Shuckr Grimgrange stood up straight and a little back, stretching his spine, then leaned on his scythe, watching his group of Terrible Terrors flit amongst the browning stalks of corn ahead of him. The two orange ones - Squash and Carrot - blended in with the dry crop, while Berry, a blue Terror, and Cabbage, a green one, stood out against the Autumn backdrop. Despite still being a young lad of 11 or so, Shuckr had wirey muscles along his arms and back from farm labor. He hadn't quite grown into his ears just yet though, which stuck out from his auburn hair. They were already nicked and uneven as they were a frequent target of dragon nips.
The group of four Terrors slowly flew and hovered amongst the dry stalks, yanking hardened ears of corn from them, then depositing the ears into a cart nearby. Shuckr's father had trained the four siblings after taking lessons at the Academy, and Shuckr had learned, too, though he was just a bit too young yet to have Dragon Rider lessons. He tossed out a dried fish head now and again to the Terrors to snack on and keep them interested in their task. Shuckr followed behind them and cut down the de-earred corn stalks and propped them up into stooks.
Not only did the helpful Terrible Terrors free up Shuckr's family from some labor to focus elsewhere, but Shuckr's father was hoping to make a larger profit than usual with this particular field of corn in a broader market than just Berk. That "Archipelago Gold" variety commanded such a high price due to its unique harvesting and quality that he had hoped to drum up demand for his own special variety. However, there were no Northern Howler Monkeys on Berk to harvest the corn, but they did have dragons! No human need touch the corn kernels itself, same as the "Archipelago Gold". Hence a new Berk variety was born: "Barbarian's Best". Chickens around the Archipelago would be squaking for it, at least that was the hope.
Shuckr paused, wiped his brow and glanced obliquely at the sun. It looked to be mid-afternoon. Perhaps it was time for a break. The Terrors needed lots of breaks to split up the monotony, and well, so did an 11 year old boy. Shuckr was not as hyperactive as some of the other children his age, going on adventures and getting into trouble, playing jokes and wasting time. Rather he was a bit more thoughtful and took his familial duties seriously. He would never be a brash warrior, and that fact did not bother him. However, as all Hooligans, he would defend his own, when needed.
Shuckr lay the scythe on his shoulder and started walking to a ruck sack of supplies without a word. Instantly the Terrors twittered and one landed on his shoulder and nibbled on his ear excitedly. The others flapped over to the bag and waited. Shuckr pulled out a clay jar with a sealed lid, a smaller bag, a cloth, and a small jar of herbal-scented ointment. He picked up the larger jar first and unsealed it while keeping his face turned away. A rather sour, fishy, and dirt-like smell wafted out into the air. It smelled rather vile, he thought, but the Terrors inhaled deeply. Inside were pickled fish heads, not the dried ones he had as snacks for the dragons earlier. Evidently dragons like fermented things like lutefisk and gravlax and all those preserved dishes Vikings made from necessity. Shuckr laid out two fish head pickles for each Terror, along with a generous sprig of Dragon Nip from the bag. His four terrors lined up and ate rather civilly. They had been together for so long, there was rarely any squabbling and each got the same as the next. As they were eating, Shuckr wiped some of the ointment on his own face first, and reached out and applied some to the closest Terror. It was some sort of balm for the skin to protect from the sun and keep dragon hides supple. He wiped the ointment into the dragon's hide gently with the cloth, paying attention to those hard-to-reach spots. He repeated the process with each one. Once the Terrors were tended to, he put away their items and pulled out some bread and smoked yak for himself.
The Terrors flitted off and perched on the corn cart and preened. Shuckr sat back and chewed on some yak jerky for himself. The field was only half done, but he had anticipated this.
The birds and smaller dragons around the isle chittered away. Occasionally the roar of a larger dragon could be heard closer to the village, and high in the air. Once there was a time a dragon roar would get a Viking's heart racing, but now - on Berk - it was relegated to background noise. One particular roar seemed a little close, but Shuckr hardly noticed the high-pitched keening. His Terrors, though, stopped their picking and lifted their heads to listen. One by one they launched into the air and began circling above the corn field.
Shuckr shugged to himself. "Eager to get the day over with? Is that it?" he murmured to no one in particular. He frowned slightly; the dragon's screech was a bit too high-pitched for his ears in the relatively quiet afternoon. The Terrors started growling and their pupils shrank to pinpoints. Suddenly Squash lunged at his orange sibling and nipped her hip. Carrot squalled and shot fire back. Far too quickly, the four Terrors were swooping about erratically, flaming at eat other angrily.
"What in Thor's ..." the exclamation died on Shuckr's lips as he grabbed up the jar of treasured fish heads. This was quite unusual for his Terrors, but ultimately they were naturally mischevious Terrible Terrors after all. Perhaps the screeching was hurting their sensitive hearing? Shuckr started waving around the fish heads. None of them even glanced at him and seemed almost unnaturally focused on causing havok amongst themselves. He dropped the fish heads and frantically waved his arms instead. "Stop! Stop!" The field of precious corn had started to catch fire. The dry stalks flamed up quickly, and spread outwards from the bickering little dragons.
Shuckr stood, stunned, for just a moment. He had nothing to put out a fire and the Terrors were not capable of taking a message for help. A destroyed crop could make or break a family's survival, especially through the harsh Winters on Berk. He grabbed up his bag and started beating on the flames and stomping on the hot corn. The soles of his leather boots quickly got hot, but he stomped on. Above his head, the sun shined. Something glinted in the light. Shuckr glanced up reflexively and what he saw stopped his stomping. The Terrors were there, but above them was a large stout dragon, hovering. Her shape was vaguely similar to a Gronckle, but without the warts. Her smooth skin was a pale, soft cream, with some darker yellow spotting. Shuckr also noticed that she was the source of the roaring. She let out one last roar and then hovered, waiting for something. The Terrors slowly came out of their violent reverie and hovered, appearing a bit stunned, before settling on the untouched cart of corn ears.
The flames in the unharvested corn flared up, and then there was the sound of a tiny explosion. Shuckr jerked his gaze away from the strange dragon and into the flaming corn. Another tiny explosion sounded. Then another, and another. Quickly the small sounds multiplied and became one large "pop". Shuckr dashed from the field. This was more scarey than any dragon. Little bits of ... something also began flying through the air with increasing fevor. One piece smacked Shuckr in the cheek and his hand flew to his cheek expecting blood. But the little object wasn't a stone or some sort of dangerous shrapnel, it was a little fluffy lumpy piece of something. Looks kind of like that dragon ... Shuckr thought suddenly. He picked up the object. "Wait, I know this ..." he muttered to himself and tossed the tidbit into his mouth. "Clouds of Corn". That's what the Thorston Twins had called it, when they returned to Berk and told one of their many stories.
About a quarter of the field became filled with clouds of corn, popping thoroughly from the dragon fire. Mounds and mounds of the stuff accumulated in a roughly circular area. The odd hovering dragon chortled happily, then settled down in the middle of the corn clouds. She huffed a puff of air at the burning edges and scooped up some of the still burning stalks in her enormous maw. Then she started munching contentedly on the corn clouds themselves, like a yak grazing on grass. She seemed completely oblivious to Shuckr and the Terrors. Shuckr had heard Monstrous Nightmares favored corn. Evidently other dragons did, too.
The fire, thankfully, was out, but what was Shuckr to do with his damaged field and the dragon who damaged it? Though it might have been more prudent to retreat, the thought did not even occur to him. A little bit of Viking fearlessness and a dash of youthful naitivity kept him rooted in place. He did wave away his group of Terrors. He wasn't sure why, but they had made things worse.
"Go back to dad," he whispered to Cabbage. Not that he felt the need for his father to save him, but, unfortunately, he needed to be informed there was a problem with the crop. The Terrible Terror flew off, shaking their heads a little as if they felt a titch strange.
Shuckr glanced black at the pale bulbous dragon. The hand "thing". Hiccup Haddock was rumored to tame dragons with a flick of his hand. Any Berkian knew that it wasn't quite that simple, though. Rather approach a dragon with quiet confidence, yet deference, and offer a hand to smell and establish contact. Shuckr averted his eyes to the ground and walked forward slowly toward the dragon. The corn thief cracked open an eye at the sound of the human's feet crunching on the stubble of corn stalks. The boy advanced and the dragon lifted his head and belched out a big puff of air at him, in annoyance. The puff of air pressed against Skuckr forcefully and threw him back into the dirt at the edge of the field. He thumped into the dirt on his back. He gathered his wits about him and rolled upright, then advanced again, this time crouched over. At least if the dragon blew her vegetable breath at him again, he would flatten himself on the ground. He crept forward. The dragon snorted in annoyance at her disturbed after-snack nap and blew at the boy again. Shuckr got down on the ground and the air wave blew over his back and yanking at his tunic, but didn't lift him away. He got back up into a shambling crouch and moved forward. The dragon blinked in surprise. She opened her mouth again but this time roared at him, like the roars she sounded at the Terrible Terrors. Other than being very loud, Shuckr continued to creep forward. Why had the Terrors disliked the sound so? They were accustomed to dragon roars, being dragons themselves. He was also accustomed to occasionally being roared at by a dragon, just as most of the village was. This roar didn't sound much different.
The dragon growled, and roared at him again, but he slowly kept moving forward. She whined very quietly and tensed up, moving from a relaxed napping position to a crouched, ready-to-flee stance. This little two-legged creature was not fazed by her roars, and evaded her air blasts. Yet he did not stare at her aggressively in the eye, nor brandished anything sharp like teeth or claws or little hard bits of metal. What did he want? She just wanted to munch on these delicious popped seeds and take a nap in the sun.
The dragon flicked the long tendril sprouting from her nose over her head and dangled its brown sickle-like end in front of the boy's vision. Curved and sharp, it could lacerate the human deeply. Shuckr stared at it. It looked so much like a sickle ... in a fit of Viking bravado, he grabbed the dragon's tendril at the base of the blade and expertly sliced down a few half-burnt corn stalks still standing nearby. The dragon's jaw dropped in shock, with an expression nearly like a suprised round-faced man. Shuckr took the opportunity to neatly pluck the half-popped corn cobs from the stalks and toss them gently into the gaping maw.
He released the dragon's tendril suddenly, hands starting to shake, realizing the foolishness of that move. He stood his ground though, as he was still alive and more or less uninjured. The dragon snapped her jaw shut after a moment, pushed around the cobs in her mouth with her tongue to assure herself of what they were and swallowed them. Delicious popped corn. She drew back her bladed tendril and relaxed somewhat, staring at the boy. Shukr took a deep breath, averted his eyes to the ground and reached out tentatively toward the dragons snout and made contact. Her nostrils blew hot breath, which increased in pace, drawing in his scent. The scales were coarser and rumply around the nares. The dragon cracked her jaw open and slid out her rough dry tongue, and started sliding it around Shukr's arm, just like a curious yak would, tasting and feeling.
Shukr suddenly became weak-kneed and sat down abruptly in front of the dragon, suddenly exhausted from the adrenaline of a moment ago leaving his system. The dragon paused, then grew bold as the boy submissively sat before her. She stepped forward and snuffled and prodded, leaning over him. Shukr reached up and patted her on the skin folds of her squatty neck just behind her jaw. Evidently the folds were an itchy spot as she stopped sniffing him and thumbed a rear leg. Shukr stopped and the dragon stopped thumping her leg. She then somewhat forceably pushed him up against her body with a thick wing and nearly sat on him to cuddle him close. She decided Shukr was not a threat and might keep him, since he handed her food and scratched her itches. Having made a decision the dragon settled down to nap again. Shukr himself was tired, not from the farmwork, but from his bold actions and sudden realization they might have been brave but not very smart. At any time, the wild dragon could have decimated him. But as the dragon's warm rising and falling chest rocked him, his eyes grew droopy, too.
Shukr's father galloped up to the field on his snorting orange Thunderpede to see what the Terrible Terrors were chittering about, having returned without Shukr. His special corn was partially loaded in a cart, and a portion of the field was smoldering and burnt. In the center was a dragon looking very much like a giant kernel cloud of corn, with his son's thatch of brown-red hair sticking up from under a wing.
About the Cryaotic:
- Class: Sharp
- Attack: 14
- Speed: 8
- Armor: 5
- Firepower: 10
- Shot Limit: 5
- Venom: 0
- Jaw Strength: 8
- Stealth: 5
This Weird Marshmallow-like dragons may look soft and huggable at first sight but they're actually as chaotic as their name suggested
Not only the dragons themselves are capable of causing a havoc, they can also used their roar, which processed almost similar ability to the alpha dragon’s, to called and anger other dragons in the area, causing an uproar and create an angry dragon mobs to fight for them, however this make the dragon trappers job easier by using the Cryaotics to lore other dragons into their traps
Personality: Reckless, hot temper and stubborn, would charge first then ask later but once you got on their good side, they can be chill and friendly to hang out with
Fire Type: Sound-based shockwave
Hidden Abilities: the lone tendril isn’t just to be the The cryaotics’ main feature. The tendril is stronger and thin enough for the dragons to use it like a fisher hook or cut something like chained scythe without them see it coming. That alone easily earn this soft looking dragon a spot in sharp class
Cryaotic maybe a bother to deal with in the wild, easier to bond through tough love and equal stubborness and strength rather than your average kindness. That being said, Cryaotic would still made a strong yet friendly comapnion once you've win them over.
- "Clouds of Corn" and "Archipelago Gold" are direct references to the Dragons: Race to the Edge, Season 5 episode "Sins of the Past".
- Cows, when curious and comfortable enough, will 'taste' things - lick people or objects - to figure out what they are or learn information about them. Either that or they might like our saltiness? Try sitting quietly in a cow field and see what happens :) I have extrapolated that, as bovines, yaks might do the same.