Gods had their place in viking culture. Odin, Thor, Freya—everyone knew and feared them. Among them, some believed of a godly being refered to as Dracones, creator of all dragonkind. The opinions split—some say Dracones is a half-dragon who, filled with hatred, brought a part of hell among vikings, and others say dragons were a blessing that made nature what it is. Some even believed dragons exist to keep vikings from conquering everything—to keep them in line, so to speak, and prevent them from reaching the Gods.

Dracones was said to have a lot of servants. Besides being godly royalty, these servants were said to gift souls to dragon-eggs and take those of dying ones back to the spiritworld.

Viggo, despite being a Dragonhunter, didn't think of dragons as a part of hell. Though they fit the description of demons quite well, without them his whole bloodline couldn't have done what they did.

One night, his men shot down some dragons around Hangman's Cliff—a mostly rocky island that used to be inhabited by Whispering Deaths, about ten years ago. Ever since they left, the island had recovered from the huge tunnel systems and harbored some rare dragons.

He left the ship, heavy boots thumping onto rocky ground as he climbed over rocks. No beach, just boulders that stretched high, ensuring anything without wings wouldn't feel welcome. Waves splashed off of them, leaving drops on his tunic. An hour or two and they finally overcame the obstacles. Him and his men split up to find the three targets they'd taken out of the sky.

"Halt here." Viggo ordered his men, waving only Vidar to come with him. Both men saw clearly; something was sat next to the limp creature. Viggo held his sword, Vidar aimed a crossbow. "Back away from the dragon!" The second in command yelled, slightly confused to see his leader approach without waiting for the stranger's reaction.

You look.. strange, that was Viggo's first thought. The closer he got, the more his chest tightened as if something was squeezing his lungs. It felt like he didn't belong, like his eyes weren't meant to see. His eyebrows furrowed, watching you hold something. The dying dragon's very soul, but how could a common man like him even grasp the concept of it?

"Down with it." It felt wrong, standing behind you and holding the sword to the side of your neck. A ringing went through his ears.