Overwatch protects the world from all these violent threats...
Yet they seemed to have never heard of condoms...
Actually, they simply can't resist adopting free puppies from the street...
I mean what, Morrison has 2 adopted children (1 son; 1 daughters, (Hana doesn't exactly count as an OC technically)), Reyes has a daughter, Ana has adopted a son and a biological daughter Nefera (not counting Fareeha), Mei has a sister, hell even Raelene is a cousin to Junkrat.
Jeezus what will we have next? A son of Reinhardt? Daughter of Mako? A human-gorilla hybrid for Winston? Life finds a way for Bastion and Orisa to have omnic...
Ok never mind the last part, that I don't wanna know.
Or there is simply yet to be a condom that can handle the might of the Heroes of Overwatch!
Besides, orphans are the best for raising to follow in your footstep. No having to raise them through the crying baby stage, its rather efficient really.
The deft flap of wings carried a certain half dragon through the air, heading downwards towards the entryway into a certain town of Sunfire. Ansgar Staudinger mentally took a glance at his one side, a narrow blade pass having opened up a minor wound during that battle he had gotten caught up in. Some mad fellows, refused to do anything but fight to the last man, and one of them had gotten a sneaky shot in while the fellow was lying on the ground dying. Nothing deep, and it barely bled, but flying was exerting. Exertion opened up wounds if one wasn't careful, and even with his thicker than average blood, the last thing he needed was an open, oozing wound in the middle of the air. Apparently, from what the word was coming in from various places, this wasn't the only instance of battle mad folk running about, trying to loot, pillage, rape, the like, and that was not a good sign. It didn't take a soothsayer to see this was just the beginning, and he found himself muttering to, well, himself as he aimed to land a short walks away from the city entrance. No sense spooking anyone with an armed fellow like him literally falling from the sky. "A wicked wind this way comes. Question is, will it be a breeze, or a gale..."
Touching down just out of view of the main gate to Sunfire, not his usual visiting place but he could use a stiff drink while he recovered from his, albeit minor, injury, he proceeded forward. Hopefully, despite Sunfire cutting it rather close to Fotian territory, they would either not care for their criminals or, more likely, bounties, or not have ever caught wind or forgotten about such things. But approach the gates he would, requesting entry on grounds of seeking a place to rest after having gotten caught up in the fighting near Sunfire, which was likely treating the more badly injured. He had bandaged himself up well enough to suffice, so he wouldn't be wasting the healers time with a minor injury that would take care of itself. Not when there was likely far worse off folks more demanding of their attention. Assuming he was given access to the city, he would make his way to the Rest Easy, unimaginative name but hopefully true to its name. Walking in, he would remove his conical hat, out of respect for being indoors, and find a seat at the bar before producing several gold coins, the universally accepted ones minted on Fotia. "A stiff ale, when you have the moment. Thank you kindly."
Location: Overwatch Headquarters - Forks; Washington Interactions: Dr. Zeigler (@Vicier), Lucas Morrison and Fareeha Amari (@Caits), Erika Striker (@Kaithas), Winston (@Lmpkio), Asbjorn Hagen (@December), Văn Nguyệt (@Pirouette), Ajax Amari (@Ajax Amari), Genji (@Jacobite)
Ansgar watched the steady trickle of people coming in, not really thinking too much on the lot of them, nor did he greet them. The German was not the most sociable person in the world, not to say there weren't those that he approved of, rather, he just wasn't a chatty person beyond societal niceties. There were those he talked with when the opportunity presented itself, Dr. Zeigler being one of them, as she also spoke his native tongue, and one he was far more comfortable with, coupled with the fact she tended to disaprove of some of his habits. Which she was so quick to point out by not only blocking his coffee, but offering an apple to him instead and was making it very clear that, until he took it, she would not be getting off his case. Talk about the team mom, he smirked at the thought, knowing full well how amusing the thought wouldn't be if he had gone and spoken it. But, thanks to the respect he had for her, he kept his mouth shut for once, instead rolling his eyes and taking the apple, responding to her initially in German, though he answered anything she spoke in English using, well, English. "Lange Nacht, Doktor, meine Teile wieder fixieren. Und deine Nacht? Ich arbeite nicht zu hart?"
"You worry too much Doctor, between the vitamins and the cybernetics, I don't actually have to eat that much. I eat well during the main meal anyways. Besides, not a fan of apples, personally. Apple skin tends to get in my teeth, its rather troublesome, really." Was that the truth? Hell of Ansgar knew, he just wasn't that hungry outside of the one meal a day he actually ate properly at. Yet the good Doctor would always nag him about it, and he would usually take the apple or given item she was pushing to get her to stop nagging long enough to make said item vanish. He knew enough about his inner workings to repair them and keep them, well, working. The fine details and deep science of it? Well above his paygrade. He was quiet while she went about calling others out and giving out orders, the mention of refilling his vitamins and, alongside physicals which he knew he was do for, got a quiet sigh from him. He wasn't a fan of showing off the amount of work that went into keeping him alive, and being hooked up to the power the base used was never pleasant. The internal convertor never agreed with the base voltage, but it worked. Just wasn't fun.
"Well Doctor, do you want to see the physicals before, or after training? I'm sure the human Harrier over there has a grand old training plan for the ones staying behind today. And I'll have to see you for the prescription refill, regardless, so I'll try to not swing by when your too busy." Ansgar shot a look at Fareeha that would at least indicate that he was just poking fun. She was a strong soldier, even if she had that odd obsession with flying around, raining justice from above, all that nonsense. Really, a good bullet to the head or well placed rocket was far more efficient than that missile barrage she seemed to favor when backed against a wall. Then again, it was a damn sight more intimidating to see a wall of rockets coming from above, than just one. So he could argue it both ways, really. Being called tin man was nothing new, he was used to it on quite a few times from different people, so having it as a nickname again was really fine by him. Originally, because of his armor. Now, though? Being as much metal as he was man made the tine man moniker rather fitting really.
Having failed to find an opportunity to ditch the apple, he begrudgingly took a bite, after chewing a bit and washing it down with a swig of coffee, sighed and picked at his teeth briefly, dislodging some of the apple's skin that had gotten stuck in his teeth. This. This was why he didn't like apples, or anything with some sort of skin. Sighing to himself, he would either have to be more careful about the apple and its infernal ability to get in between his teeth, or stall long enough to pitch it and go about his business. He would have done the dishes, but Winston jumped in first. Rather funny, really, seeing a massive gorilla doing the dishes. Some might see the fact that one of the most famous members of Overwatch willing to do the dishes was humbling and inspiring. Ansgar? He thought it was funny to watch such an oversized figure working so carefully. He wasn't the best with dishes, the cybernetic arms tended to not give him feedback on how much pressure he was applying. Early on, he used to break things accidentally left and right, but now he had a better handle on it. Even so, delicate tasks were not the best for him. Outside of personal repairs of course.
The arrival of a certain ninja fellow caught an offhand glance from Ansgar. Anti social, or at least presented the appearance of not liking to socialize, and employed some rather strange techniques. He, personally, never understood throwing pointy bits of metal at people, or carrying a sword around anymore. The sword he didn't think too much about, after all, the Crusaders used rocket powered hammers, for Gods sake, so he wouldn't begrudge the fellow his toy. The pointy metal bits though, that was definitely odd. Why not take a suppressed weapon, if he was that concerned about being quiet? Certainly far less of a tell that someone of a very specific group had arrived, really. Then again, he wasn't sent on quiet missions typically, not anymore. "Well, if it isn't the glorious ninja, decided to join us! Und ich dachte ich war niemand um mit Leuten zu sprechen..." Whether the ninja understood the German or not was, well, not a concern really. He had made his point clear before that, typically, Ansgar did not even begin to try and understand the details of how Genji operated, but he also didn't try to make him change. If he got the job done, great, that was all that mattered to the German sergeant.
Well, happy belated b-day then! And I'm fond of Blues Saraceno, don't recall how I stumbled across them, but I think its fitting for a variety of reasons, theme wise.
Probably the Companions quest line, that tends to happen without much warning. Suddenly, werewolves. I'd be playing more Overwatch (Or Blizzard games period) but they have been giving me some serious latency issues lately, like to unplayable degrees. Nothing I've tried fixes it, and my other games work fine, so its specifically something with them. No idea what though, and it continues to bother me to this day. I try not to think about it too much haha.
I have yet to play ESO, personally, I'm still wandering my (albeit heavily modded) realm of Skyrim. Last I got on, a certain Khajit was wandering about, being a sneak thief. But, boredom demanded that said Khajit utilize a two handed mace at all times. Oddly more satisfying than just stabbing someone in the dark, really.
"I fight for no man but myself now. Not a king, not a god, no one. Never again shall I be slave for the entertainment of others, let them come and try to tell me otherwise."
Name: Ansgar Staudinger
Age: 80
Blood%: 40% - Dragon 40% - Tyro 20% - Oro
Gender: Male
Sex Preference: Hetero
Height: 6'1"
Weight: 220lbs unarmored
Physical appearance: Perhaps due to the intermingling of equal parts Tyro and Draconic blood, Ansgar's scales take on a fire red hue, matching the harshness of the off yellowish red eyes, though the left half of his face has scars from the time he was forced to remain within the arena. Standing bipedal still, he favors a more normal attire over revelling overtly in his draconic lineage, and his attire shows this. Wearing a wide brimmed conical hat to help conceal his face, though the wings give him away anyways, he wears a rather stiff looking uniform. The dull blue attire was taken from the Fotian mistress' slave driver after he killed him in his escape effort, the wraps covering scars from the irons used to restrain him. Other than the gold colored accents, the attire holds no actual purpose. Well worn, white trousers and boots finish his attire, covering him from neck to toe in material, all minimizing his exposure.
Personality: Ansgar is not the man he once was, having tempered the rage and fury of his slave fighting days. These days, he often prefers the taverns and seedier dives on the outskirts of kingdoms, such out of the way places often not attracting as much attention. He prefers the quiet relaxation a good tavern can provide, relaxing and keeping his name and reputation unheard. He is not a braggart, despite having good cause to brag, and does attempt to avoid a fight. But, should violence prove necessary, one can catch a glimpse of the passionate fury of old. He fights with no sense of honor or respect, taking any and all advantages in a fight to claim victory, regardless of how much any companions might frown upon it. Ganging up on an enemy, putting a dagger into their back when they turn away, gunning a man down as he runs, so long as it ends the conflict, he will see it done, and will gladly explain the why to those that might turn their nose up at such actions or dare raise a hand to reprimand.
Faction: None
Exp: Born into slavery, Ansgar was sold to the arena as the sight of his draconic blood, in Fotia no less, meant he would be ill received elsewhere. Trained by the task masters and other slave fighters from as young as he could hold his oversized sword, he was drilled and beaten and violated on more than one occasion for disobedience, subpar performance, or sheer whim. He developed not only sheer physical toughness and strength, but mental as well, refusing to break despite the abusive nature of his 'profession'. Having developed the physical and mental strength and durability to make it as a slave fighter, he had to prove it. Over twenty years in the arena, from the young age of sixteen, fighting, bleeding, and barely making survival happen at the cost of others. Despite his long running success, the Dragon blood marked him and prevented fame to come, forcing him to learn how to escape, and apply it. After raising the Arena and fleeing Fotia, he would wander, learning to survive in the wilds of most lands and maintain his equipment, doing odd jobs and mercenary work wherever he could. A graduate from the school of hard knocks, indeed, but he carries himself well despite it.
Pet: N/A
Spells: Fury of the Scorned - Ansgar only knows one spell, if it could be called that, and it was the only thing that kept him alive long enough to escape slavery. Taking the inner fire of his blood, from the Tyro and Dragon portions, he manifests the flames as a cloak that surrounds his form. Besides the obvious danger this poses to anyone close by or to anything flammable, the aptly named Fury unleashes the last 80 years of simmering rage, pushing him to the very limits of what he is capable of physically. Moving faster, moving greater loads, processing information faster, he forces his body into a state of overdrive. The more danger he is in, the more potent the effects. However, the aftermath when he releases the spell is potent, leaving him heavily drained and exhausted, taking a few days at least before he could even consider doing it again.
Abilities/Powers: - Heat Detection - Heat Resistance - Fire Breath - Resistance to Bleeding - Dense, metallic Horns - Binocular Vision - Potent Sense of Smell - Scales highly resistant to both Heat and Cold, stacking onto his natural resistance to heat. - Wings, claws and strength fitting a Dragon blooded of his size - Mastery of his Sword
Weapons: Unnamed Blade - A weapon that Ansgar has had for as long as he can remember, it was the weapon given to him to fight in the arena for the glory and profit of his owner. A rigid, straight blade with only one edge sharpened, the weapon has no ornamentation or fancifulness in design, being forged solely as a war sword. Large for your average Descendant, the blade itself is just over four feet in length, with ten inch hilt and lacking any sort of guard at all, it would not likely be found or even liked by most conventional soldiers or enforcers. However, with training and experience, Ansgar has not only proven it to be viable, but even surpassing other warriors when blades are crossed.
History: Born a Slave, Ansgar was thrown into the Arenas of his homeland of Fortia, expecting to be dead by his early thirties, and that was being generous. Yet, survive the dragon blooded would, spite and anger carrying him when tactics and reason failed. Even those that tried to bleed him dry on the arena floor found his blood thicker than expected, enough of the Oro blood keeping him from bleeding easily enough for the arena fighters. Always forced to fight without armor, he would accumulate many scars where the scales failed to cover, or failed to protect at times. Yet, in time, he would find an opening after a particuraly nasty fight in the arena, killing the handler assigned to him by his mistress and owner, and escaping in the confusion as he used the fire breath of his lineage to melt the locks of those not confined in cells designed to resist such things. The ensuing revolt would be readily put down, of course, but the instigator was gone, and the man who was to control and watch him, stripped of useful possessions and mutilated. A simple message carved into his chest, something that Ansgar would live by during his wandering, regardless of the happenings of the world. Also serving as a gauntlet thrown to his owner, a dare that she come after him carved into the flesh of her confidant in controlling him. "Unbound and Free"
Ansgar has a rather intense fascination with all things technological, any chance he can get to get his hands on such things, he often spends much of his free time tinkering and manipulating the devices in question, to learn their inner workings. He would go to great lengths to get his hands on an Advanced Apparatus of any sort.
Member
Zeus23
Not a Sayan
Fading Memory
CrypticMeaning
Lurking Krog
Ariamis
Lunamaria Hawke
