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| The Demise of the Dragon Chief | |
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| Topic Started: 23 Jan 2016, 19:16 (976 Views) | |
| DragonbackVoyager | 23 Jan 2016, 19:16 Post #1 |
Hideous Zippleback
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Splish. Splish. Splish. The water swirls in its simple metal tankard, jumping gently as one, two, three steps are taken and the rugged hand that holds it travels along the room. They are long, full, confident strides, each punctuated with an iron toe greeting the battered oak of the tortured floorboards. He scoffs as he regards each stain in the wood, much redder than that of any natural oak tree, thinking briefly of attempting to wash the ground of its sin. No use to it, really. Blood has rolled over it, flooded its ridged contours, dribbled through its cracks so many times before that it is bound to soak the crimson from the ground again. Ah, well. The color complements my treasures nicely. He notches the wood with a new dent as he halts suddenly before a table, a shrine of sorts, elaborately decorated with prizes of invaluable worth in his heart. His tankard is set to rest beside a few gears rotted with orange and brown rust. They sit atop “lenses” with curious, straight edges, each inset with a shard of glass that would cast pretty, glowing shapes across the room if they were allowed any light. Pieces of what they called the “Dragon Eye,” if he was remembering correctly. Its owner had been obsessed with his own genius to a point that was really quite obnoxious and harmful to his health. And his brother, so quick to act, had not been nearly quick enough. I lost two lovely knives that day! Curse them both. He shifts his mug so the fragments of the Eye are no longer visible to him. Now, THESE- if only I could fit them atop my clothes… A multitude of laments float through his head as he uses one strong, scarred hand to lift a helmet into the air and show it to the dusky glow of a torch. Its obscure horns and horrible scratches indicate the spontaneous type of man that had worn it. He chuckles, and a warm, melodic sound escapes his smirking lips. His other hand absentmindedly strokes a folded cape on the table, charred completely black yet still textured with scales despite its use. The poor boy! Completely mad and convinced that the world was against him. I AM glad that I could end his misery, though it was a shame that I had to intensify it to pry the blasted words from his throat. A testament to his backward thinking, I suppose. I wish I could’ve spilled just a little of his blood on his helmet for remembrance. Ah, but you-! He tosses the Berserk armor back to its grave atop the monument and cautiously takes the dragon-skin cloak in both hands, as if it could crumble if touched one too many times. Oh, Drago. Of all these trinkets, I would be most honored to wear your memory. Such a battle that was! And what I learned…it taught me that knowledge IS priceless… As it is held before the small light, the hide becomes illuminated just enough to see the outline of a large crimson stain. He sighs, carefully folds the cape, and exchanges it for his tankard, wetting his tongue as the heavy door creaks open and his wife peers in. “We are ready.” “And you are sure that it will do as it was trained?” “If I was not, I would spend another three years teaching a new one.” He smiles kindly, using his powerful steps to reach her side and gently place a hand on her round stomach. “I trust that you would, my love, and I thank you for surrendering three already for this cause.” She takes his fingers and kisses them softly, cradling her baby with her other hand. “I do it for you and for the good of our people.” “I could ask for no better partner.” Outside, the rain falls unrelentingly in heavy drops, but the tribe stands proudly around its chief as he strokes the side of a Deadly Nadder without a chain or a cage in sight. He raises his drink to his people, and they return the gesture with a noble cry. “Tonight! This night is the one where our dear friend, Sigrún, fulfills her purpose. We have known her long enough to realize the tendencies we’ve taught her, and we will now set her on her course in haste before she turns!” A gale of laughter, cheers, and farewells sweeps the land as Sigrún is struck with a strong, guiding hand and sent into the sky. She flaps and circles their heads as she finds her bearings, then disappears into the night as she travels to Berk. “And there she goes! Our dear Sigrún, as green as our glorious crest, will END Hiccup wherever he may stand when they meet! Praise Odin! Thank my wife for her years of dedication to our cause, and let us all cheer for this dragon as it frees us from the tyranny of those ‘saviors’ of winged reptiles!” However, a unified clank of tankards thrust into the air was the only sound of celebration that was allowed to fill the dark sky, for just as their hopes began to soar, one of their greatest warriors fell and did not return from the ground. The great famine had so permeated their land that not even the best of men would be spared from it. Dragon slaying had been their livelihood since the tribe’s founding, but, with Berk’s people constantly freeing the beasts from their traps and cutting them from their nets, their sustenance waned to a sliver of its former fulfillment. People were freezing and starving- “-like this man,” the chief declares, voice warbling, tears streaming down his cheeks. “He nobly surrenders his rations to his wife and his children until he falls DEAD in the DIRT! THIS is the man who would take a sword in the name of his tribe! THIS is the man who deserved a hero’s end! AND YET he FALLS- not to battle, but to HUNGER! WHO can survive without food?! WHO can live in the dead of winter without a blanket to wrap around their shoulders?!? I have KILLED countless times to reach the heart of the Hooligan tyranny, and I have PLOTTED for too much time while my people have DIED around me! HICCUP, TONIGHT WILL BE YOUR END, AND, IF MY DRAGON FAILS, YOU WILL FIND AN ASSASSIN ON YOUR NECK WHOSE BLADE KNOWS NOTHING BUT RELENTLESS ANGER AND UNDYING PAIN!” So, this chief and this tribe obviously don't exist in the world of Dragons. We currently don't know what will happen to Viggo and Ryker or Drago, but what we can be absolutely sure of is that, ultimately, Hiccup WILL defeat them and be victorious. It's just the rule of entertainment meant for younger children: the hero always wins. This little story was my experiment to see what kind of leader it would take to defeat Hiccup if he was truly able to be defeated. It would have to be someone with deep resentment because he/she would have to be willing to take on Hiccup, Toothless, and the many dragon riders they have trained. Thus, I created a tribe that depends on dragons like the Hooligans do yaks and sheep. They don't slaughter or catch them in a particularly cruel way- in fact, they were able to make friends with a Deadly Nadder- but they DO treat dragons like animals. Like a source of food and clothing (and maybe even shelter, with enough dragon bones). One explanatory thing: I had it in my head that they trained the Nadder to be tame until someone touches its nose (like Hiccup does when he reaches out to befriend a dragon); then, it spews fire and attacks whoever the unfortunate victim is. I never got to putting the full idea in the story, so here it is. |
 The best Secret Odin GIF(t) ever, made for me by DeWhite! Thank you! 
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| Crystallion12 | 24 Jan 2016, 12:16 Post #2 |
Dunno what to say here.....
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While confusing, I enjoyed this. Although I seriously am confused. |
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Save the Earth... It's the only planet with donuts! May the stars watch over you, the dragons roar at the sound of your name, and peace, love and the truth enlighten your heart forever, May you stay true to your soul, mind and heart. Your choices, opinions and life are solely your own, give only the ones you hold dear to your heart your heart, and all your word. Make the right choices, and tread carefully, and live your life to its very fullest, Crystallion12. | |
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