[BlueSword]

I relish the smell of triumph, it means one small piece of revenge, one small piece of joy, for my mind to savor, however briefly. Rifle and sword slung to my back, I journeyed across the plains of Ziato, deserted aside from the sound of maggots and the stench of death.

Ziato is a dead land, decaying perpetuating and reveling in its own demise. Damned dragons, my immortal enemies ruled hear, keeping this place trapped between life and death. Now I stalked the border, looking for new killing grounds, places where I can engage one on one, where I can win, where I can kill. THe wind rustled and I looked up, seeing the dark shape of a dragon flying above me. Grinning I unslung my rifle, and slipped in a large iron ball, and lifted the rifle. A soft snap, and and the rifle threw the bullet like a dragon threw fire.