Days turned to weeks and weeks into months. The promise of the exciting new career was beginning to dull only slightly in Farrans mind. But dulled all the same. The role of captain, while exciting and a grand position of power started to show its grimmer side. Aside from the increased responsibility and surprising amount of paperwork, the nadder migrations had grown stronger with flocks beginning to band together to create incredible numbers of dragons. While that in and of itself wasn't an issue they also seemed to be the only species of dragon available for quite some time. It was surprising to see that the migration had stretched itself over the course of two months, yet it had begun on the first few days of spring. It likely meant that it would end as the summer would take over. Was it normal for migrations to take this long? Farran didn't know nor did he really care. At least he nor other captains didn't need to worry about running out of dragons any time soon, but a different variety of dragon wouldn't have gone unappreciated.

Perhaps at the tender age of nineteen the young captains youth yearned for more dangerous dragons to take down rather than the far too common nadder. A scauldron or a Typhoonarang would be a much welcome change of pace. He started wanting to achieve more, continue to prove his worth. But had he not already done so? The passing of the Dragons duel, riddling out a traitor and even gaining an audience with Viggo himself? He had achieved in months what most would take years to accomplish.

Farran grumbled. Perhaps the same routine or the devotion to his station was beginning to take its toll. It was a thought that was unsettling. Perhaps a trip back home was in order. It had been too long since the last time.

"Handler." He called to the man behind the ships wheel. "Take us to the Rust Burner tribe island."

The mans eyes widened. "The cursed island? For what reason sir?"

Farran barely kept himself from lashing out at those words. Those words struck at him like a whip. Cursed island. Too often had he heard the name crop up in conversation as the years passed by, even when he was young. Although it wasn't given that name without reason. What few members of that tribe survived the inferno of hell that descended upon their village scattered all over the archipelago, living either as hermits or admitted into other tribes. Since then, very few people visited the island. Once a place of beauty, now a corpse ridden testament of the cruelty and malice of the winged serpents that continued to terrorize vikings.

"Personal reasons." Was all Farran responded with in a calm tone.

Given that this was more a request rather than a mission of actual importance at least to his crew, Farran took only enough of his sailors needed to take him where he needed to go. The rest were dropped off at the northern markets where they were free to spend the remainder of the day doing what they liked. A few hours was what it took to reach his destination, but thanks to the lack of orders over the last few days he could spare himself some personal time. Even if that were not the case he would have made time anyway. Any respectable Viking would.

Once the ship was close enough to its destination, a small island littered with forests and green at least from the distance the Unshakable Oath rested at, the captain took his leave on a dingy. With an oar in each hand he rowed and rowed and rowed until he eventually reached the nearest sandy golden beach of his choice and rested for a minute. A took a swig of water and wondered for a brief moment if this was a good idea, to come here? Part of his mind mentored him that it was the noble thing to do while another part warned him that the past should remain untouched. He shook his head as his less self centred thoughts urged him on.

Once the strength in his arms returned he picked up out of the dingy the only thing he had brought with him that wasn't attached to his person. An iron sword. Strong and sturdy enough to run any dragon through should he need to. This as well as a knife strapped to his thigh, his armoured chest and shins and a small supply of water was his only inventory. The young hunter felt prepared for anything with it. With confidence he strode forwards across the beach, heading towards the rocky edge. It only took minutes before he reached it as well as his first evidence of a former civilisation. A pier. A small one but filled with old rotting ships, thus why the hunter had chosen to land on the beach. Most of the dead ships were so old and busted that most of their rickety fallen apart frames had sunk to the bottom of the harbour, barely visible. Next to it was a mighty cliff that hid the area deeper inland. They rock that made its surface was a dark musty brown yet smooth. A wooden staircase climbed along its face, twisting and turning until it reached the top at least fifty feet up. Knowing the stairs were sturdier than they appeared, at least more so than the graveyard of ships, Farran headed up them carefully. Once he reached the top and paused.

Here he stood, just before the sight of everything that had moulded him into the proud fighter he was today. Yet it made him want to turn and head back the way he came in an instant. Understandably so too since before him sat the remains of the Rust Burner village. His former home.

The town once housed more than five hundred Vikings in its prime. It was hard to imagine for an outsider since there wasn't much to view, yet even amongst the charred wood of former homes and black scorch marks it still bore memories both fond and vile that even to this day got to him. Even after all these years the sight was hard to swallow right away. Especially knowing exactly what he was witnessing. An entire village turned battleground.

Indeed, this was it. What he had come for. To honour his people and to reopen old wounds. To think hundreds of stories remained buried and hidden with each corpse, with each scattered weapon and every burnt house. Some of which only Farran alone could tell of. He could even remember the layout of certain buildings and picture familiar villagers. Many of them still laid here for all the world to see.

The hunter shook his head, preventing the thought from taking hold of him any longer. He steeled himself and ventured forth into the graveyard, passing bits of black burned wood and even blacker skeletons. He could have sworn that the smell of burning wood still hung in the air but knew well that it was his imagination playing tricks on him. He kept moving forwards until he came across perhaps the only thing in the village not burned into nothingness. A metal statue of a large man with long hair and an even longer beard that covered most of his face. He looked like he was capable of wrestling a bloodthirsty gronckle and winning. Farran smiled recognising the figure. This was the chief of the Rust Burner tribe. Chief Magnus. Named after the god of strength himself for his prowess in battle. A powerful yet well respected man. And yet how many Vikings remembered him to this day? Ten maybe? Fewer? A true chieftain deserved better.

Almost instinctively Farran placed his hand on the belt buckle that had the trial crest carved into it. Two crossed axes and a dragon skull. To him it was a way of paying homage and respect to a man who was admittedly something of a personal hero once upon a time. After a few seconds he retracted his hand and carried on to explore more of the ghost village. As he moved on he spotted the few dragon remains that sat within the centre of the village. Gronckles, nadders and even a zippleback skeleton rested. Farran glared at the corpses before carrying on. After another minute of silent walking he found what he was looking for. The building that housed him for most of his childhood. Outside it sat a single skeleton. The pose it was in looked as though the skinless figure had tried to crawl their way outside, only barely making it before dying. The fact that the wooden home had clearly collapsed in on itself made it obvious. What was worse was that the skeleton also happened to be the only family member he could recognise. His older brother.

The truth was Farrans entire family had been killed here, save for himself and his uncle but which body belonged to who it was impossible to tell there were so many that covered the town. The only reason he had recognised his brother was thanks to the metal bracelet that still held round his left wrist. A gift from his father upon becoming a man. It was slightly melted but the design was clear as day. Farran slowly knelt down as his eyes stared into the empty sockets of his former sibling. It didn't take long for him to mutter something under his breath. A prayer most likely before he stepped into the house.

The inside was nothing special. Just like the outside nothing more than a smouldering ruin, yet it held some familiarity. Some pieces of furniture and old bear rug was enough to tell that it was once a grand place that housed generations of Vikings in its prime. At least grand enough for a family of fishermen. Only Farrans father and uncle were proper warriors among his family clan. Most likely the young hunters brother would have been too had he lived another year, given the opportunity to kill one of the flying beasts any Viking would do once old enough. But now, it was just Farran that remained the only survivor of the family. His uncle had been killed two years ago, not by dragons but rather a band of pirates that had hunted him and his crew down. In all of three hundred years he was the only member of Farrans family not to be killed by dragons or very rarely old age.

Time lost meaning to Farran and minutes turned to hours. The blue sky turned orange and the sun started to set. It told the hunter that it was time to head back. Back to his duty and responsibilities once more. Despite this, Farran felt rather glad. He could remember back before he came to this island that he partially dreaded returning here, expecting nothing but painful memories as he had when visiting with his uncle when he was still alive. But that wasn't the case. A sense of relief and self fulfilment washed over him and even managed to ease the pressure and burden he had been experiencing the last couple of months. It also made him wonder if they were watching him from Valhalla. His mother, father, his brothers and uncle. Wonder what they would say to him if they could. That they were proud of him for everything he had achieved? Push him to do more with his role as captain? He wouldn't know until he also joined them. Whether such a reunion would take place soon or in the far off future who knew but it would happen regardless. Death, no matter how it came was merely another journey that all souls would take at some point in life.

His time well spent, Farran reluctantly made his way back. Past the destroyed village, down the stairs and away from the ruined harbour. His descent was much slower than his ascendance. His feet lazily dragging behind him acting like heavy anchors as his mind tried to pull him back, but the hunter would not have it. He passed through the beach and back to the boat before removing his weapons and carefully placing them under the plank that made up the seat of the dinghy. At least he didn't need them. He looked out towards the sea to spot the Unshakable Oath still waiting patiently for his return, as did his crew who were likely keeping themselves occupied in whatever manner they saw fit. That went for both those on the ship and those he had left at the Northern markets. The young captain trusted that they were at least ready to return to duty upon his return and readied himself for a long trip back. He gathered the oars, pushed the dinghy out to sea and rowed.

It had gotten darker once Farran was almost at the frigate. The sea had given him no trouble upon his return, though his muscles ached from the constant rowing and he felt hungry. His own fault. The hunter cursed himself for not bringing food with him, thinking he wouldn't be so long on Rust Burner island. Still, he didn't regret the time spent. Before he could think on it he grabbed a rope and tossed one end of it up and gave a sharp whistle, expecting a crewmember to greet him. Farran waited patiently. Up to a few seconds before the boat rocked violently throwing the hunter off guard.

Farran slammed against the hull of the larger ship as several waves bobbed the dinghy up and down without any warning. This puzzled and surprised Farran. The sea had been very calm. Any waves made had been incredibly gentle, unable to capsize the small boat as the ones just now had very nearly done. Especially since they had come so very suddenly out of nowhere. The young captain looked around, scanning the surface of the water. It might have been possible that a dragon, hopefully a docile one had swam past. Or was it the same beast that had stalked him twice? Had it returned a third time? It was near impossible to see thanks to the disappearing light, but Farran could have sworn that he saw what looked like the end of a tail almost break the surface which looked similar to a scauldrons, only rockier. Before he could do or spot anything else, a voice rang out from above, distracting him.

"Captain! You've returned!"

Farran looked up only for a light source to assaulted his eyes. Upon shielding them he spotted a member of his crew looked down on him with a stoic grin holding a lantern in one beefy hand.

"Indeed!" Farran confirmed. "Raise the dinghy and prepare the ship to return to Hunters Rock!"

Hunter Rock was yet another hunter owned island that specialized in collecting and designing dragon products. Usually from still breathing dragons. His time away from the ship had given him a few ideas on what to do with the gronckle he still owned for the last few months.

The dinghy was quickly lifted out of the ocean with the aid of several sailors and a few extra ropes. As glad as Farran was to be on his own ship again, the strange leviathan from below hadn't escaped his mind. He ordered whatever available crew not assisting in sailing the Unshakable Oath to arm themselves and man the main weapons the ship provided just in case. An order given just in time too.

The frigates starboard side to rise slightly. Something heavy brushed against it as a heavy thud rang through the Unshakable Oath. Farran heard one member of the crew yell something about a giant red rock nudging the side of the ship before sinking below the waves. It disappeared well before Farran could get a good look at it. It was obviously a dragon, that was clear as day. But judging from the description, it sounded like it was a-

*SWOOSH*

Farran could see two enormous crustacean-like legs rise out of the sea into the air. Double jointed, thin and covered in jagged red armour that swung back and forth before rearing back looking like it was about to strike. Because it was! Farran was able to warn the crew before they came down on top on him.

"GRAPPLER!" He yelled before the damaging limbs pierced the deck of his ship with terrifying ease.