling the energy pulse through his veins. This was what made him enjoy using magical tomes, the feeling that rushed in his veins. The knowledge that the storm was coming, and in this case, they would not even see it coming. A hold over from his families insistence on feeling the tide of war as much as knowing it objectively. Calling forward the energies from Arcthunder, his face twisted as he, with a motion, aiming the entire force of the Arcthunder strike straight down onto the head of the Warrior, guiding it with pinpoint precision from his hiding point. With the strike made, Ansgar was revealed as he was seen at the edge of the clearing, standing with tome in one hand, his Levin Sword in the other, glaring coldly at the footmen of Gleivnir descent. His tone was cold and harsh, carrying through the clearing in an attempt to route the Gleivnir forces in one strike. [color=598527]"Accosting a royal of any kingdom bears with it a heavy penalty, you men are aware, yes? Some of a harsher cut might even consider death the only suitable penalty. Flee, and we will not pursue. This is your only chance."[/color] The Erebian tactician fully suspected that they would not turn and run, so he had to hope that his plan and read on the situation was as accurate as he thought it was, or this could go south in a hurry. Not that he would let that kind of doubt show.