Ghost's Reign Chapter 8: A Meeting of Mercenaries, a How to Train Your Dragon + Big Hero 6 Crossover fanfic

Chapter 8, everybody! Time for that business meeting.

Obake's quoting my grandpa on my Dad's side, although Grandpa's exact words were "You'll ruin that horse that way" in regards to Dad being bucked over its head. Dad got his revenge though. XD Dad, meanwhile, is responsible for the "peanut gallery" comments. And again, Obake is quoting Pearl from the Books of the Raksura series I really like that line it works so well.

Anywho…y'all remember that this is also HTTYD fic, so have some guys from the TV shows. Yes, we're going with the version of Alvin from the show over the books since I'm more familiar with that version (really need to find the books). Also Dagur is quoting Terk from the Disney Tarzan movie. And possibly Doofenschmirtz from Phineas and Ferb and Carrigan from the Casper movie with Christina Ricci in it. Dickering is another term for haggling, by the way. And yes, those Southern Isles are the ones from Frozen.

Obake had heard the blast, was somewhat aware of the story of the little Night Fury chasing off a Scauldron thanks to Carl filling him in when he brought some more tea and broth down.

So he was somewhat prepared, when he emerged back abovedecks after his stomach finally decided to settle, for the sight of Hiro laying boldly on deck in idle languidity, being completely spoiled by the entire crew.

"You'll ruin that dragon that way," he said, announcing his presence and sending everyone scurrying. Except for Hiro, who sat up and glared at him like he wanted to ask and WHY did you interrupt?

"So you're feeling better," Carl observed.

"Let me guess, we're almost there," Obake sighed.

"We'll be there a little before sundown, yes," Carl confirmed. "Might be a good idea to hide Hiro before then."

"No, you don't say, I was planning on parading him right down the street."

"I'm guessing that's sarcasm."

"So glad you figured that out," he said flatly, sitting next to Hiro. "Did you hear that? Go home, Hiro."

Hiro rolled so he had his back to Obake and stuck his nose up in the air, occasionally shooting a glance to make sure Obake noticed being ignored.

"And that really breaks my heart," Obake said drily, stretching out in the sun. Ugh, there had to be better ways to travel.

But in the meantime, he had a line of bull to iron out.

As Carl predicted, they reached the agreed-upon island towards sundown. North-northeast of them, not quite on the Meridian of Misery but closer than Obake cared for, it was about as barren as any island in the Ghost Archipelago, although the state of it seemed more thanks to dragons or natural disaster than any marauding tribe. Bleak and rocky, and looking like some massive dragon had blasted it at some point so the jagged edifices were forever frozen in some approximation of a boulder dropped in water, it wasn't the sort of island some random person would dare venture near.

Ergo, why it was one of the islands selected for the meeting of mercenary tribes. After all, no one wanted their designs to get out and alert their targets, and it was difficult for anything or anyone to sneak up on the island itself. Further, it was fortified thanks to its design, so even if someone did desire to attack it while it was occupied, it wouldn't be feasible.

Obake had spent most of the day picking Carl's brain on who had been to this butchered version of a Viking Thing before, moving on to trying to piece together what they did know when they realized that everyone who had been with Callaghan to this recently had left with him. Granted, most of this would probably be useless, the hotheads would fight over territory as the cooler heads carved things up to suit themselves, but Obake wanted to at least appear informed.

It felt more like he was subscribing to a headache though. And speaking of such.

"You. Stay. Put," he told Hiro flatly. "Out of sight, do not even think of following me. Matter of fact." Lead him into the cabin, dart back out, shut it, latch it.

"Think that's such a good idea?" Carl asked him.

"Well I'm not hearing the peanut gallery offering any suggestions," Obake snapped as they pulled into port. "And ideally we won't be spending too long here anyway." Look out over the ramshackle buildings shored up under rocky outcroppings, defensible from dragon attack but still ventilated enough that theoretically he wouldn't suffocate on the stench of these people. Theoretically.

"Come on," he sighed. "Let's get this travesty started."

The accompanying Yokai fanned out to mingle with the other crews and get intel that way as Obake and Carl went for the heart of the place, all of them with masks and coats on—they needed to reinforce in these peoples' minds that they were the Yokai, dangerous and deadly, and hopefully make them think twice before trying anything funny.

At the very least, they succeeded in making the goon answering the door scurry away in fear.

"Oi, Scrumm! Yer not supposed ta leave the door open—oh," a burly Viking type about Carl's size noised upon spotting them. "'Bout time you got here, that makes you the last ones, I think." Step back, point out what looked like a dragon ribcage bristling with swords, axes and other weaponry. "Weapons there, and take off the masks too, we'll be needing ta see yer faces."

"Since when?" Obake asked, deciding for recalcitrant.

"Since I said so, that's when."

"Uh, Alvin?" one of the other Viking-types noised. "Maybe don't aggravate the Yokai."

"Puh—Outcasts fear no one," Alvin countered. "The only reason we're even bothering with this mess is out o' courtesy—an' that means everyone follows the rules." Here he pulled an axe out of the ribcage. "Or am I gonna hafta start makin' examples?"

Carl nudged Obake and took his own mask off, tucking it into an inside pocket. Obake could get the unspoken message: the point of this visit was to keep themselves from being a target, rocking the boat and picking fights would not help.

That didn't stop him from letting his face flare, accentuating his glare as he pulled his mask up and off.

"Oh, you," Alvin spat, once he had recovered from his flinch—probably one of the few milder reactions in the room. "Wot're you doing here? I figured Callaghan banned you from comin' back after th' last incident."

"Callaghan stopped bringing me to these meetings at my own insistence," Obake said flatly. "Me being here now is a punishment." Which wasn't entirely a lie.

"Puh—sure. Where is Callaghan anyway?" Alvin said, glancing around like he expected the man to step out from behind Carl (to be fair, Carl was big enough to hide more than a few people behind).

"Callaghan is busy elsewhere." Again, not a lie. "He sent me here in his stead."

Alvin took a double-take at that, as did most people within earshot. "You!?"

"As I said: me being here now is a punishment," Obake stated. "So if we could breeze through this with anything resembling haste—I want to be here about as much as you want me here."

Alvin grumbled but stalked off. "Fine, only because I have other things ta do. Savage! Start readin' th' minutes, I want ta get this over with."

"Ah," whoever was stuck keeping tallies said, making the long roomful of mercenaries swivel their attention from the nervous Viking in the corner to the other poor sap with the litigation job. "Not everyone is here yet."

"We're aware," Alvin growled. "You," he said, pointing at Obake. "Tell Callaghan that I owe him a punch in the face next time I sees him."

"I'll be happy to pass that message along when I see him," Obake said drily—didn't take that much effort considering he never intended to see Callaghan again.

"Not that," the guy said. "We don't have any representatives from the Berserker tribe yet."

The room grew quiet as everyone looked around, like a Berserker would pop out from behind a crate or shield and announce themselves.

"You," one of the warmongering khans said to Alvin. "You hail from that area—did they get wiped out?"

"No," Alvin said. "The Berserkers had just finished a raid when we left—probably late because they're sortin' it all out."

"The Yokai have better things to do," Obake said.

"Oh, and we Outcasts just sit around making daisy chains all day, do we?" Alvin snapped back—slammed the axe into the table, making a long crack splinter up the wood. "This was the agreed-upon date, iffen the Berserkers miss it that's on them."

"Possibly no one there knows how to read a calendar," Obake muttered, making a few nearby goons snicker—something they wouldn't dare do with a Berserker present.

"Again that's on them. If there are no other objections?" Alvin glared at the room at large before straightening up, putting his hands on his hips. "Right. Seeing as how the Berserkers aren't here and therefore have forfeited their right ta claim any specific territory, the Outcasts will be claiming the Barbaric Archipelago, thank ye very much."

"No you won't," a representative from one of the other tribes from up that way stated.

"Fight me for it."

"I suddenly remember why I asked to stop coming to these," Obake sighed.

"I figured Callaghan told you no," Carl said to him. "Because of certain incidents."

"As if those were my fault."

Carl's answer was cut off by the door being kicked open—and off its hinges.

"The fun has arrived!" some idiot Viking declared, stomping in on the door and apparently deciding to ignore the fact that someone was stuck under it. "Thank you all for waiting, I just know you wouldn't dare start without me."

"And 'oo in the name o' Thor's greasy armpit are you?" Alvin demanded.

"Uh, hello?" the guy declared, stomping up and along the table. "You don't know who I am? How dare you not know who I am—"

"Sir," someone who came in behind the new guy said. "They wouldn't have gotten the news."

"Who cares? Do you not see this Skrill on my armor? Or this Skrill? Or this one?"

"The delegate for the Berserkers, we presume," Obake said, pitching his voice to cut over the inane babbling and hopefully end it.

"Good—someone gets it," the guy said, one hand on his hip, other gesturing to Obake as he rolled his eyes at the rest of the delegates. "You—I've decided I like you."

"Joy," Obake muttered.

"Now 'old it," Alvin ordered. "Wot happened to Oswald the Agreeable?"

"Oh, him," the guy said, stepping on the axe Alvin had left in the table, levering it so he could swing it out and onto his shoulder. "He had a little…axe-ident, if you get what I'm saying." Gesture broadly as he turned to the rest of the room. "I would like to extend the honor of introducing you all to the new Berserker chief: me! Dagur the Deranged!"

"Got the 'deranged' part right," Alvin muttered.

"Good, glad you got that part—wouldn't have to make my point any more strenuously," Dagur said, grinning maniacally as he hefted the axe around.

"So instead of Oswald the Agreeable we're stuck with Dagur the Pun-ishing," Obake muttered in an aside to Carl. A nearby goon heard, snorted at that—

Gasped, clutched at the knife sticking out of his chest as he went down.

All attention shifted to Dagur, whose arm was still out from where he had thrown the knife, expression saying he was intending to commit more murder, agreed-upon rules of engagement be hanged.

And then he shrugged.

"You know what? You're right, that was funny," he said, straightening back up. "We're sticking with Dagur the Deranged, though—one of my advisors said alliteration sticks better."

"Whatever," Alvin said, waving a hand at the goon on the floor. "Someone kick 'im under the table, and you get offa it so we can get back ta business."

"Right," Dagur said, slamming the axe down. "I'm all for getting this boring chief stuff out of the way and going back to the fun stuff, so I'm going to make it real simple for all of you and claim the whole of the Barbaric Archipelago."

"No you're not," the guy who had objected to Alvin's earlier claim said.

"And now we're back to where we started," Obake muttered, rubbing his forehead—

Twitched alongside everyone else's flinches when Dagur swung the axe around like he was playing golf and took the objector's head off.

"Any other takers?" Dagur asked mildly, genuinely curious expression at odds with the red splattered across his face and the axe dripping gore on his shoulder. "Because I really don't want to waste any more time here than I have to I have a Night Fury to hunt."

That statement only got another round of nonplussed silence, and Obake very dearly hoped Carl wasn't doing something stupid like looking right at him or something.

"Excuse me?" a khan asked finally.

Dagur sagged. "Did you not hear me? There. Is. A. Night Fury. And I plan to hunt it down and wear its skull as a hat."

"No one's ever even seen a Night Fury," someone else objected. "You'll never even get close."

"I vote we let him go," someone else said, as a few others muttered something about a man named Grimmel. "If he wants to engage in a wild goose chase, let him."

"Oh but I have seen a Night Fury," Dagur said, looking manic. "And I figured out the secret—you get something they care about, and they do the rest."

So while that sounded accurate enough….

"You've seen one."

He could feel Carl thinking this was a bad idea, but by this time everyone, Dagur included, had turned to look at Obake, who pressed on with his intended line of questioning. "Then enlighten us—what does it look like?"

Dagur shrugged. "Weird and black."

"Hence the night part of Night Fury," Obake said flatly. "What. About. Details."

"Head and a tail and wings and who cares."

"Because then anything is a Night Fury if you're bad enough at identifying something."

"You seem invested," someone down the line said.

"I have better things to do than to listen to these two—" And here he pointed at Dagur and Alvin. "Bicker for the next day and a half about who gets hunting rights in an area that most of us don't even bother with."

A few of the others started nodding. "Fair point," someone muttered.

"Oh so you're my only competition?" Dagur asked, ambling up the table to Alvin—who reached back and hefted a club in anticipation. "I can work with that—I call dibs on Berk and the surrounding area."

"I contest that on principle," Alvin growled. "Besides, I have me own impossible thing I'm huntin'—there's rumors of a dragon conqueror, and that's just the sort o' thing that piques Outcast interest."

"Drago?" someone asked. "I had heard rumor."

So all this was suddenly becoming very interesting—which meant the axe Dagur jabbed at Obake wasn't appreciated.

"So it just occurred to me," Dagur said. "That weird and black applies to you with that black coat of yours."

So done was probably the appropriate expression here. "Fine then, I confess: I'm secretly ten Terrors in a trenchcoat, we can't believe you saw through our cunning disguise."

That snark earned a round of uproarious laughter—even Alvin snickered at that before catching himself.

"What, were you hoping to intimidate me?" he asked Dagur, tipping his head. Dagur matched the head tip—

Suddenly started laughing, buckling his knees and clapping a hand on Obake's shoulder.

"You," Dagur gasped, gesturing at him a little with his axe. "I like you—you're funny. Matter of fact, I've decided I'm not killing you tonight."

"Tonight, he says."

"I don't like to make too many long-term commitments," Dagur said, standing back up and fortunately letting go. Obake still took a step back, not trusting someone who was leaning so strongly into the deranged moniker. "But back to you," he said, focusing on Alvin. "I get Berk—I called dibs."

"Actually I called dibs first," Alvin said. "Jus' a little bit afore you got here, you can check the minutes."

Dagur's response was to throw the axe at the Viking who had been keeping the minutes, who just narrowly dodged with a most unbecoming shriek.

"That," Dagur hissed, whipping out a sword as he rounded on Alvin. "Is what I think of the minutes. You want Berk? Then fight me for it."

"Motion to sidebar those two while the rest of us dicker," Obake posed.

Dagur rounded on him. "Do we not look like we're in the middle of something?"

"This gets the boring chief stuff done faster."

Dagur considered this—nodded. "All right. Now where were we?"

"I was getting ready ta necessitate the Berserkers getting another new chief," Alvin said.

"Right. Who's your second in command? They're about to be promoted."

"Moving on," Obake groused, starting to be of the opinion that just not showing up would have been preferable.

"Moving on," one of the khans agreed. "I vote the Yokai get last pick, seeing as how their chief didn't even bother to show up."

"Fair enough." At the looks he got: "Consider the current situation. Now consider that this is a punishment for me, in every sense of the word. I am not feeling charitable towards Callaghan right now." Which again, wasn't a lie. "At this point, I want this to be done and over with. Now continue."

Carl watched the dickering become bickering and then several full-out brawls before leaning over to Obake. "So while I'm not opposed to getting out of this sort of thing…."

"You still feel compelled to comment, I'm sure."

"This still feels counterintuitive."

"By the time another rolls around we'll have a more concrete plan." Like running for all they were worth and never clapping eyes on the Greater Archipelago again, that was always an option. "I understand the Southern Isles are lovely this time of year, that's a concept."

"We called dibs on the Southern Isles," someone countered, right before getting punched in the face. It did at least remind him that it was probably for the best that they not be discussing potential retirement where other people could hear.

"Enough 'o this!" Alvin demanded finally, after getting some breathing room in his fight with Dagur. "Yeh can't have Berk because I'm the one with th' longstandin' feud with Stoick the Vast. Yer the newbie, take yer lumps and be done widdit."

"On the contrary," Dagur countered, ragged breathing seeming more suited to his demented look than actually being winded. "I think it's time for the new blood to take over."

"And I think it's time we leave," Obake said to Carl in an undertone. "Nothing's getting accomplished here and I am growing bored."

"That wasn't your starting emotion with this?" Carl asked.

"Hush you—" Cut off abruptly at the axe pointed at his face.

"Am I to understand that you are not entertained?" Dagur demanded.

"I'm not entertained by watching other people fight, no."

"Ah, I see—the Yokai want to participate."

"I don't derive entertainment from fighting for other people's sport either," Obake countered drily. "We came here because usually we derive some sort of purpose in coming here. There is no point in sitting here and watching other people fight when I can do the exact same thing on Yokai."

"Hmm," Dagur noised, tapping on the axe blade. "You have a point."

Obake arched an eyebrow, suspicious of where this was going. "I take it there's a catch."

"More like a wager—win, and you get to pick whatever you want and then leave. Sound good?"

It sounded too good, in Obake's opinion—mull it over as Dagur silenced everyone clamoring, narrowed his eyes at Dagur when the latter turned his attention back to him.

"What's the wager?"