The calm Nordic seas were empty, devoid of any human existence. As the days grew shorter and the weather colder, most docks would freeze or become hazardous thanks to the large pieces of ice that floated through the water, making it dangerous to dock at this late time of the year. They probably had a few weeks before the first snowfall would be upon them, and the water became the slippery, solid, glass-like material that it became each year. The last catches were being unloaded from the fishing boats, which had just returned from their last trip and didn't dare to go for another catch, the threat of the harbour freezing to a state of inaccessibility was too high. Bucket was helping mulch with the catch, since their cooperation with dragons their basic haul had grown tremendously, but the village also used more fish than ever, having to feed an entire population of dragons.

Basket after basket of fish was being unloaded, stacked upon each other on the sturdy wooden docks, before fellow Vikings and dragons would carry them to the nearest storage barn. A highly secured building that could face storms, raids, and the most dangerous, sneaky, hungry dragons. The fields were being harvested and most of the crops had already been put in storage. After the peace had been made with the dragons, Berk had thrived. Their field always filled with lush crops, thanks to the extra amount of fertilizer that was available thanks to the dragons. Frost had only been a problem in the devastating parts of winter, because dragons could melt and thaw most of the ice and snow in the town. This also meant that their port would be accessible longer, meaning a higher catch of fish.

Most of the works was made possible by Berk's elite group of dragon riders. They coordinated the integration and work with dragons from some of the first days. The start had been difficult, but everyone was thankful for them, especially since they helped them with the occasional rogue or grumpy dragon. Although everyone knew that it couldn't have been possible without the sacrifice of a young lad. Everyone remembered the day when they so foolishly attacked the nest, not listening to the pleas of danger and the warnings for their demise. They had all been blinded by hatred and betrayal. And yet, he saved them, giving his life in a fight against indescribable odds. He was considered a hero.

The group of dragons riders consisted of 5 young adults, and was a perfect balance with their skills. Everyone had a speciality, Snotloud Jorneson was strong, Fishlegs Ingerman had more brains than most of the group, the twins Ruffnut and Tuffnut Thorson were good at demolition, which came in handy more than they dared to admit, and Astrid Hofferosn was tactical, probably the reason that she was the unofficial leader of the group. They stood under the command of their mentor in dragon training, Gobber the Belch, he was the village blacksmith and often gave them their tasks and mission, for he was a close friend to the chief.

Chief Stoick the Vast, the man who popped a dragon's head from his shoulders when he was just a baby, was these days inseparable from his Rumblehorn, Skullcrusher. The dragon was mighty, vast and sturdy, a perfect fit for the chief. Time had not been kind on him, having taken his wife from him, he had kept himself strong for the sake of his village, and for his son. But when he didn't see that perfect Viking in him that he had hoped for he started to burry himself in work, neglecting his only child. This had lead him to befriending their worst enemy, a dragon, which had actually been the best thing to happen to Berk in centuries. After decades of war, death and destruction they made peace with their enemy. All it took was the destruction of their captor. The large, evil dragon that they had called 'The Red Death'. Sadly, for the chief and his village, the price for this peace proved to be high, and he had lost his only son to the beast. It wasn't certain if he had perished or not, being knocked out into the cold seas, to be quickly washed away by the currents. There had been no body, not of him or his dragon. But the chief felt it, deep within the collapsing walls of his hear, his son was alive and well, and one day he would return. He was now proud to follow his son's legacy, the peace with dragons, and treasured it like he should have treasured his son.

He dreamed about the day they would meet again, and that he could tell him how proud he was, how proud he was about what he did. He changed their history, making all the changes in the village possible. He would tell him how he would make a great chief, and an even better husband. And the chief knew that, weather it was still on Midgard or at the gates of Valhalla, it would be the happiest moment of his life.

The chief stood on the steps of his home, overlooking the village. The preparations for winter were going splendidly, and they were already far over the necessary amount they needed to survive the winter, but extras were always welcome. The village would probably take the winter even better than all the previous. Many of their storage building were already filled to the brim, and every day that it wouldn't snow just meant more stockpile.

There was one thing that bothered him though, a good friend and traveling merchant, Johann. He was supposed to arrive a good month ago, somewhere around Hiccup's birthday. He was one of the people that had known the boy very well before the change, and always took great care to be at Berk during his birthday, even after the events a few years ago, to celebrate it with friends and family. But he was almost two months late, something that was unusual and even dangerous. Ships could easily arrive a few weeks late, due to bad weather or rogue winds, but for a ship to arrive two months late was strange, definitely since most islands were wary of strange sailors spending the winter in their village, so Johann would have to come to Berk before the ice would set in.

Stoick had longed to see his friend again, he always brought news from across the archipelago, informing the chief about suspicious behaviour, like the sudden build of a large fleet, or dangerous expansion of territory. He had prayed for the life of his friend, hoping that nothing bad would've happened to him. Merchants were easy prey in these waters, both for dragons and for thugs.

But his prayers appeared to have been answered, Bucket ran through the village at high speed, calling out the chief. "Chief Stoick! Chief!" He yelled as he ran towards the chief carrying a spyglass. "Sails on the horizon!" "What colours do they carry?" Stoick asked as he grabbed the spyglass and scanned the seas. Sails could mean anything, from invasions to traders, to refugees seeking new homes. "Mulch thinks it Johann." Bucket said as he tries to catch his breath. "But there are different ships with him." Stoick's eyes lit up as he heard about the arrival of his friend, but grew wary of the other ships. "Thanks bucket." He said to the panting fisher, before walking down the stone stairs of his home.

He walked to the docks, on his way there Stoick passed the smithy, and he knew that Gobber would also be anxious to meet the merchant. "Gobber!" He called out as he approached the counter. "Johann sails to port as we speak, care to join me?" Gobber quickly hobbled to the counter. "Aye, that I'll do." As he twisted a prosthetic cast iron pot from his hand and replaced it with a hook. That way he could help unload the ship. "He better have an excuse to be late." Gobber said as he walked out the door of the smithy. "He missed the birthday." "I'm sure he does." Stoick said. "He wasn't spotted alone." He followed his friend with his gaze as he left the smithy, but spotted an extra pair of legs along the way. He looked at his friend, who mouthed 'Hofferson lass' to him. He understood his friend and turned to the counter again. "Astrid." He called out, noticing how the legs stopped swinging. "Care to come too?" He saw how the legs swung back before the blonde girl jumped of the table she was sitting on, following them out of the smithy.

They walked down the wooden ramps that lead to the docks, they could now clearly see the ship of Johann. It was pulling two other vessels, one with a sail and one without, but both of them packed with people. The ship slowly made its way into the port, where ropes were tossed to the vessel. Johann moved away from the wheel and tied the rope to the ship. On the docks, dragons pulled the vessel towards the wooden ramps.

"Johann!" Stoick greeted his friend. "We feared we lost you!" Johann was just explaining the people of the other ships that it was safe and that the dragons wouldn't harm them, before turning back to Stoick. "Ha, and miss my winter holiday?" He laughed. "No way." Once the ship was close enough to the dock he dropped the gang plank between his ship and the wooden dock.

Stock walked across the plank, and Johann directly offered him a hand, which he gladly accepted. "I'm terribly sorry that I could't be around for master Hiccup's birthday my friend." He gestured to the men and women on the vessels behind him. "There were, complications." Stoick looked at the people on the boats, they wore tattered clothes and looked like they were starving, as was Johann. "What happened?" Stoick asked with a serious tone. "And who are these people."

"May I present to you, the Maceface clan." Johann said as he gestured to the people, Stoick now recognises the crest on the remaining sail. "Or at least what's left of it." Stoick looked at the broken souls on the ships. Before yelling loudly. "Get them ashore, find housing and food for them." More ropes were tossed and the other ships were quickly pulled ashore, the men, women and children were quickly helped up the ramps towards the hall, but not before Astrid spotted a familiar face.

"Heather?" She asked, looking at the beaten and starving girl. Sure, she hadn't been looking that well when they first met, but this was way worse. The girl gave a sly smile, they had left on good notes and they considered each other friend. "Hey Astrid." She said, her voice hoarse and weak. "You know each other?" Gobber asked confused. "Yea, we do." Astrid said as she let Heather lean on her, the girl obviously weakened by the journey. "Met a few years back." She said as she reassured the broken girl. "Follow everyone to the hall, there will be food for you all." She said to the girl who tried to stand on her own feet again, before being helped by her parents. She muttered a weak thanks before disappearing back into the crowd.

Meanwhile, Stock and Johann were busily talking about the refugees. They had come to the conclusion that it was best to discuss it at a meal later that evening, with the presence of Gobber.

The Chief left, following the stream of refugees, ordering men around him to grab food from the supplies. Gobber chatted with the merchant for a bit, asking about his health and promising a repair for his ship when the ice thawed. The ice could seriously damage ship in the winter, and a free repair came default with the merchants stay during the winter. They had to repair their own fleet as well, and one more ship didn't make a huge difference.

Gobber headed back to the smithy, leaving Astrid alone with Johann, who was now grabbing his wares to display. She walked up the plank to his ship and started helping him displaying some of his wares. "Did you hear anything?" Astrid asked as she moved a box closer to the rest to form a small stall on the deck. She knew that travelling merchants often picked up the occasional gossip. "Well, rumours are always flying about you know." Johann said calmly, a slight hint of tension in his voice. "Some say they saw a flying ship, some say they saw a Nightfury and some say that the moon is made of cheese." He spoke quickly when he mentioned the Nightfury, but Astrid heard it very well. "Did. You. Hear. Anything?" Astrid asked, now saying it more like a threat then like a question.

"All I can tell you my dear, is that you don't want to be out there right now." He said with a depressed tone. He looked around to see if anyone was watching, before adding in a hushed tone. "It's what I want to discuss with Stoick, foreign warriors are on the loose." He explained as he walked over to a crate to sit on it. Motioning Astrid to sit beside him. "They've been reported at several islands, sometimes within days of each other." He explained. "They are highly trained killers, Assassins, skilled warriors from a faraway land." "Do you think he travels on dragonback?" Astrid asked, intrigued by the foreign fighters. "I fear I don't, but I don't think they have dragons where they are from." Johann said as he stood up and walked to one of his crates. "But I might have something for you." He opened a crate, which appeared to be filled with books.

"In my spare time," He began, pulling out a green book before stuffing it back. "I translate books." A red one came from the crate, also being put back into it. "And I remember translating one a while ago about these fighters." He pulled out a grey book, dusting it off before handing it to Astrid. "Here."

Astrid read the title. "The Brotherhood." She read aloud. "Is it a clan or something?" "He, no, not really. It's more like an organization." He explained. "If this foreigner really is an assassin than all you need to know is in there." Astrid flipped a few pages, finding lots of text and accurate drawings of men clad in armoured robes. "The original book covered everything." Johann said. "But some things might have got lost in translation." "How much do you want for this?" Astrid asked, with this new threat the book would have immense value. "It's a gift." Johann said. "See it as my apologies for missing master Hiccup's birthday."

Astrid thanks Johann and walked back home, tightly clutching her new book. She wasn't the reader of the group, that would be Fishlegs, and when she was finished she would be lending the book to him so that he could study the foreign fighter, or 'Assassin' as Johann had called them. Bu she wasn't one of those brain-dead animals either, and occasionally read a book to improve her skills. Since this assassin was considered a problem, the usual Viking method of 'Throw more warriors at him until he dies.' hadn't worked on him. This meant that she, if ever having to battle this mysterious fighter, should be prepared. She hurried home, greeting her mother, and quickly sat down at a small desk and opened the book. Her father, being a fletcher, used it to calculate his stock and supplies, something only a few craftsmen in Berk did, but he was currently working, she could easily sit down to read.

She opened the book, the thick leather wrapping making a sound from not being used as the last pieces of dust fell down from it. She scrolled through the index, skipping the basic information about the brotherhoods origin and system and rested her finger at the chapter 'The assassin'. She flung the thick book halfway open, flipped a few more pages and quickly found the chapter. She began to read

The book started talking about their appearance, which apparently mainly consisted of white, battle-ready robes and light armour, to maintain mobility. It was accompanied by a large, detailed drawing of a hooded man in richly decorated robes. What caught her attention were the blades that emerged from each hand. She read that if the assassin differentiated from the usual robes he would most likely be a 'Master', something that would be discussed in a different chapter. She concluded that the assassins had based their fighting style of speed and agility, something she was also very good with.

She read further, this part being about their behaviour. Assassins had different methods of attack, but used the elements of stealth and surprise heavily. After finishing their objective, being sabotage, the neutralization of a target, or anything else, they would often quickly retreat, so that they couldn't be overwhelmed by reinforcements or backup. Sometimes they worked in pairs, allowing their brothers to surround the enemy while they drew attention, sometimes they worked alone, taking out entire battalions of soldiers singlehandedly. What was concluded about this chapter was that they primarily used stealth. There also was a little note at the bottom, underneath a drawing of an assassin in public. It read 'Most of the time, an assassin will only be seen if he wants to be seen.'

The next chapter was about weapons, this caught Astrid's attention. You could determine half of someone fighting by the weapons they carried. The chapter explained that assassins carried a large variation of weapons, which lead from throwing knives to heavy crossbows, from daggers to dual handed war axes. But then her eyes found the words 'hidden blades' and quickly read from there.

'The hidden blade is an assassin's most renowned weapon. It functions for both offence and defence, granting incredible speed of deployment. All regular assassins carry the same hidden blades, casted from iron or steel, the blade consists of multiple metal parts, which allow for retraction. The blades are located on the assassin's wrist. And a piece of string or leather is tied to the finger to activate the blade, making it slide out of its sheath. The usual blade is clearly visible on the underside of the assassin's gauntlets. If you ever come across an assassin with blade that do not match these descriptions. In example, longer, curved, different colour or metal. Your best bet is to retreat. Only Master Assassins are allowed to take other blades, and this usually means that the blades are made specifically for them, making them deadlier the ever. Hidden blades are strong if used correctly, but if hit on the joints of the metal they may break or shatter.'

There was a detailed drawing of a basic hidden blade, she could see how it worked. The blade was hollow and retracted into the previous, bigger part of the blade, creating on long blade. She guessed her best bet was to move on in hopes of finding more information. She moved on to the next chapter.

The last chapter she read was called 'Ranking', so she naturally guessed it was about the level of deadliness that an assassin could have. The book explained that there were three primal ranks of assassins. There were beginners, which would often be scouts or messengers, assassins, which was the most common to find, and there was the masters, an elusive and excellent fighter. The book explained that the Scouts and Messengers often looked the same as the regulars assassin, the only difference being their armour, which they often didn't have, and their armament, for they carried no hidden blades. The assassin himself sounded like a worthy opponent, and she was pretty sure that, with a bit of practice, she could beat one in a fight.

The Masters were a different story, the book didn't have much information about them, and the small text on the bottom of the page gave her a Déjà vu of the dragon manual. Where the Nightfury had the text, 'Hide and pray it doesn't find you.' the Masters had the text 'run and pray you're not his target.'

Astrid gulped, these masters sounded very skilled and deadly, she would just have to make sure that she was more skilled and deadlier. She felt like she knew enough of the assassins to at least give her a chance in a fight. She then remembered Heather, maybe she knew more. That information could prove to be very valuable in a fight.

She rushed out the door and headed for the mead hall, that's where all the refugees would be. She rushed through the village, the book safely tucked underneath her arm. Maybe Heather would recognise the man from drawing, maybe she could find similarities, who knew. She walked up the stairs of the hall and was greeted by the smell of freshly baked, and some burned, fish. She opened the doors and headed in.

Inside was less of a mess then she had expected, most of the refugees sat quietly at their tables, eating away at a well-deserved meal. At the biggest table sat Stoick, together with a few refugees, Johann and Gobber, discussing what happened. She found Heather sitting with the Snotloud and Fishlegs at their usual table, eating food like it was the last meal she was going to have in a few days.

Astrid joined them at the table, and the book immediately caught Fishlegs attention. "Is that a new book?" He asked carefully. "I've never seen it, what's it about." The boy had small shimmers in his eyes from excitement, books weren't quite common in Viking culture, and he had read every book on Berk at least twice. "It's new, got it from Johann." Astrid explained as she put it on the table. "It's about the brotherhood of assassins."

At this statement Heather almost choked on her food and had to do her best to swallow it in the end. "Assassins?" She asked Astrid, who nodded. "Johann told me about them." Heather explained. "Are they the men who attacked your village?" Fishlegs asked, curiosity got the best of him with this new concept. "No, they defended it." Heather said, which earned a confused look from the other two, Snotloud wasn't paying attention.

Long line again!

Flashback (Centre this shit)

The freezing water smashed against the rock walls repeatedly, being flung up into the air before falling back into the sea. The island of the MaceFace clan was calm and serene, with nothing to trouble the inhabitants. They had been in striking range of the same nest as Berk, so the raids had stopped after the Berkians attacked it. Now life on the island was calm and peaceful.

Heather was walking through the streets, she had just finished a day of working at the alchemist and was now casually walking back home, she had learnt some new things about alchemy and she thought that nothing could wreck her day. She was wrong.

The bell ringed just before sunset, twice, signalling that hostile ships had been spotted. Heather rushed home, she knew better then to run to the cliffs to search for the enemy, they had plans for this. Because their village was small they storage barn was built within their great hall, this is also where everyone would stay for the intense winter months. This helped with raids, since it had been common knowledge that everyone should retreat to the hall, where the defences would be set up.

At her home she grabbed some alchemical ingredients. They would come in handy for healing injured warriors, or helping them with their battle. She stuffed all the ingredients in a satchel and swung it over her shoulder, before running out of her home and towards the great hall.

The first shots of the enemy catapults were now raining down, crashing through roofs and destroying buildings. She ran as fast as she could, knowing that their great hall could withstand most of the impacts. When she arrived she was quickly greeted by her parents. Her father was already arming himself and some of the other men of the village, and her mother was tending to the wounded.

The chief stepped forward, inspecting his warriors. "Men, arm yourself!" He called out. "Tonight we fight for our tribe, as we have for many generations." Everyone in the hall stopped their work to listen to their chief. "We will fight for our land, and our people." He called out, before stepping on a table to be able to look at everyone. "I want a small group to stay here, mainly sons and daughters, the young ones will protect the elders." He yelled. "I want craftsmen to build a barricade, for if our forced should fail." Heather was relieved, her father was one of the craftsmen, and that meant that at least he would be safe. "We will arm ourselves, and take the fight to our attackers!"

The hall filled with many war cried as all the warriors stormed out the doors. Heather watched sadly, she saw uncles and aunts, friends and family, they all disappeared through the door. After the last one left the door was closed, and tables and other materials were immediately pushed against it. This was their tactic, fight to survive while keeping all the important or weaker people inside.

She turned around and decided to focus on the injured again, many townsfolk had already been hurt by the bombardment of rocks. And needed medical care.

Johann stood outside, a short sword in his hand. He wasn't a fighter, he was a merchant, a man of words and craft, not battle and agility. But that didn't matter now. He would fight besides these men and women, for every port where he laid anchor was his home, and he was sure to defend that.

Four longboats slowly sailed into the harbour, packed to the brim with enemy warriors. The hunters of the village fired a volley of arrows at the boat, only hitting a few enemies, the rest was defended by their thick wooden shields. Once the boats reached close enough to the beach and docks the warriors spilled out, filling the beach and forming their ranks.

It was a coordinated attack, with five large separated groups, each with different kinds of warriors. They all had men with either spears or halberds, axes or swords, hammers or maces, and bows or crossbows. A horn sounded, and the attackers moved forward, shields raised to defend themselves against incoming arrows, before firing their own when the defenders were preparing another volley.

Once they were close enough they stopped, and both parties could feel the tension. It didn't take long for the horn to sound for a second time and both armies to charge at each other.

It was a slaughter, outnumbered and out skilled, the members of the MaceFace clan fell like pawns. Their remaining defenders were quickly pushed back towards the hall, from which the remaining defenders and injured now joined them for the fight.

They stood together, side by side, like brethren, they had formed their own ranks, shields with spears stinking through it. And formed a wall in front of the doors to the great hall. They could hold out for a little while, but if the attacking army attacked in full scale again, they couldn't do anything but fall.

Heather stood halfway the Hall, having a white knuckled grip on a dagger in her hand. She wouldn't go down without a fight she told herself, but the dagger also served another purpose, she wouldn't let herself be captured. She stood between the badly injured and the attackers, willing to give her life for her people. She had climbed on a table to be able to see outside, over their own ranks. They were outnumbered four to one, and the enemy were more skilled and motivated. She squeezed her eyes shut, blocking the image of what could happen in a few moments. But before she could open them, she heard chaos unfold outside.

She looked across the defenders, seeing the enemy army covered in a thick grey cloud of smoke. From inside the smoke you could hear screams of pain and death, and a few fleeing enemies found themselves at the pikes and spears of the defenders. Heather walked towards the ranks, right as the smoke began to clear. The enemy still had their ranks formed against them, but they were gravely thinned. Most of their warriors stood behind them, fighting a grey robed man. The unknown man moved with swiftness and skill, using his own halberd and the weapons of the enemy to quickly thin their ranks. Further from him, men fell without being hit, struck down by another unknown attacker.

The men worked his way through the enemy's ranks, placing himself between the attackers and defenders. The enemy quickly responded by forming their ranks, but they left a gap in the middle. The battleground was silent, only the soft burning of building could be heard. But the silence was pierced by a slow clapping sound. "Good job assassin." Dagur said as he stood between his men. "How noble of you to help this defenceless village."

"Step off Dagur," The hooded man spoke with a heavy voice. "You can still walk away from this." Dagur laughed at this statement. "Walk away from a battle I'm winning?" He asked mockingly. "You don't have your element of surprise, assassin." He spat the last words with all the disgust that he could find.

"I do not indeed." The assassin spoke slowly. Heather looked at him carefully and swore he saw him flick his hand a little bit. A second men dropped from the dark skies, landing his feet on Dagur's shoulders and sending him backward onto the ground. His men reacted shocked, as did the defenders.

Dagur was frozen, he slowly looked up towards the face of his attacker. He first saw the strange helmet dangling from his side, then came the buckle, and finally, he was able to see the face of his attacker. "No." He said quietly, before asking. "How?" "I have nothing to say to you." The assassin said as Dagur felt a sharp, cold sting in his neck. "May the Valkyries welcome you." The assassin whispered. Dagur's forces saw how Dagur's grip on his sword loosened, before the handle slit out of his hand.

The attacking force froze, the men kept their ranks but their attention drifted away towards the now lifeless body of their leader. The MaceFace clan's members knew how it felt, earlier in the battle, before they had to retreat towards their great hall, their respected leader had been cut down by the attacking forces.

Everyone now stared as the second hooded man rose from Dagur's lifeless body, small bits of blood dripping from his hands. It was silent again, everyone awaiting the moves of each other, before the first assassin let out a war cry and charged at the attackers with his halberd. The defending forced quickly followed them into battle.

The ranks of the attackers were broken, and they quickly found themselves retreating deep into the town. The fight had changed from one of ranks and attacks to a random mess of chaos and slaughter, and casualties were rising on both sides. Heather had joined the fight, using a short sword she grabbed from one of her fallen villagers to help her people. She was fighting on the far west side of the village, making the enemy retreat back to the beaches where their ships lay.

She wasn't fighting their attackers head on, but she would attack enemies who were occupied with other battles, greatly thinning out the enemy numbers. She spotted her next target, a big heavy fellow carrying a mace, busily fighting with someone who stood around the corner of a building. She sneaked up towards her target, before his attacker rolled over his back and stabbed him.

She stood there frozen, the man who had killed her target was no one else then the first assassin, the halberd still on his back. But what really stunned her was that during the roll his hood had come off, and she was able to see his face perfectly. He had dark, messy brown hair and blue eyes, there was a small scar on his right cheek. What surprised her even more was that he was her age, a young adult. Johann had talked about him once before on one of his visits, stating that they were foreign warriors. So what really shocked her was that when she looked at the man, she saw a Nordic complexion. The man looked back at her, stunned for a moment by the raven haired girl that stood in front of him, before quickly puling his hood back on and re-joining the battle.

She didn't see him afterwards, not even the other assassin. The remaining enemies were forced back onto their boats and sailed away, retreating back towards the fleet where they came from.

The aftermath was horrible, the smell of burned wood, steel and flesh lingered the air. Corpses littered the streets, both friends and foe. Of the entire town only a fifth of the small population had survived, and there was nothing left.

Pyres were made from the remaining wood. One for each family, since there wasn't enough for everyone. They used a small boat they still had for their chief, for he deserved a proper funeral. The entire day consisted of rites being read and pyres being lit, even one for the fallen foes.

It had been quickly decided that they should vacate the island, in the current state of the village they wouldn't survive the winter. They had a total of three ships left, one being Johann's. They used one day to fit as much supplies on them as they could. The remaining food, gold and silver for trade or buying their way into a new tribe, and blankets for the journey ahead.

The mood was foul and sad, many grieved for lost friends and family, Heather herself had lost two uncles and an aunt, along with a few cousins. She was glad that both her parents were okay at least.

And so they set sail, starting the jourey for a new tribe, in the hopes of finding one on the island of their allies, Berk.

LINE AGAIN!

"So that's the story." Heather said with a sigh. "I still can't believe our village is gone." The gang looked at her with pity, feeling sad for their friend. "Well, I think the chief will allow you into the tribe." Astrid said to lighten the mood. "And he'll allow your stay for the winter at least."

"That's good." Heather said with a small smile, she looked at Astrid. "But you got to help me with something." Astrid looked at Heather with curiosity. "I want to find that assassin." Heather said. "I want to thank him for helping my village."

"Why, he didn't save it or anything." Snotlout muttered, jealous that the new girl directly wanted to find another guy. "Oh, I forgot." Heather then said. "He's also really hot."

AN:

So, here it is, another chapter done! Finito! Finished! I have no idea what I'm saying!

Anyway, I hope everyone is enjoying the story, don't forget to vote on the next story to be written, I have added another one to the list which seems interesting to me :D

Also, for a story I'm planning I might need someone who can translate English to German. If any of you can I would like to hear it, I'm planning on putting a few German phrases in the story and I don't want to offend anyone or misspell them.

I can speak a little bit of german myself but it doesn't go much further then, Auf wiedersehen, Wie gehtst, Super geil, and the yelling you hear in WW2 movies. Shame on me.

Take care!

R4y