𖣯 ✹ 🌷(úlfheðnar) ꏍ ！┈─❟
╰───►chapter one; hiccup
❝ welcome to berk! ❞

    BERK is an unusual place.

    At first glimpse, it looked rather normal; boring, in fact. Just a small island north of the great Archipelago, shrouded with mountains and cliffs and their very own glacier. It would be━as a fact━twelve days north of Hopeless, and only just a few degrees south of Freezing to Death where it plants itself, solidly, on the Meridian of Misery. The village that resides on the island, his home, in a word, can be described as very sturdy. It has been here, on this island for seven generations, but one will find that every single building is new. They have fishing, hunting, and a charming view of the sunsets, to the point where you might not believe him when he tells you that no matter how boring it looked, the village of Berk was far from it.

    What made it unusual were the pests.

    You see, most places have mice or mosquitoes.

    Here, on Berk, they had:

    Dragons.

    And when he was a boy (in which this story starts), those dragons laid rampage on the early hours of Berk. They snatched away their livestock, their barrels of fish━anything they could get their claws on (and that sometimes included Vikings as well!). That never stopped him from sneaking out of his hope and right into the danger, because, you see, while most people would leave, they didn't. They're Vikings ... they have stubbornness issues, to say the least. (And oh, did he have his stubbornness issues).

    And here it begins, with a skinny boy leaping through the flames of his home. A runt of the litter, the worst of the worst, the most un-Viking Viking Berk had to offer; they called him many names: the Useless, Get Out Of My Way, and What Are You Doing?! But the one he was born with was Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III. Yes, great name, he knows, but it wasn't the worst. Parents of Berk believed hideous names would frighten off gnomes and trolls.

    (Like their charming Viking demeanour wouldn't do that already).

    The Vikings that resided on Berk would be that of the Hairy Hooligan Tribe. They were a lovely bunch: burely, mean warriors that ran you right over with an axe hovering over the face and a, "MORNING!"

    They were all bred warriors, of course. What else could they be? They were Vikings. They were tough, they were mean, they screamed with anger during every battle! They will grab the horns of a Deadly Nadder and whack it until they had no choice but to drop plenty of feet down into the freezing cold ocean water.

    Hiccup wasn't like that, of course. (Just his luck, obviously).

    The cobblestone of the paths were riddled with dying embers and molten lava. He jumped to and fro, avoiding bypassing Vikings, screaming sheep, runaway yaks and sprinting dragons. The sun wasn't even in the sky, but the morning night was lit up with fire; burning houses, streets and catapults. Hiccup continued to weave in and out of Vikings, muttering apologies and whispers of, "Whoa! Hey there━", "━Uh, great morning, Phlegma━!", "━Sorry, Sven━!" and they replied with, "What are you doing here━?!", "━Get inside━!", "━Get back inside━!"

    If you must know, Hiccup wasn't supposed to be out during a dragon raid. Why? Well, that was a story in itself. He wasn't called Hiccup the Useless for nothing. Despite having a role during raids that meant he was far away from any dragon killing, he always seemed to mess things up. He doesn't mean to! He just ... does.

    He dashed down the dock walkway, ducking under jets of water that doused fires that only just kept on popping back up. Jumping up to the fishermen's ciffs, Hiccup danced around molten fire at his feet. Vikings continue to run to put out the fires, nearly spilling their buckets in attempt to get past the fleeing animals, or raging warriors. Yes, just your average morning at Berk...

    Hiccup yelped at the mighty fist that grabbed him by the collar of his fleece. His feet dangled in the air. "Hiccup!" scrunching his eyes close, he could feel the finger pointed at him. It wasn't the best feeling, knowing that he━almost a young man━could still be lifted off his feet in one hand. "What is he doing out again━?" the red-beared face of the warrior spun on him, holding him up higher, "━What are you doing out again?! Get inside!"

    He shoved Hiccup back towards the house, stumbling over his boots. That would be Stoick the Vast, chief of the trible. A man that stood a gigantic seven feet tall with arms so big, they say he had popped a dragon's head clean off its shoulders when he was just a baby. (Does Hiccup believe that? Yes, yes he does, no question). His thick beard and hair was as fiery as his temper, and as big as his courage. He was a marvel to look up at; the chief may as well be the son of a God.

    Taking up a whole wagon in his hands, he flung it into the sky. The Nadder dropped the sheep with a squawk, fleeing.

    "What have we got?" Stoick the Vast's voice was gruff and from the back of his throat, but powerful━it roared over the sound of battle raging around them.

    "Gronckles, Nadders, Dervishes, Zipplebacks," replied Starkard, a fair-haired Viking. He was tall, but in comparison to Stoick the Vast, he was nothing but a child. "Oh, and Hoark saw a Monstrous Nightmare!"

    "Any Night Furies?" the explosion that rocked the ground behind them didn't faze Stoick. He just flicked the embers off the pads of his chieftain cloak without a change of expression.

    "None so far," cowered Starkard from behind his shield.

    "Good."

    Hiccup had left before he could be caught again, running up the slope and towards the forge sitting by the plaza edge. Around him, the torches were hoisted into the dawn of firey red and orange; massive towers of flames. The distraction allowed Hiccup to slip past, puffing. He finally reached his destination, skidding to a stop on the stone floor of the forge.

    "Oh! Nice of you to join the party! I thought you'd been carried off!" 

    Gobber━in the nicest way possible━was all meathead with attitude and a hint of interchangeable hands; one that held a mallet that with a clang!, flattened the bent sword right back down on the anvil. Short, stout and angry, with blond braids for a beard mixed in with grease and ash (and a horrible stench), Hiccup has been his apprentice since he was little. Well ... little-er.

    "Who, me?" Hiccup reached for his yak-skin apron, tieing it around his twig waist. "Come on! I'm way too muscular for their taste━" with a heave, he hoisted up a mallet back onto the wall. "They wouldn't know what to do with all this!" he flexed his muscles ... or ... um .. what there was of them.

    "Oh, well, surely dragons need toothpicks, don't they?"

    Hiccup rolled his eyes in response. Rushing to the trade window, he flung it open. Already, there were an abudance of Vikings all lined up to get their weapons fixed. Hiccup took a pile of swords in his arms and hefted them over to the forge. He hopped onto the bellow, forcing the handle down and letting out a burst of air to the hot, glowing coals. Outside, there was a woosh! of an explosion, and a row of houses were set alight. "FIRE!"

    (See what Hiccup meant? Old village, lots and lots of new houses).

    "Come on, let's go! Move it!"

    Hiccup's eyes perked up at the voice. He ran to the window, peering outside at the blaze. Leaning over, he watched the group of Vikings his age work together to dampen the blaze. One by one, they gathered water in their buckets, racing to the fire. They were the cool teenage Vikings (you know, the ones that weren't Hiccup).

    First, there was Fishlegs Ingerman. He was a big boy, with little chin and a potbelly from the amount of chicken and soup he liked to eat. He lugged his water bucket past with a run that was more like a sheep's shuffle. When he wasn't dousing fires in the morning, Fishlegs had his nose in books; any he could find━with nothing but the tuffs of his blode hair sticking out the sides of his small helmet to be seen over the covers. He wasn't too mean to Hiccup. In fact, the two of them sometimes got along when he wasn't around the others.

    Next came the menace that was Snotlout Jorgensen. He once happened to dunk Hiccup in the waterfall, by the way. He was a mean kid, with a permanent sneer on his brick-square face and a jeering joke always up his umber tunic sleeves. Hiccup sometimes couldn't even believe he was his cousin. How could he be related to someone so ... well ... Snotlout.

    Right behind in folowing were the Twins: Ruffnut and Tuffnut. Which is which? Well, that was a question the whole of Berk often mixed up. Despite being fraternal and of opposite genders, the Thorston Twins could almost be entirely identical━In practically everything: their hair, their noses, the facial expressions, the anger and a love for destruction. They even wore the same clothes! Right down to the boots on their feet. Those who had the━uh━pleasure to know them sometimes couldn't even separate one from the other. Most of their time was spent fighting, whether it be with each other or over something they shared (much like the bucket they carried now).

    After the Twins, rushed forward Yrsa Olofsdotter. She knew exactly what she was doing, chucking up her bucket and throwing out the water towards the flames. Yrsa never cared about how she looked. Sometimes, Hiccup wondered whether she had cut her bangs with her own knife━jagged and all over the spot. The ends of her thick, black braids on either side of her face were singed, curling up small trails of steam. She was crazy; absolutely crazy━that was the best way to describe Yrsa Olofsdotter. Crazy, angry, and possibly a potential murderer (you never know). She did once try to kick Hiccup into a Terrible Terror den when they were six-years-old. When they were twelve, she tried it again, except it was a Deadly Nadder nest. It wasn't just him that pissed her off, though. Everything pissed Yrsa off. She had constant yak dung up her nose. Maybe the stench had gotten to her head; perhaps that was why she was so insane.

    And then ... finally, coming up the rear in an explosion that did nothing to rock her confidence, was Astrid.

    The most intimidating, promising, and striking Viking there ever was. Hiccup didn't know how it could be allowed; to have such beauty, such grace, such I will punch you in the face energy in one person. She was the leader of the pack━beautiful; blonde-haired, blue-eyed, she was everything a shield-maiden could one day hope to become, even at fifteen years. Hiccup was absolutely smitten with her.

    He always wished he could be out there with them; to have the chance to prove himself (and besides, their job was so much cooler). But as Hiccup tried to climb over the wood, Gobber was there to snatch him righ back. His hook caught under Hiccup's fleece vest, and once again, he was hoisted up off his feet for the second time that night.

    "Oh, come on," he wined. "Let me out, please? I need to make my mark!"

    "Oh, you have made plenty of marks," Gobber set him down, "in all the wrong places━" Hiccup whacked his hook away that jabbed at his chest.

    "Please, two minutes," Hiccup begged. "I'll kill a dragon━my life will get infinitely better! I might even get a date!"

    Gobber stared at him incredulously. "You can't lift a hammer, you can't swing an axe," he listed them off with his remaining fingers, "you can't even throw one of these!"

    The bola was snatched straight from his fingers. With a swing, the netted weapon flung from the hands of a Viking and into the air, taking down a Gronckle mid-flight. "O━okay," Hiccup shuffled back to the workshop, gesturing to a contraption he had made himself, "fine, but this will throw it for me━"

    Fling! Whack!

    Hiccup yelped and jumped back, holding his hands up in surrender as the bola shot out of the contraption and hit a Viking just innocently waiting by the trade doors. Hiccup winced.

    Gobber shook his hook towards him. "See? Now this right here is what I'm talking about!"

    "Wait━it's nothing━it's just a mild calibration issue━"

    "No, no, Hiccup!" he cut him off, and the small Viking fell silent. "If you ever want to get out there to fight dragons ... you need to stop all of ... this."

    Hiccup's face fell blank. "But you just pointed to all of me."

    "Yes!" Gobber's eyes lit up. He jabbed his finger at Hiccup's shoulder. "That's it! Stop being all of you."

    Hiccup narrowed his eyes. Squaring up, he tried to stand as tall as he could, glaring at Gobber with everything he had. "Ohh..."

    Gobber wasn't intimidated. "Oh, yes."

    He waggled his finger at him. "You, sir, are playing a dangerous game! Keeping this much raw Vikingness contained? There will be consequences!"

    "I'll take my chances━" the blacksmith dropped a blade into his arms. "Sword. Sharpen. Now."

    Hiccup sighed. He lugged the sword to the stone wheel and set it down with a grunt. One day, he'll get out there. Because killing a dragon was everything around here in Berk. A Nadder head was sure to get him at least noticed. The wyvern-like creatures might has well have been chickens who one day decided to grow horns and become a dragon. They had a speedy run, and a tail armed to the teeth with venomous spikes that could fling out and embed into a Viking's skin. Gronckles were small, but tough. Their rock-skin and heavy jaw made up for their short wingspan. Taking down one of those would definitely get him a girlfriend. Devilish Dervishes were the Sharp Class dragons that should have been Stoker. Stubborn, stealthy and vicious, they had immense firepower and speed. If Hiccup killed one of those? Immediate fame. A Zippleback was exotic; two heads, one that breathed noxious green gas, and the other to light it━twice the status. And then, there was the Monstrous Nightmare. Only the best Vikings went after those. They had a nasty habit of setting their long, slender bodies on fire.

    But the ultimate prize? That was the dragon no one has ever seen. An offspring of the night; of lightning and death itself. With nothing to let you know it was coming except for its dreaded roar before its fire━a high-pitched inhale that sent even the bravest of Vikings running towards the hills, lighting up the dark sky with brilliant purples and blues━they called it the━

    "Night Fury!"

    "GET DOWN!"

    Even in the explosion that followed, it was far too quick to be seen in the purple light. That thing never stole food, never showed itself and never━ever, in the history of Berk━missed. No one has ever seen a Night Fury, let alone killed one and lived to tell the tale. And that was why Hiccup was determined to be the first.

    Gobber switched his hook for a battle axe. "Man the fort, Hiccup. Theyneed me out there," he hobbled to the door on his peg leg. A thought occured and he spun back around to the teenager standing and watching. "Stay," he told him. "Put. There. You know what I mean━" and with a Viking yell, Gobber the Belch joined the battle.

    Hiccup grinned.

    Now was his perfect chance.

𖣯 ✹ 🌷(úlfheðnar) ꏍ ！┈─❟

    a/n: first chapter!!!!!!! yay!!!!! just so you know, the amount of effort i put making the descriptions different from valkyrie was a lot. there's going to be mistakes, as always, lol. but i hoep you enjoyed it!! what are y'all looking forward to?