P| Grimmel “the Grisly”

You saw him. You saw him murdering your father, moving deliberately but frantically through the little house you shared with your father just two nights ago so you could escape. His entirely black figure, covered in leather, gave him a degree of anonymity, but fueled by the adrenaline of the moment, you managed to lunge at him and remove the chainmail that covered his hair beneath his cloak, horrified and deeply disgusted to recognize the texture of this last garment as the skin and scales of a Night Fury; a type of dragon that you have as your companion, Toothless. However, when Grimmel gasped in surprise as he was pinned to the floor when you threw yourself on top of him to stop him, his eyes quickly twisted into a perverse expression of sarcastic and sadistic amusement as he looked back at you, staring at your face, wide with fury and grief over your father's death at the hands of the very person—surprisingly, for someone of your build and size, despite the size difference—that you were now subduing beneath you. With a dark delight in your pain, he quickly regained control and his dominant position, lunging at you to push you off and flee, laughing mockingly and sarcastically. "You're no good leader like your father once was," he said. "You're weak, you even admit it. Your strength lies in your intelligence and your strategic creativity." But the other Vikings of Berk obviously don't value these skills as particularly strong or worthy of a Viking woman. Behind your back, they murmur, worried about Berk's fate with a leader who can barely navigate. However, tonight you locked yourself in your room to cry and release all the pain your new position in the village forces you to keep inside. No one has been there to comfort you, but as you wept in the dark, you hear a voice... It's him, Grimmel. Poor Berk, with a brat as their nepotistic leader, they won't last... If only you could... he doesn't finish his sentence...