Legend tells of a legendary warrior who's fighting skills were the stuff of legend...
The warrior, with the top half of his face hidden beneath a mask made from the strongest iron, chewed softly on a piece of mutton. He sat in a dark and musty restaurant, avoiding eye contact with all those around him.
He traveled the land in search of worthy foes...
Just then, the door flew open with a bang, and in marched the Berserker Gang, surrounding the warrior from all sides. No escape.
Their leader-a tattooed, brawny, redheaded man who went by the name of Dagur the Deranged-stepped forward. "I see you like to chew," he remarked. "Maybe you should chew on my fist!" Dagur slammed his fist down on the table before the warrior, who didn't even flinch at the harsh contact.
The warrior swallowed his food, then said, "no more jokes. Let's finish this!" With a single flick of his wrist, a sword of fire was produced from the leg of the warrior, and he wasted no time in flipping the table so violently that all the Berserkers flew backwards from the sudden attack, landing in an uncoordinated heap on the ground.
He was so deadly, in fact, that everyone would bow before him when exposed to his pure skills.
The onlookers swooned and bowed before the warrior, who stood proudly before them, fire sword held high above his head like a trophy.
"He's too amazing!" one shouted.
"...and attractive," one of the girls said, straightening her hair as she did so.
"How can we ever repay you?" the manager of the restaurant came forward with his head bowed low.
"There is no charge," the warrior responded in a deep and manly voice.
Suddenly, hundreds of Outcasts came rushing through the door. Noticing this, the warrior made quick work of them, swinging his sword left and right, dispatching them nearly four at a time. He exited the restaurant and fought off more and more as they kept coming, though the warrior never broke a sweat. Soon enough, he was walking through a field of defeated foe, the sunlight raining down upon him in a beautiful golden light.
Never before had a so-called-weakling been so feared...and so loved...
...Even the most heroic heroes in all of Berk, the Dragon's Five, bowed in total respect to this great warrior...
The Dragon's Five surrounded the warrior, and they all bowed their heads in great respect.
"We should hang out," Snotlout said.
"Agreed," the warrior replied. Before he got the chance to say another word, however, they were faced with the sudden challenge of a million Outcasts and Berserkers all in one!
But hanging out would have to wait, because when faced with the Outcasts and Berserkers together, only one thing matters, and that's-
The warrior and Dragon's Five all jumped into action, but when the warrior looked over to see the Five, majestically following his lead, they spoke with the same odd voice, laced with a heavy Scottish accent.
"Hiccup! Get up!" Snotlout told him.
"You'll be late for work," Astrid cut in.
"Wha-?" Hiccup sat up in bed, his forest green eyes half closed and attempting to open fully, and his long, dark, auburn hair sticking out in strange places. He glanced around his bedroom in dismay, realizing it was only a dream and nothing more. Figurines of the Dragon's Five sat on a shelf above his bed, along with a wooden, carved out version of Inferno, also known as The Fire Sword.
Hiccup sighed and swung his legs over the side of the bed, before springing to his feet. He had completely forgotten that he had taken his prosthetic leg off the night before, leaving his left leg cut off just below the knee, and it didn't take more than a second before gravity took hold of his small and scrawny frame, sending him tumbling to the floor. He frantically searched around his small room for the missing appendage, and soon found it lying near the foot of his bed.
"Hiccup! What are you doing up there?" the same Scottish voice called again from downstairs.
"Uh...nothing!" Hiccup yelled back, his voice high pitched and nasally. Even though he was only sixteen, he still cursed his voice and wished it would man up already. Rising to his hands and knees, Hiccup crawled over to the foot of his bed, and took hold of the prosthetic before tying it into place.
"Hiccup, let's go! You're already late enough as it is!"
"Coming!" Hiccup scooped a dart up off the floor and chucked it at a dartboard that hung on the wall. The dart simply bounced off, and Hiccup quickly ran over, picked it up, and tried again, though he received the same result. Realizing he was out of time, Hiccup ceased his efforts and pocketed the dart, before hopping down the wooden stairs.
He tripped on the final step, landing flat on his face in an open area filled with axes, maces, swords, shields, spears, and pretty much every other weapon you could think of.
Hiccup simply lay there for a moment, too exhausted to get up. "Sorry, Uncle Gobber," he sighed, finally moving to stand.
A large man stood before him, wearing old, dirty rags for clothes. Small, bright blue eyes shone through the black soot covering his face, and his usually blonde mustache was covered in splotches of black as well.
"'Sorry' doesn't make weapons," Gobber reminded him helpfully as he began hammering a sword into shape. "What were you doing up there, anyway? That was a lot of racket."
"Oh, n-nothing, just a...crazy dream," Hiccup answered hesitantly as he put on his leather apron.
"Oh?" Gobber raised his bushy unibrow. "About what?"
"Huh?"
"The dream, ya toothpick," Gobber said with a roll of his eyes. "What were you dreaming about?"
"What was I-?" Hiccup began, the question now fully registering in his mind. He couldn't tell Gobber about his dream of becoming a legendary warrior. He would kill Hiccup if he knew the boy was wishing to go out there and fight for himself. Hiccup was allowed to make the weapons, but he was forbidden to use them, especially not after the accident involving the missing lower half of his left leg. The dart weighed heavily in his pocket. "Um...blacksmithing."
Clang! Gobber looked up at Hiccup from the stilled hammer attachment that made up half of his arm, and his eyes widened. "You were dreaming about making weapons?"
"O-of course! Wha-what else would I be...dreaming about?" Hiccup stuttered with a slight shrug, unable to meet Gobber's eyes. He handed a finished sword to a waiting villager.
"Oh, happy day! My nephew, finally having the blacksmithing dream!" Gobber cried. He rushed forward and pulled Hiccup into a bone crushing hug, nearly knocking the air out of the boy. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this moment! It's a sign, Hiccup!"
"A...sign?" Hiccup rubbed the back of his neck nervously. What has he gotten himself into?!
"You are almost ready to learn how to make the secret weapon," Gobber whispered to him excitedly. "It was bound to happen!"
"Come on, Uncle Gobber," Hiccup tried to shut him down gently. "It was just a dream."
"No, Hiccup," Gobber said. He leaned forward and spoke quietly and mysteriously, "it was the dream."
"Alright, then," Hiccup said awkwardly. "But didn't you ever want to do, I don't know, something... else?"
Gobber laughed at the question. "You know, now that I think back, I did want to be a healer once."
"So why didn't you?" Hiccup asked, inwardly pleading for his Uncle to understand.
"Because it was a stupid dream," Gobber answered simply with a shake of his head. "And anyway, the women are the healers. No, Hiccup, my place is here. And yours-"
"Is here, I know," Hiccup sadly finished for him.
"No, it's at the grinder over there." Gobber tossed a broadsword into Hiccup's arms, and the boy buckled under the sudden weight. "Sword. Sharpen. Now." He commanded before going back to work.
Hiccup grunted as he dropped the sword onto the stone grinder, before pressing the pedal with his foot to get it to sharpen the blade. It didn't take long, though, before a sudden horn blast startled him enough to cause him to drop the sword onto the ground with a resounding clang. Hiccup ran over to the window and looked out, peering up at the Great Hall where the Dragon's Five trained in combat, and, apparently, where the horn blast had come from.