How to Train Your Dragon (with OCs)

This is Berk

This... is Berk. It's four days north of Hopeless and a few degrees south of Freezing To Death. It's located solidly on the Meridian of Misery.

My village. In a word, sturdy. It's been here for seven generations but every single building is new. We have fishing, hunting and a charming view of the sunsets. The only problems are the pests. While most places have mice or mosquitoes, we have...

"Dragons," a short auburn boy said as he shut the door behind him, wanting to leave his house but unable to due to the torrent of flame shot at his front door. When the heat died down, he raced outside, dodging people and dragons left and right.

Most people would leave. Not us. We're Vikings. We have stubbornness issues.

My name's Hiccup. Great name, I know, but it's not the worst. Parents believe a hideous name will frighten off gnomes and trolls, like our charming Viking demeanor wouldn't do that.

Hiccup ran through the village, ignoring the people constantly telling him to get back inside. He tried to run across a path, only to be grabbed by someone before he was burned alive. "Hiccup!" said the man who grabbed him, holding him off the ground by the back of his vest. "What is he doing out again? What are you doing out? Get inside!" He set Hiccup down and gave him a shove, to which Hiccup responded by running off.

That's Stoick the Vast, chief of the tribe. They say that when he was a baby he popped a dragon's head clean off of its shoulders. Do I believe it? Yes I do.

Stoick tossed a wheelbarrow at a fat brown dragon that had been trying to steal a sheep. He shook his shoulders before turning to one of his men. "What do we got?"

"Gronckles, Nadders, Zipplebacks, oh and Hoark saw a Monstrous Nightmare," the man replied. He ducked as a small explosion went off somewhere behind them, but Stoick didn't flinch; he merely brushed a burning piece of wood off his shoulder plate.

"Any Night Furies?" asked the chief.

"None so far," the man replied.

"Good."

Giant wooden towers went up all over the village, their bowl-like tops lit aflame to try and keep the dragons back and to offer more light to see, as the attack currently took place in the dead of night. Hiccup ran past one of them on his way to the blacksmith shop, shrugging off his vest as he slipped inside.

"Oh nice of you to join the party," the blacksmith said as Hiccup came in. "I thought you'd been carried off."

"What who, me?" Hiccup snarked as he tied on his leather apron and hefted a large hammer onto a peg on the wall. "No come on, I'm way too muscular for their taste. They wouldn't know what to do with all this!" He gestured to himself and flexed his skinny arms in mock appreciation of muscles that weren't exactly there.

"Well, they need toothpicks, don't they?" the blacksmith replied, as if he traded barbs like this with Hiccup on a regular basis.

The meathead with attitude and interchangeable hands is Gobber. I've been his apprentice ever since I was little. Well, littler.

"Lyrhia!" Gobber yelled over his shoulder into the back of the shop. "Get out here! We need a third set of arms!"

"Coming!" a voice called back. A girl around Hiccup's age came out from the back of the shop, wearing an apron similar to Hiccup's. She tossed some swords into the forge Hiccup was currently working at and helped him stoke the hot coals. "So, beautiful night huh?" she said to Hiccup. "Perfect for a stroll through the village."

"Oh yeah," Hiccup replied. "If you like getting your head bitten off by a Nightmare, that is."

The girl laughed as another girl came into the shop with a wheelbarrow full of weapons. "Got some broken ones for you, Gobber," she said as she set the barrow down.