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"Dresh, ya' damn dog! At least don't break my fav-" was all that escaped in a high-pitched, somewhat girlish male voice, as the clatter and shattering of a wooden stool behaved as the herald to an explosion of splintered wood as Dresh slammed it on the back of a large, bulk-some fellow that almost matched Dresh in height. "Sorry, kid! Add it to my tab! Whoops, hold that thought!" Was the response from Dresh, a rather husky, deep and heavy voice that matched well with his features. Broad shouldered, his upper-torso bulky with muscle, deep chested, a lean and trimmed lower half of his body, and a chisled, high-profiled face with a rugged, deep beard that had a collection of several hues of red, blond, and brown. His hair was cut low and short, groomed very close to his skull and kept sharp. His often seen black hooded coat was absent, hanged off in his room just up above in the tavern's third floor, his red wool tunic with a deep "V' slash going down the middle exposing a well groomed yet thick display of chest hair, with a pair of darker red trousers that flared out at the bottom to allow comfort, mobility, and linger above his black, cow-hided hiking boots. It was another day of a brawl fight in the Wharf Rat, and not to the surprise of others, Dresh was right in the middle of it. Some people began to believe the man just wanted to try and get himself killed, just to see if it was even possible. In truth, or so that's what Dresh believed, he enjoyed a good thrill and a decent exercise and busting up a few people and earing some extra coin while he was it. That, and, it was a good way to get the lust drives kicking and the tavern whores and tramps hooked on a show of masculinity.
-The man whom was subjected to Dresh's stool-lashing was sent face-first to the floor, with only a peg-leg left in his right hand as he ducked just in time to dodge a very sloppy, unprofessional jab aimed at his skull's flank. He shifted his weight, dropped down lower and sweeped the man's legs out from underneath him, swiftly jumping back up to a regained state of posture to only transition into a swing with the peg leg at a man's head, knocking him out cold with one swift "thump" against his skull. He twisted around on the heels of his feet, only to get rushed by a large, ox-like man in a charge. The man lifted him up, and slammed him into a support beam's pole, cracking it slightly and producing a groaning ache from Dresh. "Fucker!" Escaped Dresh's lips harshly as he slammed the peg leg directly down onto the man's neck, producing a bone-crunching noise that most likely resulted in the man's untimely death, for he instantly went slack and fell sideways to the ground, Dresh barely escaping the man's grip before he was caught in the deadweight. Up and at it again, with a few men scattered about the common area's middle section, Dresh had his hands up in a mock of a stance, really just putting up the show instead of expecting another to come at him. After just a few seconds of a dead pause, the tavern went back to the usual hussle and bussle that they always carried. So, Dresh began to loot the spoils from the knocked out men -- the one he sent flying to the ground from kicking out his feet had already ran like a coward -- and started to walk off to the bar. A few people wave and called out to him, though for the most part no one else came up to him. Everyone knew, unless you were going to offer a job, spread your legs, or give him a drink, you don't stop Dresh from him and his ale.
-Most that frequent the tavern, knew of Dresh, and in turn knew of his constant fights he always held. There was a saying in no man's land that grew over the years, mostly around those that knew of Dresh's acomplishments and storied tales. "Follow a moan, you find a whore. Follow the blood, you find a closed door. Follow both, you'll find Dresh the Immortal!" Really, that all started up with a drunk "bard" who thought Dresh was the next big thing and his ticket to show-boating off fame and glory from another man's fame. Of course, you give the drunks something even remotely funny that's easy to remember, it spreads like the "clamp" does in a whore house. At first he tried to fight it down, but it became impossible, so he just rode with it. It had been, after all, nearly ten years since Dresh showed up in no man's land. Some said the demons and angels alike cried in woe and fear when the man strode into town, but really... He was just your usual sellsword who liked his women the same way he liked his ale: free, easy to hold, easy to handle, and puts you down for the whole damn night. The fact he hadn't lost a single duel yet, never turned down or failed a job, and never went out of his way to directly insult anyone who didn't have it coming to them, simply added to the mystery of the man called Dresh. "Sorry about your favorite stool there, kid." He said idly as he placed a sack of coins down on the table, one of the few he looted from one of the goons now left on the ground. They were starting to groan lightly, though the tavern's "bouncers" -- all they really did was clean up the mess left, espcially when it was Dresh's mess -- had already began to help them up and "kindly escort" them out of the tavern. With damaged egos and missing coin purses, it was going to be awhile before they showed their faces again.
-"When ya' goin' to stop callin' me a "kid", Dresh? I'm only a few years younger than ya', ya' know?" Said the still obviously young boy across the counter. The kid was apart of the family that ran the joint, and was a fast-made, forever-held companion of Dresh, mostly because he was always bullied and toyed with and never respected when he tried to collect tabs in the tavern, and always had to rely on his elder siblings. That was, of course, until Dresh showed up. In fact, it was one of the very first things that started to get Dresh's name around in the first place. It was a half-joke made on the kid's own whims, Jevia, about how he'd have a life-time discount on all drinks if he'd make people respect him. Dresh, being a man who loves his ale almost as much as women, took him up on his offer without a second thought. Since then, Dresh had secured himself an almost forever-his-own room up on the third floor -- a bit on the shabby side, and drafty, but a bed is a bed in this big old city -- an almost accepting family of thieves, cut-throats, whores, and business owners that belonged to the family that owned the tavern, and of course: ale that's cheap in cost, but moderate in flavor! "'Cause kiddo', ya' like the little brother I never had, yeah? Only seems right the older brother calls the younger one kid all the time. Right? Speaking of seems right, I'm missin' my ale. A bit heavy this time, yeah?" He gave the scrawny, short, very thin and baby-faced young man a toothy grin as he pulled over a stool to sit right up in front of him, waiting for his ale to be served up.
-For some reason, Dresh was happy today. Ready to explode with giddy color and elated desires. That only happened every so often, and usually that meant today was going to be his lucky day, or so said his gut. Frankly, this man's gut was never wrong, either.
