[BlueSword]

Name: Aoi Nihoto
Age: 18
Description: Aoi is of a slight frame and built. Narrowed down by his light diet and hard lifestyle. At 5'8 and close to 140 pounds he holds a slight malnourished look as of late. His skin is pale and usually stained with blood he's too tired to clean off. His clothing is battered and often patched together, and his only armor is a dented and fragmented shoulder pauldren, black from soot. His weapons are the only clean thing on him. A katana, with a blue scabbard and pommel, and a matchlock rifle, almost as tall as Aoi.

Background: Aoi lived in a small village in Zlato, near the borders of Hneda. The village often had raids from bandits in Hneda, and as such, they had a large amount of militia. Aoi was a member of that Milita since he was 16, and he had often faught off bandits in the two years before the villages destruction by a damned dragon. Ever since that happened he had been on the move, killing bandits and the occasional black dragon. He has no partner dragon, and has no friends as far as anyone can tell. Occasionally he'll appear at a village under a raid or a dragon attack, and leave as soon as the bandits had been driven off.

The beast roared angerily at me. It's painful wail of rage rocked me slightly, and gave me the slightest of smiles. The smoking rope from my matchlock fills my nose with something other then the toxic stench of death. The smell of gunpower fueled me, as I laid my rifle down respectfully.
The dragon had already destroyed most of the village when I came. Mostly it was chewing on dead bodies, eating what it found to be of flavor. Disgusting beast. I had managed to sneak up on it, the smell of blood and soot and death clogging it's nose as I raised my rifle, and fired.
The round had punctured his neck, not enough to kill him sadly, but that spinning ball had flown through and snapped a wing bone with a wonderful sounding crack. It was stuck, dangerous, but stuck. As I approached the black dragon looked at me with a snort of anger, and rose up to roar again in defience.
I responded by pulling my katana out of it's sheath, it's blade glisting in what little light punctured the smoke of the fires. The dragon looked at me, and then lunged it's neck.
Only the sound of cackling fire greeated me after I sidestepped the mosster and cut it's neck in two where I had shot it. Sweet dark blood splashed all over me and my sword, as the neck sprayed like a stream.
I lift my head in thanks to the gods, and cleaned my blade, retrieved my gun, and set off into the black grass once more.