Berk's Forumvine

Drago
Under the cover of night, and my dragonskin cloak, I snuck silently into the Berserker village. But I couldn't just take Kran's brother, and murder his mother. This required sneakiness. Cunning.

A peal of deep, drunken laughter split the otherwise silent night air. It sounded like it was coming from what the Vikings called the Great Hall. Perfect... I walked up the long flight of stairs leading to the massive double doors, and pushed them open. Looking around the room, I growled softly in puzzlement. Hmmmmm. No Chief here. But what there was, was a lot of drunken Vikings. Some of them had passed out on tables; others were busy quaffing as much mead as they could until they ended up like the former. To put it simply, everybody there would be too drunk to even hear me, let alone acknowledge my presence- which they'd still failed to do.

So I would have to make myself be acknowledged.

I walked around the room, making myself visible to everyone. I expected the usual; for everyone to freeze in fear, and stop talking immediately. When that didn't work, I stopped in the centre.
"AAAAAHHHHH!!!!!" I screamed.
There was actually some form of response. One Viking who was on the edge of becoming drunk shuffled towards me.
"What?!" he demanded.
Inside my head, I was screaming, How dare you address the Dragon God like that!, but I told myself to stay calm. Don't explode yet, Drago. Yet.
"I am looking for the Chief of your... wonderful tribe." I told him.
"Oh!" he laughed. "That's me!"
"You... are the Chief...?" I asked increduously.
"Yep! Well, just the temporary one- the old one disappeared mysteriously..."
"So... what exactly are you celebrating?" I questioned, ignoring what he'd said. Don't mention Dagur.
"We're celebrating the death of the hiccup!" he yelled excitedly. "His father should be back anytime now."
I sighed, in fake sadness. "Such a shame."
"No it isn't! The hiccup is dead!" Suddenly, his face fell, as he saw that my face still retained the same expression. "What happened?!"
"I saw it all from my island..." I said ruefully.
"What? What did you see?"
"The baby's father could not bring himself to kill his only son, so he... killed himself instead-"
"TREASON!" the Chief bellowed.
My head snapped up with the shock that he'd actually dared to interrupt me, but I forced the anger in my eyes to fade.
"Is the punishment for treason... death...?" I asked, in what I hoped was an offhand way.
"Yes. That's two counts of treason. One; he failed to kill the hiccup- which is cowardice. For that, his other son, who is also a hiccup, will die. Two; he killed himself- that's suicide. His wife will die for that."
"Surely, great Chief of the Berserker tribe," I purred, "you must be very busy, filling in for the old one-"
Shut up. I've said too much about Dagur.
"-which means that you may not have much time, or indeed, any time at all, to carry out these executions. As such, and because I am such a good person, I will offer to kill the other baby hiccup, if only you will give him to me."
He considered this.
"Hmmmmm... I guess you're right. I'll get one of the barmaids to fetch the little runt."
A small gleam flickered behind my sad eyes, like the embers of a dying fire- or a fire which people were dying in- but this went unnoticed. He promptly shuffled off.

Outside, I could hear the sound of death- the baby's mother being killed- and also a baby crying. It was shoved into my hands by the barmaid, who quickly walked away, out of the Hall. The Chief was standing awkwardly beside me.
"Errrrr... are you going to do it now...?" he asked.
"There will be a death today...." I admitted.
His eyes lit up with bloodthirsty glee.
"...but not the baby's."
Walking to the doors of the Hall, I opened them, and walked out.

Once outside, I wrapped myself in my cloak- to summon the death sentence.

How I wish that this baby could not cry, like his brother, I thought as I stepped off the ship with said sobbing bundle of furs in a soldier's arms.
"SHUT UP!!!!!" I screamed into its face once again, as I had been doing for gods-knows-how-long.
It gasped, and its blue eyes grew wide, at the sight of me; a terrifying mountain of a man with a scarred face looming over him, who had just been yelling at levels which hurt his ears.
And then it started crying again.
"WHY WON'T IT OBEY ME?!" I roared. "EVERYTHING ELSE DOES! DRAGONS AND SOLDIERS OBEY ME WHEN I SCREAM! SO WHY DON'T BABIES?!?!?!?!?!"
"T-the answer might be, sir," a soldier began shakily, "that it did not stop crying when you went up to it and screamed at it because you're so terrifying."
"Don't try to flatter me." I growled. "That was not the case."
He wisely did not say anything more, except, '"Of course, sir.'"
Ignoring him- luckily for the soldier- I walked over once again to the baby, which had quietened finally, sensing that something important was to happen- which it was.
"Which dragon should it be raised with?" I asked- and then I answered my own question.
For I had looked at the baby's eyes. I had known that they were blue, like his brother's, and like all newborn babies- but his brother's eyes were sea-blue- and this baby's eyes were electric-blue; the same colour of the lightning which had nearly killed me, and had melted my metal arm and staff. I explained this to the soldier. He agreed, like he was expected to.
"Now, what shall I name you?" I asked the little runt nastily- and answered my own question yet again."Pahun. Pahun; the Fifth Hiccup- that will be your name. Take it to be raised with some Skrills, for that is his tribe's dragon- he is a Berserker; although he has more Outcast in him than his brother."
The soldier did as I said, although he was probably wondering why I had just told him to deliver the baby into a deathtrap.

"Last evacuation ship leaving!"
"Come on, come on, get the baby in!" a voice shouted; it belonged to a man who was running across the red, rocky ground speckled with Exterminator eggs, towards the last ship, his wife doing much the same behind him, carrying their baby in her arms. Suddenly, she tripped over an egg with a cry- and the baby flew out of her arms, its landing on the ground punctuated by a loud, terrible CRACK - which meant only one thing.
"THE EXTERMINATORS ARE COMING!" bellowed the man who was evacuating everyone; the person who had warned that the last evacuation ship was leaving. But as he said this, there came many more, thousands more, terrible CRACKs, deafening in their number.
Two Exterminator eggs grouped together behind the baby's mother hatched, as did the one she had tripped over- and she gasped to see the monster dart over to her on new legs, yet ones that were eager to murder, fix her with a furious stare, and run over to her baby, flanked by its brother-hatchlings, giving her a last malicious look, as if in mocking.
"No!"she cried, as they all swarmed around him. The leader raised his claw, poised over the crying baby's throat, ready to cut-

"STOP!" roared a voice.

A man, concealed in a dragonskin cloak, walked slowly up from the beach, bending double every now and then to release a hacking cough from his throat.

"Who are you?" asked the Chief, hand paused from gently pushing a child into the last ship. "An escaped slave? Perhaps that is why you are coughing so much!"
"No, great Chief of the Lava-Louts," managed the man, before erupting into another coughing fit. "I am not an- escaped slave. I have come- to sell you some- slaves, however."
"Really?" enquired the Chief, slightly suspiciously. "Hmmmm... you're not one of our regular traders."
"Indeed, sir," the man replied, amid another bout of coughing. "How intelligent- you are to notice- that. More intelligent- than your fellow Chiefs." The man smiled charmingly, and the Chief smiled back, pleased at the compliment. "I am not one of your- regular traders, or indeed- one who has come before- I am but a simple- wanderer, collecting slaves in my ship-" he gestured to the ship in the water behind him, "and selling- them to great Chiefs such as- yourself."
"Excellent!" exclaimed the Chief, rubbing his hands together in evil glee. "How many are there? We'll gladly take them all for any price you would like, for we are fleeing this place, and will need many to build a new village on another island." He stepped forwards- but the man extended a metal arm, tipped with sharp, gleaming claws. Glancing at the arm, his scarred face contorted in an effort to make the smile that followed this action as charming as possible, rather than a grin of evil malice and pleasure- the one that would have usually followed.

"Ah, but my good, wise, intelligent Chief," simpered the man apologetically, "you cannot go- to see them."
"Why not?" demanded said Chief, his own face contorting, into a scowl- but lifting sympathetically as the man erupted into another coughing fit, and looked at him with pained green eyes.
"Because, I am afraid, the Exterminators do not want you- to leave this island. Why would they? You and your people are a, ah, worthy thing to kill. As such, the moment you set foot upon the beach- I am standing on, you will- sorry, would- be killed."
"We don't care about that!" the Chief responded, with the light of battle in his eyes.
"All we want to do is leave this cursed place, however many of us are left alive to do so!"
"But my Chief, as I will say once again to you," persisted the man, turning a growl of annoyance into a cough, "you would all be- killed. Not one of you- would be left alive. They are called Exterminators- for a reason."
"But you are standing on the very beach we would be killed on!" shouted someone. "How are you still alive?"
"Ah, my good villager," the man chuckled, managing to turn his laugh into a good natured one, instead of an evil one. "That is a very good- question. For it happens- that I have a way with the beasts. Not just- Exterminators, however. All- dragons. That is the only thing- keeping me from being murdered- where I stand."
All of the villagers gasped in awe and wonder, except the one who had just shouted out.
"Show us, then!" he challenged.
"Very well." the man replied. "I will show you. For I am a man- of the people, and I will do what you ask- me to."
The villagers cleared a path for the man to walk past, towards where the three Exterminator hatchlings were.
When the leader hatchling saw the man towering over it, its claw slipped in fear, and instead of cutting the baby's throat, it gashed its right cheek. The man snarled at it in response, and the Exterminator hatchling prepared to spring. As its paws left the ground, the man calmly moved his staff, and the point of it impaled the hatchling.

Disdainfully, the man pulled the dead Exterminator off of the hook of his staff, holding it between finger and thumb, leaving blood. The villagers gasped once again- but the other villager still didn't join in.
"So? You killed one! That's all you did!"
"I will show you- my way with them, then." the man replied- and unleashed a mighty yell from his throat, swinging his staff around his head as he did so. "AAAAAHHHHH!!!!! AAAAAHHHHH!!!!!"
After this, he erupted into yet another coughing fit, the largest and longest and loudest one yet.
"Might I ask why you are coughing so much, my good friend?" the Chief asked, walking over to the man, and ignoring the Exterminator hatchlings, for they had their heads bowed in their thousands.
"It is the fumes- from the volcano-" the man responded- but suddenly, the sea started churning up. A look of horror and anger formed on the man's face as he realised what was happening, and he frantically started gesturing downwards with his metal arm and snarling as softly as he could, saying "Go away! Go away!" between misshapen yellow gritted teeth. Eventually, the sea obeyed, and was calm again.
What was that?" the Chief questioned.
"NOTHING!" the man bellowed- but then he composed himself. "N-nothing, at all. It- it just happened to be a passing Sea-dragon- a Scauldron, yes, that's it, a Scauldron, that was going to emerge out of the water and blast you. But since I have my way with them"- he glared at the villager who had challenged him- "I was able to drive it off."
"Ah, that's good," the Chief replied. "Narrowly avoided a sticky- or should I say wet- situation there, didn't we?"
"We certainly did, great Chief." the man responded.
"Anyway, about your coughing..." the Chief said. "You said something about it being the fumes from the volcano that were causing it."
"Yes." the man replied gravely.
"But that means..." the Chief gasped, "If the fumes are in the air, then that means..."
"Yes...?" asked the man, carefully concealing a canister of Zippleback gas inside his cloak.
"THE VOLCANO IS ABOUT TO ERUPT!!!!!" screamed the Chief. "EVERYONE, MAKE FOR THE BEACH, NOW THAT THIS GREAT MAN HAS ENSURED THE EXTERMINATORS WILL NOT KILL US!"
The villagers and the Chief were so terrified, and preoccupied in running to the beach, that they did not see the man reach into his cloak and take out the Zippleback gas, spraying it around as much as he could without moving anywhere. Then he pointed his staff at the volcano, as if willing it to cease its eruption- when he was actually pointing at some Monstrous Nightmares flying near the volcano- yet too far away for the Chief and the villagers to have seen while they were talking with the man. The Nightmares scoured the ground with their fire, so that it looked like lava was running down the hill. The flames caught the Zippleback gas, and created an explosion.

In the smoke and ash that followed, nobody saw the man screaming "AAAAAHHHHH!!!!! AAAAAHHHHH!!!!!" at the top of his voice, swinging his staff around his head once again, a cough strangely not occurring after this had been completed. What did occur, however, was the emergence from the water of a huge beast, concealed from the sight of the Chief and the villagers with the smoke and ash- but they could still hear and feel the tremors from the ground, as it walked over to its master, perfectly well. Only they thought it was an earthquake, and this of course only served to make them run faster. They were just beginning to reach the sea now.

The man pointed his staff at the sea, and his beast stomped over to it, surprisingly quickly for one of its size.
As soon as the Chief and the villagers got into the boats, they became aware of a huge shadow circling them, as easily as if they were just in one boat, not dozens. The sea began to churn up, even more so than it was doing already, drowning some villagers in the process; tipping their boats upside down.

Once all the villagers had been drowned, the great beast emerged from the sea, and turned its giant head towards its master. The man pointed his staff at the only one left alive- the Chief- and in that moment, their eyes met.
"You- tricked- me..." snarled the Chief, barely able to speak for anger and disbelief.

The man simply smiled crookedly- and then the Chief became entombed in ice, along with the drowned forms of all the villagers- an ice sculpture, if you will, depicting the man's latest mass murder.

Drago Bludvist walked away from the beach, and up onto the mainland, onto the only section that he had not ordered his Nightmares to scour with fire- for that was were the baby was, its crying the only sound that remained in the wasteland. Drago picked up the baby, and growled in annoyance at the baby's still continuing cries. He opened his mouth to scream at the baby- but then had a better idea.

He held up the baby to his Bewilderbeast, which was stomping along behind him like a gigantic faithful puppy. The dragon growled to see the even-tinier-than-usual human with flaming red hair, and it ceased its crying- for good, unlike his black-haired foster brother.
After the baby had been quietened, Drago simply walked off, not bothering to search around for survivors- for he assumed there were none.


But he was wrong.


The baby's father and mother and grandfather were pressed against a rock, cowering in the tiny piece of land that had not yet become a torrent of lava-like flame. One Nightmare, which did not apparently feel like obeying its master's orders, scoured this piece of land- although his master had ordered it and the other dragons to stop- and after doing so, promptly flew off, away from his master, to an island.

The baby's family ran, as fast as they could, onto the flames the other dragons had created, which were now cooling. Unfortunately, the baby's grandfather was old and slow, and burned to death in the hotter flames.
Anger ran with the baby's father as he fled down to the beach with his wife, seeing the frozen monument of his Chief's death, and swam as much and as hard as he could in the sea.

But I do not know what happened to them after that. They may have drowned.

But we will have to wait and see.

My dragon-mother nudges me awake, and with my eye-opening, comes a feeling of terror. It is my fifteenth hatchday. My mother knows it too, and what we both also know is that it is time for me to leave the den. That is why I am so terrified.

I try to whimper and plead to her, but Mother is having none of it. She nudges me towards the mouth of the den, with a faint growl in her voice. My dragon-brothers and sisters stir, and crowd around me, squeaking. They do not know what is going on, but they have greeted me especially excitedly today, knowing that their scaleless brother is not going out hunting, but leaving forever. I nuzzle their small, purple, baby-Skrill faces affectionately, and they lick me in turn- but now it is truly time to go.

With everyone whimpering sadly, including me, I go out of the den, into the icy Arctic wilderness.

Another scaleless comes out at exactly the same time, at the den next to me. We do not greet each other, as scalelesses are known to, but look each other in our blue eyes, looking back through the fifteen years we have ealch been with our seperate dragon-mothers, Skrill and Seashocker, trying to think of that scrap of memory which may tell us that we have seen each other before. Finally, our staring becomes too much of a challenge, and we turn away, snarling at each other- at least, one of us does.

I do.

But the other scaleless does not.
What is wrong with him?
Has he become too-scaleless, not able to make the sounds of dragon-language? Or perhaps, can he not make noise at all?
I am curious, naturally, as a dragon should be, so I walk over to him- which he does not seem to like- and grab his face.

I find some interesting things there. His face is scarred from fire- Loki's blessing. A long scar along his jawline- I can see it has been made by a Skrill- he does not seem to like the discovery of this fact. And when I look at his throat, I can see that it is a strange colour- burnt, as red as a Monstrous Nightmare's scales.

Another scaleless, one with hair as red as the other one's throat, can be heard behind us. This one does not seem to have any problems with speaking dragon-language, as he does a dominance-snarl as soon as he sees us. We tremble and whimper accordingly; he is a lot bigger and taller than us- he is the Alpha. He seems pleased with that, and turns away and walks with the strange two-legged scaleless walk that we were taught also.

But why were we taught it?
A sudden thought comes to me.

Perhaps we are scalelesses! That can be the only reason! But if we are scalelesses, why were we raised to be scaled ones? I can only hope that these questions of mine can be answered, as the other scaleless-who-I-think-I-know and I follow the Alpha scaleless through the snow, walking on our two legs which gave me the indication that I was not a scaled one after all.

After many wing-beats- no, miles, as they are known in scaleless-speak- we arrive at a bad place. It is very dark, and there is a steep bit of snow leading up to something ahead of us. The Alpha scaleless walks up it, and he sees, as I can, the small shapes of other scalelesses coming towards us.

But there are bad scalelesses.
I can tell this as soon as they reach us, and they seem to think we are bad too, as they are wary of us- but we are too. The most the Alpha scaleless will allow them to do is lead us- to another bad scaleless.

A very, very bad scaleless. A terrible one. One who is full of anger and hate.
What has made him like that?
There seems to be a lot wrong with some scalelesses lately.
The terrible scaleless begins to speak.
"Welcome. I am your new master, and I am also your father."
Father?! But we only have a dragon-mother, not a scaleless-father!
"But enough about that. It is your birthday today, and I am going to give you your presents."
He takes some things out of the cloak which is draped around his shoulders. He gives the first thing to the Alpha scaleless.
"It is called a fire-suit." he tells him.
The Alpha scaleless puts it on.
"Why don't you try it out?" he suggests, smiling- but not in a nice way.
The Alpha scaleless nods, and the terrible scaleless points his staff at a nearby Monstrous Nightmare. The dragon open its mouth- and blasts fire straight at the Alpha scaleless- who walks through the inferno.

Both the Nightmare and the terrible scaleless seem quite astonished that Alpha scaleless has actually survived the blast, and even managed to walk through it.
"As a reward for your surivival, the Nightmare belongs to you now." the terrible scaleless tells the Alpha one. "But this is not the only Nightmare that belongs to you. Now, all Nightmares do. They are sort of like brothers to you- dragon-brothers." he said- but he seemed to be lying.
He walks over to the scaleless-who-I-think-I-have-seen-before, and presents him with the second thing.
"It is a mask made out of the head of a Seashocker- to hide your face." the terrible scaleless sneers.
The scaleless-who-I-think-I-have-seen-before clearly seems saddened by this, but he has no choice but to put it on.
The terrible scaleless now walks up to me. Strangely, he doesn't seem to have a present for me.
"You are not getting a present," he tells me, "because you are a hiccup."
I do not understand this, because surely the scaleless-who-I-have-seen-before is a hiccup, and yet, he still got a present.
But I am interrupted from my thoughts by the terrible scaleless saying, "Now, GO!"
None of us know where to, but the bad scalelesses come again, and the Alpha scaleless allows them to lead us to a room with beds.
I don't like this room. It's strange; it doesn't look like a cave. And are we meant to sleep on those beds?
It seems so; so I get up onto the bed, hating the feeling of it- but I do eventually manage to get to sleep.

"GET UP!" comes the Alpha scaleless's call. No, no- his name is not the Alpha scaleless. We have been taught to speak, and to know each others' names. His name is Soboviik; my name is Pahun; and my brother's is Halfdan.

Lost in these thoughts, I ignore Soboviik's first call. He goes over to me, grabs my arm, and yanks me off the bed. Now that I am off it, he pulls me up, and pushes me fowards, towards Father's ship, which we all know the way to now.

"Today," Father begins, "you will be going on your first mission. Think of it as a- rite of passage. You will all go to what is known as Dragon Island," -he points to its location on his huge map of the known world- "and you will kill your first dragon there. Knives will be given to you- for doing the killing, and for skinning the dragon to use as a cloak- and hatchets too, for cutting off the dragon's head, to wear it as a mask."
Curious, I put up my hand.
Father growls, and walks over to me, towering, draining my courage and will to ask the question.
"Go on," whispers Soboviik goadingly from nearby. "Ask the question. At least there'll be one less runt in the world if you do."
I ignore him, and ask the question.
"U-um, Father, the dragons are our b-brothers- you told us that. W-why are we k-killing them, if that's t-true?"
He does not answer that, but he does say something.
"As punishment for asking a question, you will be placed in a dragon den at Dragon Island. See if you think the beasts should not be killed when you are one of the thousands that have been killed by them!" he yells.

Searching for a death-den is hard. There are soldiers behind me, to ensure that I do not escape- but nonetheless, they are trying to avoid me as much as possible. Seizing the opportunity, I begin to run- I need to warm up; for it is winter in the Viking Lands, and bitterly cold; Dragon Island is covered with snow. But the soldiers are mistaken; thinking that I am trying to run away.
I'm grabbed suddenly, easily, by the collar, and yanked back.
"No you don't, you little runt," the one who is holding me snarls.
Adrenaline fills me suddenly. Just for a few moments, before I was caught, I experienced what it was like to run away. In longing for that feeling once again, I escape the soldier's grasp, and run so fast that none can catch me. Eventually, though, due to the energy I consumed while I was running, I have to stop. I bend double, panting- and look up.

I see a cave; my death-den.

Thanking the gods that my weapons have not been removed, I take out my knife, knowing that there could be dragons in there- exactly as it was intended.
Entering the cave in terror, I begin to wish I had a flame-torch with me. But I am interrupted from that thought, once I see a pair of yellow eyes, directly in front of me. I fight my instinctive urge to cry out; for I know there are other dragons in this cave. The yellow eyes move closer to me, and I hear terrible hisses of warning from the other dragons to this one, telling it to be careful. I back away slowly, letting the dragons know I am not a threat- but the yellow eyes in front of me follow me, almost curiously, into the little light there is; and I can just make out the shape of what I know to be a Skrill.
This makes me sad; the Skrill looks to be only a hatchling, and it makes me think of my dragon-brothers, and my mother, as I can see the other Skrills surrounding it.The little hatchling has family- and yet I have none.

Yes; I remember now; Father told me and my brothers of how we were brought to him; a Skrill murdered our family, and he found us, and rescued us. It is the hatchling's fault; it is probably desended from that murdering Skrill. So, I shall kill it...

Even the Skrills' eyes could not see my knife in the darkness, but I bring it into view once again, in order to kill the hatchling, the little light there is shining on the blade.

This was a very big mistake.

One dragon, presumably the father of the hatchling- I notice in terror, as terror can make you notice everything, that the hatchling's mother is not present; surely she would be the one defending her hatchling?- springs towards me, with a terrible roar, knocking me to the ground...

I am staring up into its face, and it readies its lightning...

...Only for the corner of its mouth to be grabbed by the hook of a newly-made weapon; belonging to someone I know well.
Father. Gulping in terror, I start to shake, both from terror, and a sudden cold wind that has come into the cave, as if by Father's sheer presence.
"H-hello, Father." I manage.
He does not return the greeting in response.
Instead, he walks up to me. I fear I am about to meet my death after all, but he pushes me aside and makes for the hatchling that its father was trying to defend. He waves his flesh-hand, and suddenly, soldiers who must have caught up with me, and had been hiding, release the darts in their blowpipes. Father kicks the hatchling aside, and this time really does walk up to me.

His eyes meet mine- just as I have a faint memory of the same happening when I was a baby- wordlessly telling me to do something, and then they flicker down to the knife gripped in my hand; then to the weak form of the hatchling's father, lying down, with blood dripping down from its mouth, onto the cave floor.

My face pales.

Grabbing me by the wrist, he takes me to the Skrill anyway, and stands over me expectantly. I try to stop myself, but I have to obey him- my hands grasp hold of the knife in the position to kill the hatchling's father. Sobbing with frustration and anguish, fighting all the way, I drive the knife into the hatchling's father's exposed throat.
"Good boy." Father congratulates me in twisted praise.

Finally, I decide that I have had enough.
Quick as that Skrill had once been, I turn around, and snarl at him; in surprised fury, he snarls back, but my anger blocks that out.
Completely letting my Berserker-like rage take me over, hardly knowing what I am doing, I pick up the lifeless form of the hatchling's father, my anger giving me strength enough to drag him, even though he is many times bigger than me, and I pick up the still form of the hatchling itself.

As I was running towards the hatchling and its father, my father could have almost lazily grabbed me by the collar, as the soldier did, and yet, he does not; not even doing it when I sprint out of the cave with my strange Skrill-like speed.