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-Stonegit was born in a small, rocky village by the edge of the sea. His father worked and built ships, his mother did the same. In fact, most everybody in the village knew the ins and outs of a ship…except Stonegit. When most of the boys and girls of the village knew almost everything there was to know about boats by the time they were ten, Stonegit was still off playing imagination with his likeminded friends. This wasn’t because he was lazy or a screw up, but merely because he was not as skilled as the others. The best word to describe him…was average. However, it wasn’t going to stay that way.-

Ten year old Stonegit hummed quietly as he tromped through the woods, reaching over every once in a while to break down a dead tree, or jumping up to swing on a sturdy branch. “Stonegit!” one of the village kids called from down the path. “Hurry up! Grunkstomp is about to start the lesson!”

Stonegit blinked and then began running, calling after him. “I’m coming!” Grunkstomp was the local battle master, and he had a passion for teaching the children how to fight and defend themselves. Oddly enough, Stonegit usually bested the other children when it came to fighting, for some reason he just had a knack for it. Which was fine by him, it helped balance out his lack of knowledge about boats. Stonegit panted as he jogged along the dirt path, and then slowed down when he heard the yells and cursing of an old man. Squinting, Stonegit steps off the path, pushing past the brush and looking into the woods. There he could see the village chief’s father, an old crotchety man with a bad temper. Though the chief was a good man and excellent leader, in his eyes his father could do no wrong, which caused some problems, problems that the villagers had given up mentioning to their chief. What Stonegit saw was the boney old man grumbling as he was digging a hole in the ground, carelessly flinging the dirt towards his Deadly Naadar, which was tied crudely to a tree. Stonegit swallowed, he didn’t like this man, but he was worried about the dragon, which was flinching every time the dirt hit its face. He stepped forward. “Mr. Orskaf?”

“Eh?” the old man turned around, blinking hard at him. “What do you want boy?” he asked, his voice wobbly. “Have you come to help me dig?”

“Um…” Stonegit said, feeling nervous. “No I uh…”

“Get over here you little runt and dig this hole!” Orskaf yelled, even though his voice barely carried. He coughed raggedly, shoving the spade into Stonegit’s arms and pushing towards the shallow ditch. “Go on!” he turned away, mumbling something about ungrateful children making old men do all the work.

Out of fear and respect for the elder, Stonegit started digging, glancing over his shoulder. “What do you need this hole for Mr. Orskaf Sir?”

“What do I need the…? I’ll tell ya why I need it! My damn Naadar got himself blind! He’s a useless shit now I’m gonna burry him!”

“What?!” Stonegit said, halting his digging and turning around. Upon a closer look, he could see small scars across the dragon’s face where it had been whipped savagely in years past. “But! But Mr. Orskaf you can’t!”

“Don’t talk to me like that you little bastard!” Orskaf said, pointing a finger in his face. “You get the grave dug, and when it’s done I’ll hold him down and you cut his throat. My shaking old fingers can’t handle that fine knife work no more you see.” He coughed again. “Then we roll em in and you can go home. Oh…” he grumbled, turning away and digging in his pocket. “You probably want money for your work I bet. Wretches children are, wretches I say.” As he spoke, Stonegit slowly backed up. Orskaf raised his head, lifting his bushy eyebrows as he drew a mere copper out of his pocket. “What’s wrong with you boy?” he asked.

Stonegit shook his head again. “I’m not gonna kill the dragon Mr. Orskaf, or dig the hole.”


Stonegit held up his hands. “But I’ll take him off your hands for ya, I will. I’ll take care of him and you won’t have anything to worry about.”

“I’m not gonna let you have my dragon!” Orskaf spat, his chin wobbling. “He’s mine and he let me down. Ran me into a tree I tell ya, I’m putting him in the ground.”

“Well maybe he wouldn’t have gone blind if you hadn’t beaten him!” Stonegit yelled, suddenly getting angry.

Orskaf closed his eyes and shook his fists. “You can’t talk to me like that!” he howled. “I used to be chief!” he inhaled shakily, his eyes widening. “I’ll teach you respect boy, I’ll teach you respect!”

Stonegit let out a small yelp as the old man seized his wrists with an iron grip, pulling on him. Stonegit turned his wrist and slipped out, pushing past Orskaf and running over to the tied up Naadar, cutting it loose with his pocket knife. “Go!” he yelled, swatting it. Immediately the Naadar squawked, flapping its wings and running off into the woods. Stonegit staggered backwards as the dragon took off, and then gasped, turning around. The shovel hit the boy on the side of his head with a loud thud. Stonegit only had enough time to let out a brief scream, before he dropped to the ground, out cold.   

Orskaf stood over him, working his jaw with frustration. “You damn ungrateful kid,” he said, sniffing once. The shovel savagely came down, smacking the boy again in the same place. Orskaf licked his lips. “You wasted my afternoon you did…making me dig that damn hole, and then letting my dragon go! What were ya thinking?!” Mumbling and grumbling, Orskaf scooped up his knife, stuffing it into his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. Smacking his lips, he stepped over Stonegit and the small pool of blood coming from him, swinging the shovel behind him so that it thunked into the small Viking once more. Then Orskaf disappeared down the dirt path.

-Stonegit woke up in the hospital later; one of his friends had found him and alerted the village. There was a small cave in on the side of his head, and everything was blurry and crooked in his one eye. What was worse is that Orskaf had told his son that Stonegit had sent his dragon running and that he had then tried to attack Orskaf. Of course his father believed him, even though nobody else did. The chief ordered Stonegit to go and regularly see one of the village elders for psychiatric treatment. Things continued to get worse, as the injury to Stonegit’s brain had left him a touch unstable. He was either quite serious, or acting on irrational impulse, whether that be with words or action. When he was fifteen, Stonegit still refused to admit that he had attack Orskaf. It was at that time that Orskaf claimed the boy had invaded his home, seeking revenge on him. If it had not been for Stonegit’s increasingly irrational behavior, the chief probably would have just assigned the boy more appointments with the elder in light of this accusation. But of course, that would not be the case. Despite his parent’s protests, Stonegit was forced to stay in the side of the prison reserved for mental patients. The only time he was allowed out, was when Grunkstomp invited him over for a lesson.-

-One year later, Stonegit couldn’t handle it anymore and smuggled a small knife off his dinner tray. Huddling in a corner, Stonegit rolled up his sleeve, and prepared to leave life behind him. However, it was then that Stonegit got an unexpected visitor. The blind Naadar, after all these years, had come back. It started visiting Stonegit by his window during the night. It was then that Stonegit’s plan for escape changed from suicide to a legitimate scheme. After getting his dinner one evening, Stonegit picked the lock on his door using the blade. He kept it closed though, waiting until the guard had passed by during the late night check up. Then he crept out into the courtyard. Clicking his tongue, the Naadar flew over the wall and Stonegit hopped onto his back. The two flew off to safety…or so they thought.-

The Naadar landed outside of the wall and sixteen year old Stonegit hooked his belt on one of the dragon’s horns, leading him off. They only got a little ways in the woods, when suddenly Orskaf appeared from around the path, starring them down. “I knew it,” he said. “My damn dragon did come back. Daft thing…” he frowned at Stonegit. “I thought I had my son lock you up. Oh…I’ll tan that boys hide when I get back.”

Stonegit swallowed dryly, backing up. “I’m leaving…I’m leaving Orskaf. You won’t ever have to worry about me again.”

“Fine by me!” Orskaf snarled, hacking into his elbow. “But first,” he said, inhaling shakily and taking out a shovel, tossing it at his feet. “You’re gonna help me burry that damn dragon!”

“He’s my dragon now!” Stonegit said defiantly.

Orskaf fixed him with a look that could have withered a plant, his head practically vibrating with rage. “Don’t you talk to me like that!” he hollered, stirring up all sorts of bad memories in Stonegit’s mind. “You can’t talk to me like that! How dare you steal my dragon!” the old man then drew his knife, the blade trembling in his hand. “I’ll teach you respect…”

Stonegit inhaled sharply, bending down and picking up the shovel, bringing it back and causing Orskaf to hesitate. “Don’t you come any closer Mr. Orskaf.” Stonegit said fearfully. “Or I’ll knock you right in your block.”

Orskaf starred at him, leaning back. And then he let out a guttural chuckle, barring his poorly cared for teeth. “Oh you’ve done it now boy…You just threatened to kill me.” The smile vanished from his face, and he bellowed. “Well I’ll skin you alive before you get chance to kill me!” he raised his voice even louder, so that it would carry to the village. “You hear that! Stonegit is gonna try and kill me!”

“I didn’t threaten to kill you!” Stonegit said, backing up and tears coming to his eyes. “You just scared me; I was scared I thought you were going to hurt me again!”

“Well you shouldn’t make threats…” Orskaf spat. “That you don’t intend to keep!” he marched towards the boy, grabbing at him. Suddenly Orskaf felt like his head had been split open and he flew to the ground, rolling once. Immediately the old man started sobbing, holding his bruising head.  “Oh! Oh!” Orskaf moaned, pulling himself up so he was sitting down. “Oh my head! My head it hurts! Oh…oh boy! Boy! You gotta get me to the hospital! Oh! My head!” Orskaf said for a second, and then gasped, looking up. Stonegit was standing over him, shovel still gripped tightly in his hands. “W-what?” Orskaf said. “Oh…please boy, take me to the hospital! My head hurts something terrible.” He swallowed as he starred up at him, seeing the grim look on Stonegit’s face. He gave a week smile, slowly beginning to laugh. “What? You gonna kill me? With the guards coming and everything?”

“Yes,” Stonegit whispered.

Orskaf’s eyes popped open, rage filling him. “Whaaaat! You little bastard! You’re not going to kill me! You’re not a killer!”

“No,” Stonegit said with a shake of his head. “But I will be in a minute.”

Realization hit Orskaf and his lip trembled, holding up a finger. “W-wait,” he said. “I’m sorry,”

“I know,” Stonegit said. “You are very, very sorry that you ended in this position because of what you did,” a tear ran out of his good eye. “But you’re not sorry for what you did to me.”

Tears welled in Orskaf eyes, spilling over his cheeks as his face scrunched up, his teeth gritting in anger. “Noooo!” he said, shaking his fists. “I’m an old man who needs to go to the hospital! I deserve to die of old age in my bed! You can’t do this to me! You have to help me dig a hole!”


-Stonegit was on the move ever since that night. He named the Naadar Shovel and the two became inseparable from that point on. Stonegit saw the inside of at least two other asylums, as each town he tried to settle in had at least a small group of people who were convinced he was mad. But he escaped each time, becoming a bodyguard for hire and occasionally acted as an information extractor. He eventually got identified as Orskaf’s killer and was thrown in the Grounded Dungeon, right as a revolution led by King Haddock was declared. He quickly enlisted and escaped with them. Yet despite this story, if anybody today were to ask Stonegit what his story is. He would simply reply – “My story started, when my King said ‘Thanks.’” -