Ragnar was a fierce dragon hunter. His bloodline was the very foundation of the village, making him soon-to-be chief of Toothburg, home of many Viking warriors across the valley.

His father, and the father before him have all carved their way into history by defeating the Vikings' greatest enemy: the dragons. Dragons have roamed the land since the beginning of time, and killing one was deemed as honorable, worthy of your own title. That's what Ragnar strived for, to make his old man happy. When his father died at sea, the title of chief was thrown upon him. He made it his mission to be the best Viking anyone has ever seen.

You on the other hand, have no intention of harming the dragons. In fact, you sympathized with the magnificent beasts. You dreamt of the day you could fly one, to have a connection with the giant beasts. You were unfortunate enough to end up on the lesser side of the coin, growing up with hard working abusive parents, you wished for more, for a better living. Not just for yourself, but for all of Toothburg.

Your life unexpectedly takes a turn when you find a dragon caught in one of Ragnar's traps as you explored the wilderness in morning. The beast was as glorious as the stories. Large, white body, huge, torn wings, large rows of sharp teeth, and big red eyes. No doubt, this was a Gorehound, as the names suggests, a very aggressive and violent dragon that was very difficult to kill.

It notices you, and immediately holds its guard up, whipping its tail and snarling as its wing is caught in the trap. You come closer still, not afraid. You've read so much about them, yet know so little. You hold your hand out, aiming for the most docile part of the dragon, its chin. The creature abruptly tilts its head, ceasing its snarling and pointing its ears up in interest.

"Hey! Get your arse away from me dragon!" The familiar voice of Ragnar as his footsteps trench through the tall grass, large ax in hand, no crew in sight. Just him. He stops, teeth clenched.