This is an old story of very low quality. It's only here as a monument. You have been warned.
Jiod finally stopped waging war with the sails of his skiff, not because he'd given up, but because he was too horrified—or amazed, it was hard to tell which—at the sight that finally met his eyes, now that he had finally navigated through the thickest banks of fog surrounding the island. Deep, low roars penetrated Jiod's consciousness, causing him to shiver even in the hot, muggy air infesting the area. Huge flocks of dragons swarmed the skies for what seemed like miles in every direction, circling the island. However, what first caught Jiod's attention was not the ominous tornado-like mass of flying dragons, but the... thing so large that he could only get a good look at parts of it at a time through the fog; a wall of grey scales here, the leathery fold of a wing there, a glimpse of a claw there—no wait, it was only a tooth...
Closing his mouth with an audible snap, Jiod decided firmly that he what he was feeling fell firmly into the horrified category. Wrestling with the ship again—the fog seemed to have currents just as strong as those that could be found in the sea—he tried to strike a balance between stealth and getting away. Getting away won out, shouting Hurry hurry hurry it'll see you hurry it'll catch you hurry.
"So that's what happened to Berk..." he said once he was at a distance where it was safe to think clearly, shocked to the core. Berk had always been the island with the most insane, tough, and battle-hungry Vikings in the entire archipelago, which was saying something, as there were Vikings called the Berserkers with a leader who had Deranged in his name.
A strange cross between a rumble and a shriek pierced the fog's dampening effects and scattered Jiod's thoughts, sending him scrambling for his crossbow, praying whatever it was wouldn't find him. The skiff finally slid into the rays of the bright midday sun, dissipating the foul atmosphere imparted by the cursed island. Another strangled shriek sounded right next to the small boat. Jiod licked his lips, sweat shining upon his brow. Making small half steps so that he would be ready in case anything attacked in the millisecond he lowered his crossbow, Jiod approached the side of the ship, slowly looked down—and almost collapsed in relief. It was only an infant Deadly Nadder, easy enough to get rid of.
Jiod aimed his crossbow and readied himself to fire the moment it so much as twitched its tail. Nadders could be extremely subtle when they wanted to; he should know, one had sent a spike through his shoulder when it had turned, spreading its wings as if to fly away, and flicked its tail in an incomprehensibly tiny motion. Only Jiod had seen the bolt, time slowing around him until it hung almost still in the air. In that moment, he'd been completely helpless, unable to even cry out before it would hit. Jiod did not deal well with feeling helpless, and ever since then Nadders were the first dragons he targeted. But… he didn't want to be the first to attack a baby, no matter that it was a dragon and he was mentally screaming at himself to kill the thing before it burns the boat to ashes! and a less intelligent part of him was just screaming. After a few minutes of staring on both sides, he looked into its large, yellow eyes, the pupils narrowed in fear, aimed... and decided to wait until it caused trouble before doing anything to it. After all, if I attack first, it might get a good fire going on the ship. Better to wait for it to tire itself out and fall off... Jiod moved back to the sails, which had finally begun cooperating after moving away from the former island of Berk. However, the image of the little Nadder clung to his thoughts. It had looked awfully thin, with its limbs looking like frail sticks, and showing ribs. For some reason, this thought didn't appeal to him. He soon shook it off after imagining the chaos the news of Berk's fall would cause. There was a certain saying about the messenger being shot...
Many long hours of sailing first led to Jiod imagining horrible scenarios in which dragons invaded and took over every island in the archipelago, flaming any unfortunate Vikings that happened to live there, then to images of huge dragons hatching out of islands as if they were giant eggs, and then, eventually, to boredom. When night first started to fall across the sky he started searching for a handy island to tie down his skiff for the night. When the last light of the day fell, Jiod found a small island, really nothing more than a large rock, to tie his boat to. As he tied the knots with the skill of a seasoned sailor, he looked down and saw the small Nadder still clinging to the side of his vessel, looking at him with large pleading eyes.
Jiod quickly finished tying his boat down and tired to sleep, but couldn't. Vikings usually had the ability to sleep at the drop of a hat, no matter whether the sun was shining and they had just been rowing frantically, or if they had just gotten up from a good night's rest. Jiod finally gave up and started to pace the deck, thinking about anything but the little dragon that had been clinging to his boat all day, probably starving, hungry enough to climb up and impale him on those nasty spikes… Jiod shuddered.
"This is so stupid..." he said. He wasn't afraid of a hatching that would probably die if he crushed it beneath his boot.
Taking a deep breath, Jiod carefully climbed out of his skiff and onto the edge of the rock. The little Nadder was now at eye level, and seemed to be looking at him with an air of resignation.
"You're going to bite my hand off, aren't you?" Jiod said to the dragon.
The dragon gave a weak chirp. Jiod wasn't going to kill it just because he was… justifiably concerned. He needed a reason, or it would be unprovoked killing of an innocent. Even if that innocent was a dragon, and any other Viking would yell at him to just get on with it already, and then snort at Jiod for being too slow and chop the dragon's head off themselves.
"Well, here goes... something." Jeod brought his free hand under the dragon, and pulled—only to realize that although it was small, it was still quite heavy. "Come on now..." he braced his feet against the boat and the rock, leaving him in danger of falling into the water, but with both hands free.
Cupping them together, he put them under the Nadder, and heaved, finally prying it off the hull. The boat rocked, and he barely clambered back aboard without falling.
"Phew! Well, that was definitely something," he said, lying on the deck and panting slightly from adrenaline.
The dragon gave another chirp, and closed its eyes. Jiod started, then forced himself to relax. It couldn't hurt him; it didn't even appear to have the spikes of an adult Nadder on its tail. He looked down at it more closely, and frowned. Its ribs were showing way more than he'd seen on any dragon in his travels, or raiding his village. Jiod was tempted to let it starve, but he abruptly decided he needed to confront his fear. Vikings were all about confrontation, and he couldn't confront his fear if it died. In fact, he decided, it was probably a message from the gods.
Jiod strode to the back of his skiff with an attitude of assumed unconcern, but watched the Nadder out of the corner of his eye for any movement. He reached down and pulled a handle disguised as a warped plank, revealing a secret compartment full of three huge sacks and a smaller pack. Jiod reached into the pack he and grabbed a fish. He turned around, and, seeing the dragon fast asleep, placed it in front of its nose. Jiod then lay down on in the boat. Eventually he fell asleep, though he tossed and turned the entire night.
