Prologue - A Father's Death Wish
Flames burned all around. The very few dead were scattered across the village like soldiers on the battlefield. The [almost] legendary Thuggory, Chief of the Meathead tribe, the very large, powerful man with a jet-black beard like an electrocuted black cat, lay on his deathbed; the cold, hard ground. There was a deep gash in his chest from which blood was flowing like a scarlet waterfall of death, staining his armor scarlet. His son, Gardar, heir to the throne, knelt beside him.
"Son, I need you to do something for me." Thuggory sounded weak as he spoke to his son.
"What is it, father?" Gardar wasn't crying, he was just unspeakably angry at whoever had stabbed his father.
"When you are Chief, go to the island of Berk and kill Stoick the Vast."
"Why?" Gardar was confused; Stoick the Vast was the most powerful Chief out there, although he [Gardar] hated to admit it.
"You will become Chief of the most powerful village in the archipelago."
"But how? He has an heir, doesn't he?" Gardar dared to question his father.
"Yes, but he is not a problem. Strike an alliance with Stoick, and your work is already half done."
"Why do you want me to do this, father?"
"Because I never had the chance." Were Thuggory's last words before his head tipped back onto the ground and his lifeless eyes stared into the sky, the flames of his wrecked village reflecting in them.
Gardar looked out, out in the direction of the island of Berk. "Don't worry, father. I won't let you down."