Working on a post now, seems like every time someone shows up, guns get pointed at Smiles!
Eisenhorn
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And posted, just for reference folks, italicized stuff isn't being spoken out loud, or at all. It's just mental though processes, foreign to Ansgar's thoughts.
"...Ignore the mortals plight, spill their blood...
...Warden blood is little better than Darkspawn...
...Blood is blood, empower yourself through us..."
"Be still for one Maker forsaken day, curse you all." Ansgar Staudinger muttered to himself, walking the lonesome road to the Tevinter Border Fort and having no company besides the demonic voices in his head. They had grown restless as of late, knowing full well bloodshed was coming and were yet kept in check by his will. The foreboding figure walked at a brisk pace, with clear purpose as the fort grew larger as he closed the distance between himself and the staging area for the push into Tevinter. And the Darkspawn area, he could tell the demons were eager to spill the blood of such corrupt creatures. That typically overrode their desire to kill everything that wasn't them, or in this case Staudinger himself included, which made fighting alongside allies blessedly easier to accomplish, more so than the constant struggle of wills to keep his body from turning the great, abyss black greatsword on his back onto those around him as well as those blatantly opposing him. The blade sat heavy on his back, the weapon sheathed yet still was clearly a unique piece of work, not related to any normal forge pieces made for large numbers of soldiers. His armor also stood out, older in design, rebuilt out of old Ferelden Knight's armor that had seen better days, but was just as good as the armor anyone today would wear. Without the embellishments and useless add ons beyond his small shoulder cloak wrapped around his shoulders. It was the remains of his old regiment's standard, reclaimed from Ostagar after the blight was broken, and worn in memory of them, as the last of their ranks.
Entering the fort, as Staudinger was expected as he had responded to the summons before his arrival, he noticed the sheer diversity in troops. Wardens, obviously going to be present, dwarves didn't surprise him either. They had an entire legion dedicated to the slaughter of Darkspawn, to an extreme those who have not met the legionnares could unlikely fathom. Regular men from the Anderfells, too, but he did not put them down at all. Regular soldiers held the line if heroes were needed to win wars, and rarely got the recognition they deserved. He knew that from personal experience, having been one of those faceless mass of soldiers that would fight day in and day out, for little recognition and not much better in pay and reward. But there was little to be done for it, after all, he was but one man, nearly broken so many times he teetered on that precipice constantly now, and that would not change anytime soon. So as he walked, ignored and even feared by some of the men he passed, for the abomination he had become, he did not make their days any worse than they already were. Instead, he heard the call away for a Darkspawn scouting party, and broke into a run that was deceptively fast for his armor, towards the walls.
The flight of Griffons surprised him, he certainly had never seen one in the flesh and had dismissed them as a fairy tale these days. Then again, with the past years events seeing plenty of so called legends becoming real, all too real for his tastes at times, the fact the Wardens had gone and tamed Griffons was not nearly as off putting or surprising as he could have let it be. The Darkspawn were shredded with no casualties on the part of the defenders, thankfully, and once the Wardens landed he spotted a Dalish elf amongst them. That was the Warden he was supposed to be reporting to, and the armored knight approached the Warden, electing glances and unease in anything near him, from his presence alone. Stopping several paces away, he spoke surprisingly quietly, and yet was clearly heard despite that. The distance was reinforced by the Griffon's wing around the elf. It wasn't too surprising, really, a Dalish in tune with the natural beings such as these. "Warden Daeron, I presume? Ansgar Staudinger, of Ferelden. I answer the call to arms."
"...Griffon's blood, old blood, strong blood..."
...Warden blood is little better than Darkspawn...
...Blood is blood, empower yourself through us..."
"Be still for one Maker forsaken day, curse you all." Ansgar Staudinger muttered to himself, walking the lonesome road to the Tevinter Border Fort and having no company besides the demonic voices in his head. They had grown restless as of late, knowing full well bloodshed was coming and were yet kept in check by his will. The foreboding figure walked at a brisk pace, with clear purpose as the fort grew larger as he closed the distance between himself and the staging area for the push into Tevinter. And the Darkspawn area, he could tell the demons were eager to spill the blood of such corrupt creatures. That typically overrode their desire to kill everything that wasn't them, or in this case Staudinger himself included, which made fighting alongside allies blessedly easier to accomplish, more so than the constant struggle of wills to keep his body from turning the great, abyss black greatsword on his back onto those around him as well as those blatantly opposing him. The blade sat heavy on his back, the weapon sheathed yet still was clearly a unique piece of work, not related to any normal forge pieces made for large numbers of soldiers. His armor also stood out, older in design, rebuilt out of old Ferelden Knight's armor that had seen better days, but was just as good as the armor anyone today would wear. Without the embellishments and useless add ons beyond his small shoulder cloak wrapped around his shoulders. It was the remains of his old regiment's standard, reclaimed from Ostagar after the blight was broken, and worn in memory of them, as the last of their ranks.
Entering the fort, as Staudinger was expected as he had responded to the summons before his arrival, he noticed the sheer diversity in troops. Wardens, obviously going to be present, dwarves didn't surprise him either. They had an entire legion dedicated to the slaughter of Darkspawn, to an extreme those who have not met the legionnares could unlikely fathom. Regular men from the Anderfells, too, but he did not put them down at all. Regular soldiers held the line if heroes were needed to win wars, and rarely got the recognition they deserved. He knew that from personal experience, having been one of those faceless mass of soldiers that would fight day in and day out, for little recognition and not much better in pay and reward. But there was little to be done for it, after all, he was but one man, nearly broken so many times he teetered on that precipice constantly now, and that would not change anytime soon. So as he walked, ignored and even feared by some of the men he passed, for the abomination he had become, he did not make their days any worse than they already were. Instead, he heard the call away for a Darkspawn scouting party, and broke into a run that was deceptively fast for his armor, towards the walls.
The flight of Griffons surprised him, he certainly had never seen one in the flesh and had dismissed them as a fairy tale these days. Then again, with the past years events seeing plenty of so called legends becoming real, all too real for his tastes at times, the fact the Wardens had gone and tamed Griffons was not nearly as off putting or surprising as he could have let it be. The Darkspawn were shredded with no casualties on the part of the defenders, thankfully, and once the Wardens landed he spotted a Dalish elf amongst them. That was the Warden he was supposed to be reporting to, and the armored knight approached the Warden, electing glances and unease in anything near him, from his presence alone. Stopping several paces away, he spoke surprisingly quietly, and yet was clearly heard despite that. The distance was reinforced by the Griffon's wing around the elf. It wasn't too surprising, really, a Dalish in tune with the natural beings such as these. "Warden Daeron, I presume? Ansgar Staudinger, of Ferelden. I answer the call to arms."
"...Griffon's blood, old blood, strong blood..."
I'll try and have a post up after I get back from dental/medical today.
In
You are sitting in the back of a cop car with the avatar above... (Game)
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11 yrs ago
Forum: Spam Forum
Can't you make for the abyss, ser Artorias? Kind of your namesake, at this point.
In
You are sitting in the back of a cop car with the avatar above... (Game)
→
11 yrs ago
Forum: Spam Forum
It's sorcery, Artorias. Bigger on the inside then it is on the outside.
Stukov cursed as he ducked a piece of burning debris, an overhead support strut by the looks of it, as it half collapsed and blocked part of the hallway. And damn near took his head off as well. Smiles had stormed off, and without any extinguishers of his own to beat back the flames it was a rather perilous trek back through this forsaken burning building. Falling debris trying to kill him did not help in the slightest either, and he could feel the sweat dripping off his face and around the rebreather as he ran to try and catch up with the others. He would be the last one out of the building, considering he had also been the first one into the place it would make sense he would be the last one out, considering the deteriorating conditions. That trinket that Smiles had found lingered in the back of his head, it had just felt wrong in his gut, to put it metaphorically, and he would try to figure out why later. Moving with agility he finally made it out of the building, having missed the assassination attempt on Boss, but having heard the yelling on about it. He stepped out of the burning building, spotting the downed rogue Arbites, and saw the vest just in time to realize what was about to happen. And not enough time to really get away either, not fully. "Oh that is just fucking...."
Stukov either didn't finish the sentence, or no one could hear him finish it, as he went the only direction he could in the face of the bomb blast. Right back into the burning building, having thrown himself back towards uncertain injury instead of certain injury, possibly death, in the face of a suicide bomb. Granted, the pressure wave from the explosion threw him into a door frame, lacking the time to brace, the shield, and armor that Boss had to resist the blast wave and shrapnel from it. Stukov groaned, forcing himself upwards despite the fact he had some shrapnel embedded in his carapace chest plate. Grabbing the chunk, he wrenched it out and could find no blood. Good, it hadn't gone through, and all his gear was somehow intact. A damn miracle, there, but the main doorway was bust, damaged and half buried in now burning debris. Not much time, had to get clear, and Stukov ran into the room he had already been half thrown into, heading for the window and smashing it out with the stock of his autogun before vaulting out, wincing and coughing again as he landed. Great, impact probably agitated things again.
"That was eventful, a little forewarning next time might be nice. One plate of carapace off from having a piece of dead traitor wedged in my lung." Stukov checked himself over properly to take stock of how much damage he had taken. Minor burns and singe marks on his clothing and armor, the coughing had reared its ugly head again, all gear intact, minor scrapes and cuts from being tossed bodily into a burning building by suicide bomb, overall, another miserable day. Checking over his gear, he glanced at Smiles, protected from the blast by Boss, and spoke directly to her, tone calmer after having a chance to get his breath back in his lungs. "Want to run Boss by what you found, Smiles?"
Stukov either didn't finish the sentence, or no one could hear him finish it, as he went the only direction he could in the face of the bomb blast. Right back into the burning building, having thrown himself back towards uncertain injury instead of certain injury, possibly death, in the face of a suicide bomb. Granted, the pressure wave from the explosion threw him into a door frame, lacking the time to brace, the shield, and armor that Boss had to resist the blast wave and shrapnel from it. Stukov groaned, forcing himself upwards despite the fact he had some shrapnel embedded in his carapace chest plate. Grabbing the chunk, he wrenched it out and could find no blood. Good, it hadn't gone through, and all his gear was somehow intact. A damn miracle, there, but the main doorway was bust, damaged and half buried in now burning debris. Not much time, had to get clear, and Stukov ran into the room he had already been half thrown into, heading for the window and smashing it out with the stock of his autogun before vaulting out, wincing and coughing again as he landed. Great, impact probably agitated things again.
"That was eventful, a little forewarning next time might be nice. One plate of carapace off from having a piece of dead traitor wedged in my lung." Stukov checked himself over properly to take stock of how much damage he had taken. Minor burns and singe marks on his clothing and armor, the coughing had reared its ugly head again, all gear intact, minor scrapes and cuts from being tossed bodily into a burning building by suicide bomb, overall, another miserable day. Checking over his gear, he glanced at Smiles, protected from the blast by Boss, and spoke directly to her, tone calmer after having a chance to get his breath back in his lungs. "Want to run Boss by what you found, Smiles?"
In
You are sitting in the back of a cop car with the avatar above... (Game)
→
11 yrs ago
Forum: Spam Forum
Was it because you told em, mate? Got this feeling being in direct eye contact of you is a bad idea...
Looks like Stukov will be walking into a bomb vest going off, lucky him!
Hmm, I'll try to have a post up sometime today.
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