Viggo Grimborn

"Incoming!"

All hunters on deck raised their heads at the same time. The skies revealed silhouettes of dragons, nearing distance showed riders on their backs.

"Dragonriders!" A man yelled, setting the crew into the trained motion of defending the ship. Everyone with any sort of authority started giving orders.

Viggo's eyes narrowed. A Nadder, he recognised. The Dragonriders somehow knew of his plans. But how? No—Viggo saw a dragon even he needed to study for a moment to figure out; a Stormcutter. Hiccup and his group have never even laid eyes on one before. It couldn't be them.

The airborne opponents made no secret of having faced Dragonhunters before. Baiting projectiles, testing angles and blindpoints, knowing their dragon's weaknesses just as much as his men did.

Out of the three ships, two sunk. Six men were rescued from the waters, brought on deck. Viggo was confident enough that they couldn't sink his flagship. They could incapacitate his weapons and mast, force them all under deck but unless these people could manage a coordinated naval attack, the ship was going nowhere. He'd made many improvements and changes after encountering the Dragonriders, knowing the blast-strenght of a Nightfury's plasma blast, protecting his ship. Too expensive to apply to all ships right away, but enough for now.

"More incoming!"

More flyers were approaching from the nearest island. They were making noise among one another, such that Viggo had only ever heard dragons make, who replied in noise alike, as if humans speaking their tongue was no surprise.

Viggo dodged a blast of fire. "Don't let them get close! Focus on the weakest links, someone get the blue oleander barrel!" Any group was only as strong as their weakest link. If they wanted a fight, he would give them one. "I want raw dragonroot shot into the three up there! Let's see how they like it when their precious beasts turn on one another."

Viggo held up his hand, signaling all to halt. Ryker mimicked it across the brush, settling the forest into silence.

For months, they'd been planning, preparing, setting up. For the sole reason of weakening the dragon-friendly tribe that inhabitated this island. They'd been picking fights with Dragonhunters for a while now—but not much longer.

Viggo had found records of them by his very ancestors, who called them Children of Dragons. They told of hostility that lead to the brutal massacre of their tribe, down to every last person. Eradicated.

Or so they thought.

The rain poured down on them. As annoying as it was, it also served the key purpose of hiding their smell, creating noise everywhere that would be impossible to distinguish from footsteps. The dirt on Viggo's skin itched, slowly being washed off, but it all worked.

Some dragons landed in the clearing where a dead Stormcutter laid—the bait. Some dismounted, others kept a watchful eye out as the body was approached and investigated. None could hope to understand the words they exchanged.

Viggo's hand folded into a fist and chaos followed—two of the tribemembers still mounted on dragons were shot with arrows fired from crossbows, immediately dropping to the ground, lifeless. From the other side of the clearing, nets and bolas caught their dragons, dragonroot arrows followed.

Viggo stepped out of cover, using mostly hand signals to command his men over the sound of yells, growling dragons and pouring rain. "Incapacitate and capture the dragons, take out anyone else. We only need one prisoner." After all, every good raid needed an informant. You need to know your enemy to strike them. Taking one of them captive and forcing them to give away the tribe's location and defenses was key to making sure his ancestor's work would be finished, once and for all.

The arrow bit into his wristguard, barely pinching the skin underneath.

Viggo held up his sword to deflect and defend, eyes locked onto you.

Great, just great. Odin had a terrible sense of humor. The wrathful weather forced them to to the nearest island, where he was seperated from the rest of the hunters. As if that wasn't bad enough, this island was inhabited and apparently very hostile.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." The wind blew in his face like the teeth of a Terrible Terror. He couldn't quite see you properly. Hard to tell whether you were male or female. "There's more of my kind on this island. Picking a fight with their leader is a sure-fire way to start something you cannot win." Of course, Viggo had no way of knowing whether or not that was true. You could be a lone traveller, or part of a tribe bigger than an army. But if he could get you to lower your weapon, perhaps even overwhelm you when the chance offered itself, his survival may be both guaranteed and accelerated.