This story is rated M for some mature scenes, some strong language, violence, gore

This story also begins at Maces and Talons Pt 1 (S3, Ep 25) in Race to the Edge and will most likely stray from the tv series as the story goes on.

Disclaimer: I do not own How to Train your Dragon or the tv series.

Prologue

Tired eyes fought desperately against the inviting whispers of sleep as he stood in his station at the watch tower. His dangerous affair with gambling had led him to watch their camp sight for the whole night. His drowsy mind managed to figure out the time, an hour or two after midnight by the position of the moon.

A calloused hand reached up to rub his face, hoping to force the sleep away but to no avail. He looked over his shoulder to peek at the camp. The dim light from the dying embers managed to trace the sleeping silhouettes of his comrades. Lucky drunk bastards, he thought.

He suppressed a yawn and shook his head as another attempt to rid off sleep's seduction. Half lidded eyes scanned the area for gods knows how many times, finding the same moonlit field and trees. He was suppose to keep watch for any intruders- not that he'd expect to find any, they're in the middle of nowhere for gods' sake!- and wild animals trying to sneak in and attack. He didn't know why any of those should be any concern when far more dangerous things lurk in the dark. Like dragons.

His face scrunched in disgust at the thought of those blood-thirsty beasts. His body was littered with scars, every one of them placed by the claws of a dragon and every one of them dead- he buried his axe in each of their heads. His chest puffed with pride.

A faint sound of footsteps in the treeline caught his attention. The night was silent enough he could hear a pin drop. He narrowed his eyes at the area, not a breeze passed by in the last few hours that could only mean…

He abruptly stood from his stool, leaning over the railing and scanned the area with narrowed eyes. His hand hovered over the horn on his side, ready to sound the alarm if he spots the intruder.

A rustle by the bushes and his eyes darted to the sound, his hand reached past the horn and to the handle of his sword. Another rustle and this time it was closer. He was about to yell out a warning when a blur darted out from the bushes and stared at him.

It was a fox.

He clicked his tongue in annoyance and threw a pebble at the at the creature making it scurry away. "Yer lucky I didn't skin ya and turn ya fur into a pelt," he mumbled at its retreating figure.

He walked back to his stool, that sudden surge of adrenaline drained so much energy from his already tired body, when a hand clamped itself tightly in his mouth, muffling his surprised cry.

He made a move to struggle but something cold pressed itself against his neck, stopping him completely. He dared to peek at the intruder over his shoulder but he never got the chance as the dagger slid easily across his neck. Red seeped from the wound, staining his clothes and dropped to the floor. His killer released him as he choked on his own blood, shaking hands trying to stop the blood from flowing but he dropped to the floor, wide eyes beholding the dark cloaked figure looming over him, watching him die.

Blood spewed from his mouth as he tried to say his last words. He struggled to say the words as his mouth only spoke in garbled sounds. He felt his life being taken away from him and he glared hatefully at his killer.

"Curse… Curse… you… t-to… Hel!"