Description
Always wears his armor on top of forest green clothing. The gloves, boots, and shoulders are made from a hardened and tempered steel capable of flexing around the bodyso as not to break, and to increase mobility. The plates are also angled so as to deflect thrusts and to turn a strong, slashing strike into a glancing blow. Each piece has been enchanted in a different way, but each one has been made to be unbreakable
Personality
Generally hot-headed, Dresdon will use any excuse to get into it with someone. As a warrior outcast, he has an insatiable need to prove that he's stronger than the next person. He comes from Ivalice, where William Davis left after freeing the world from evil. Neither one is aware of the other, but Dresdon played a role in William and friends' success. He can usually be found brooding in Gambit's, just waiting for someone to rub him the wrong way. He will only connect with a female, as he won't fight a woman right-out, unless she proves to be worth his full effort. The woman's physical attractiveness, age and race/species has no bearing on this peculiar trait.
Equipment
Carries with him a large poleaxe, capable of slicing through tank armor like a hot knife through butter, when activated. Ordinarily, it is just a regular poleaxe, but when in combat, the edge of the blade glows orange, and is capable of inflicting 3rd degree burns, on contact. When cutting through an object, or an opponent, the edges of the blow will immediately be seared, and flesh will be cauterized, meaning the blood will be boiled away, and the wound burned closed. As a result, healing effects by magical means will be nigh impossible, especially where dismemberment is involved. Also carries a small knife to use as a tool, or for defence, should he lose his poleaxe.
Dresdon's boots have been enchanted to help him run faster and farther, without tireing. His shoulders have been enchanted to protect him from magical attacks, though they cannot cancel out all spells; they will simply mitigate the damage they would have done. Certain spells, such as those that inflict instant death, are nullified entirely. His cape alerts him to attacks from behind, or when a ranged attack is heading towards him, including projectiles, which can be sensed from up to a quarter of a mile away(it will warn him just before the projectile is launched; before the trigger is pulled, or, in the case of a bow and arrow/crossbow, before the arrow/bolt is released, giving him time, if only a split second, to dodge). His gloves grant him additional strength, putting him on-par with men fives times his size and build. This also allows him to swing his pole-axe faster, and with more precision.
When Dresdon is pushed to his limits, in combat, he will activate the true form of his poleaxe. The head will split into two identical blades, and the haft will split in half; each half attached to one head. Both blades will glow the same orange, and each one will still be as deadly as the poleaxe in it's whole form. Dresdon weilds each of these blades in either hand, and is able to move them much quicker than the poleaxe.
History
As a warrior, it was considered his duty to defend the world from the evil that beset it some years ago. Outnumbed by the forces of evil, his entire unit was destroyed, and he was left for dead. Despite this, he was exiled for failing in his duty to Ivalice. Later, he would return to help the heroes of Ivalice as they fought to liberate the land, but has yet to be reinstated as a soldier. Infuriated, he left Ivalice in search for greener pastures, and has wound up in Wing City, where he has become little more than a violent drunk.
So begins...
Dresdon Muren sighs as he takes a sip of the new whiskey in his right hand. His left hand rises up past the folds of his cape, revealing the half-finished whiskey, held in such a way to make it easy to throw. Setting this glass back on the counter, he turns back to what he was doing, before; drowning his sorrows.
Dresdon Muren stumbles from a nearby path into the ruins that now surrounded him. He was clearly intoxicated, his stride less than gracefull as his eyes travel around the place, not yet taking note of Isolde. He had come across these ruins once before, in the past, and had, since then, returned often. The markings that could be found, here were reminiscent of ancient artifacts from his world, which he missed, lately. In Desmond's han would rest a wineskin, which was half-full of boose, at the moment. He wanders around, slightly, before leaning up against a nearby wall, his gaze upturned towards the walls as he takes a small swig from the wineskin. His poleaxe lays asew upon his back, the hafl slightly protruding in front of him as he stands.
Dresdon Muren blanches as the arrow strikes the wineskin, catching fast in the tough animal hide it was made from, and causing some of the liquid to splash on him, slightly. "Oi!" He turns his head about wildly, searching for the source, when he spots Isolde. Trying to wipe the wine from himself as small dribbles of wine 'bleed' from the wineskin, he hollars in her direction, louder. "Oi! You punctured my wineskin, you blighter! The hell's'amatter with you?!" He stumbles, slightly in her direction, trying to stop the wineskin from leaking, as he does.
Dresdon Muren steps to one side as the arrow flies wide. Dresdon drops the wineskin to th ground, his hand coming around to grasp his poleaxe. "You cut that out, you hear me?" He draws the weapon before him, holding it towards her,though he is still far too distant to reach her. "You're starting to piss me off!"
Dresdon Muren scoffs, slightly, the poleaxe still pointed towards her. "An' how do you figure that?"
Dresdon Muren scowls as he watches her. In truth, he didn't enjoy fighting women, unless they could prove to be worthy opponents. So far, this brat was no different, though her attitude annoyed him, to no end. If anything, he could teach her a lesson in respect."What're you gonna do, deafen me with that toy?"
Dresdon Muren rolls his eyes, looking this way and that for any change. None would come.
Dresdon Muren stares at the horse as it arrives, galloping towards the girl at a steady pace. "Sooo?! Ooh, you can summon a pony, I've seen men summon one without a whistle. Unimpressed, child. I'll ask you, now; why did you attack me.." He turns back, a pained expression on his face. "And my -fucking- wineskin?! Uncalled for.."
Dresdon Muren rolls his eyes, again. "A -talking- pony. Quaint. Still unimpressed. I'll ask again; why did you attack me?!"
Dresdon Muren grunts as he lifts the poleaxe above his head, bringing it sweeping towards Isolde as she draws nearer. "ENough games!!" The poleaxe was still unactivated, meaning it was not in it's most dangerous state. Even so, with enough force, the blade could still cleave a human in two.
Dresdon Muren stumbles slightly as he readjusts the haft of his poleaxe in front of him, stopping the kick from connecting with his chest. The force of the impact sends him sliding backwards with great force, kicking up a small cloud of dust. As he slows to a half, he leans forward, offsetting his balance while holding the poleaxe in one hand. With a flicker, the edges of the blade begin to hum, slightly, and turn to a glowing orange. "You don't want to go down this path, child.."
Dresdon Muren sighs explosively as he spins the poleaxe before him, the glowing edge creating a dazzling trail around his body as he rushes forward bluntly. "Don't fool around!" In only a few bounds, he would be within range, and bring his poleaxe to bear down on Abbie while in her human form. He swings in a downward arc with surprising speed, for a weapon so large. Should the blade come in contact with her, it would be game over.
Dresdon Muren 's stroke continues, and would strike her near the collarbone, unless she had good sense to move out of the way. This stroke would continue through her body as a hot knife would, though butter, until her body was in two pieces.Not a pretty way to end, but at least there would be no blood. The poleaxe's edge would cauterize the wounds.
The Butcher of Wing City snarled a foul howl, echoing into the night as he arrived back upon the mortal plane. His boots crunched into the familiar hunting ground, carrying him forward into the darkness to find a new victim.
RPG
