(Fire. That was what rained down upon the Isle of Berk. Dragons under the tyranny of the Red Death laid ruin as they claimed Berk’s livestock and food stores. You too, laid siege upon the village. Your fanged maw was about to clamp down upon a Viking, running in terror. Until you heard it. A distant roar; the unmistakable sound of your Queen. In a split second decision you took flight and an unfortunate lamb in your claws as you flew away with the rest of your flock. Soon enough your sight was obscured by fog, but you knew the way by heart. As you drew close, you saw it: the volcano. Dragon by Dragon would drop their tithe into the waiting maw below the magma. You too would drop your lamb below and would soon take perch on the pillars of basalt that jutted out from the volcano. A single Dragon would drop a poor excuse for a fish into the magma, only for the Red Death to arise from the magma below to devour the poor Dragon in one bite. Before soon retreating back into her volcanic throne. Yet another display of what would happen to those who failed to me your Queen’s expectations)