They were the early hours of the day in the Barbaric Archipelago, and the sun was just beginning to stretch fingerlings of colour across the dark skies. Sea birds started to emerge from their nests in the rocky cliffs where they would jump and plummet gleefully towards the water before spreading their wings and catching themselves, screaming in delight. The ocean roared and tossed salty spray into the air as the world woke again from its slumber.

Somewhere far away, in a land that even the sun didn't dare touch, a man stood on a misty cliff above the ocean. The wind whipped his coal-coloured hair across his scarred face as he squinted into the fog that was the colour of both his eyes and his heart. He was about 6'4, with a stocky figure and biceps the size of logs. He wore full armoury over his chest and shoulders, and a dark fur cape that entangled itself around his legs in the wind. One could tell by the way he stood that this man was, without doubt, sure of his identity. He held himself with a certain stiff posture that showed he was a figure of authority to be respected, and he knew it. But even the greatest men are scared of something, and this was no exception.

Spitting on the ground, the man spun around and strode through a massive pair of wooden doors into a castle. The single tower loomed high above the sea so the very top of it pierced the heavy clouds. As the man climbed the stairs, he glanced out the slit window. Below him, the water broke on jagged rocks. The remains of a ship were tossed around the base of the cliff like toys in a storm.

The man reached the top of the staircase. Panting slightly, he hesitated, fist raised, before knocking on the door infront of him.

Silence.

Then, a deep, raspy voice answered. "Enter."

The man tentatively pushed open the door and stepped into the room. It was pitch black except for a single candle that flickered from the movement. The air smelled of dust and blood.

The man dropped onto one knee and bowed his head. "My lord." He mustered up the courage to say. "You wanted to see me?"

The voice croaked its reply.

"Indeed, Svalenn. Rise, man, and come over here where I can see you."

General Hadar Svalenn got to his feet and shuffled over to where a giant, hunched figure sat in a chair, concealed by a cloth that had been draped over its face and body.

"My lord." Muttered Hadar. "How is your health?"

The figure barked. "My health is not of your concern, General. I do not need you to..."

The general jumped as a fit of violent coughing erupted from the chair.

"I am healing, man. Soon, I will be strong enough to finish what I started. But for now, I need a favour done."

The general stepped forward eagerly. "Anything, my lord."

The figure wheezed before continuing.

"On the island of Berk, there is a threat to my plans. His name is Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, son of the late Stoick the Vast."

Svalenn interrupted. "I have heard of that man. He's the one who trained a Night Fu..."

"Silence, man!" He figure smashed one giant, distorted fist against the arm of the chair, before erupting into another coughing fit. The sound echoed eerily in the dark room. The figure regained composure, and went on.

"This man has defied me once. I am not going to let him think he can get away with that."

"No, of course not, my lord." Stuttered the general.

The figure leaned forward slightly.

"You are to take an army to Berk and destroy the man. Leave everything else to me. But do whatever you must to make sure I have that man's head mounted on a spear. Leave the Night Fury, you must bring the Night Fury to me. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." Svalenn said.

"Oh, general? Make sure you get rid of him for good. Or I'd not only fear for your life, but for the lives of your family as well."

Svalenn gulped. "Yes, sir."

"Now get out, man. And don't let me see your face until the job is done."

The general bowed once again and stumbled out of the room.

Drago Bludvist sighed and leaned back in his chair.

"Not long, now, O great dragon master. Not long now."