How to speak dragonese pdf

Horrorcow finally woke up from her deep sleep. The Isle of Berk has been home to the Hooligan Tribes for so long as to seem like forever. And Berk is the kind of place where the sea is always wandering up onto the land. So, what with the rain pouring down constantly from above, and the sea sneaking up from below, the 75 Hooligans spend most of their lives up to their knees in muddy saltwater.

The Hopeful Puffin was in difficulties. She was taking on water even faster than normal. Despite Hiccup and Fishlegs bailing out the water as quickly as they could with their helmets, by the time they reached Hooligan Harbor, she sank entirely. They had to swim the last hundred meters, Hiccup holding Fishlegs up because unusual for a Viking Fishlegs had never quite mastered the doggy paddle.

When The Hopeful Puffin disappeared beneath the water he looked as if he might explode. He looked back sadly at the three circles of ripples and bubbles that were all that remained of The Hopeful Puffin. She had never been the most beautiful of boats but to him she was the best. Slipping and sliding on the seaweedy rocks, they clambered reluctantly toward Gobber and stood before him, soaking wet, heads bowed.

Fishlegs timidly offered him the Roman helmet. Gobber was not amused. He put them on limpet rations for the next three weeks, and said the next time anything like this happened they would be expelled from the Program.

Hiccup showed the sad remains of How to Speak Dragonese and the Roman helmet to his father to prove his story was genuine. Stoick was a great giant of a man with enough red, haystacky beard and barrels of belly to equip at least two decent-sized Viking chieftains. Thumbnails of Thor, he was thinking, how can anybody get —4 for Advanced Rudery?

Stoick was trying very hard not to feel disappointed in his son. He kept telling himself that Hiccup was just a slow developer, and would soon start getting muscles and nose hair, and scoring the winning goal in Bashyball games like Stoick had himself. How could he have come back from a perfectly straightforward training exercise having misplaced both his dragon and his boat?

And how could he possibly have got lost and accidentally boarded a Roman ship rather than a Peaceable fishing boat? Stoick opened his mouth to bellow at his son. And then he closed it again. He crumpled up the report in one gigantic fist.

You have lost your pet, but you must be 83 brave. You must be a MAN about it. A Chief feels no fear. A Chief must be above mere weak, personal feelings. There is no question of putting together a War Party to rescue your dragon. How did you understand these Romans? What are they teaching you in your Frightening Foreigners lessons? When a Hooligan meets a foreigner he shouts at it loudly and slowly.

Or write books about them. Hiccup gasped. That book had everything he had ever learned about dragons in it. How would he ever talk to dragons again without it? Stoick stomped off. Luckily it was still quite damp, and the edges were only very slightly burnt. That night, for the first time in a long, long while, 85 Hiccup had to go to bed without the company of Toothless. The little dragon was a small, wriggling, snoring hot-water bottle.

Now Hiccup lay awake till the early hours of the morning, shivering uncontrollably under the thin covers, his feet and hands as cold as the North Pole, his ears trembling in the icy draft. Lost him forever! Lost Toooooooothless! Toothless, who was afraid of the dark and of small spaces, lay in utter blackness in a cage so cramped he could hardly turn over. He was crying. He had just been having a lovely dream about playing a tickling game with Toothless and he woke up laughing.

He was instantly miserable again, and lay, teeth chattering, under the bedclothes trying to get up the willpower to brave the cold and get dressed in the still- slightly-damp-and-salty clothes he was wearing yesterday.

He gradually became aware that what had woken him was a very faint and tiny singing noise, a reedy little sound like the wind caught in a cowries shell, but with an edge of menace to it. Eventually, Hiccup realized the noise seemed to be sneaking out of the jacket he had worn the day before and left to dry on the back of a chair in front of the fire.

And then he remembered the nanodragon he had replaced with the Electricsquirm and put in his pocket. Hiccup braced himself against the cold, jumped out of bed, dragged his clothes on and approached the jacket. Carefully, he put his hand into the pocket and drew it out again with a gasp. Not only was there a yucky warm mess of honey in there, but the nanodragon had bitten him on the end of his finger.

As Hiccup put the finger in his mouth you should always do this with a nanodragon bite — it helps to draw out the sting the nanodragon flew out of the pocket, fluttered around the room and landed on the windowsill. He was a handsome little beast. No bigger than a grasshopper, he was a gleaming rust-red with flecks of charcoal, and the morning sun shone through his gossamer-thin wings and threw red and black spots all round the room.

No, I am Ziggerastiea the Living God. I love the stuff. Hiccup thought to himself, but it would have been rude to say it. The nanodragon ignored the question. However, fee warned… You can call on my Most Glorious Aid just once, and once 94 alone. When I have repaid my debt you will become just another smelly, repellent human to me. It seemed unlikely that a creature as small as Ziggerastica could be as powerful as he seemed to think he was.

But on the other hand, I need all the help I can get, Hiccup thought gloomily. At breakfast, Hiccup was more miserable than he had ever been in his life. He just sat there pushing his kipper sadly round his plate. His grandfather, Old Wrinkly, tried to ask him what the matter was, but Hiccup just sighed.

In the middle of the meal a Carrier Dragon flew in the window, dropped a letter addressed to Stoick on the table and flew out again. The Bog-Burglars were a 95 tribe of particularly fearsome female warriors who lived on an island some way to the west of the Isle of Berk. Please see map at the beginning of this book. Greetings, You Fat Burglar, I see you have broken the truce we have had for so many years and wish to make war with us again ….

How dare you steal the noble Heir to the Bog- Burglar Tribe? You are a thief and I give you two weeks to return our Heir to us unharmed…otherwise I shall declare a blood feud and we will sail to Berk in all our strength and exterminate the lot of you … It should be easy peasy—you Hooligans always did fight like a load of bunny rabbits… Yours very untruly, Bertha, Chief of the Bog-Burglars.

Stoick grew more and more purple in the face as he read the letter. Finally, he came to the end and with a roar he tore the paper up into little pieces and stamped on them.

Stoick was often wild, often shouty, often going off the deep end. But this time he lost his temper. I overheard the Romans saying they would pretend to be the Bog-Burglars so they can get us to fight each other. I have even brought you back a Roman helmet to prove it. Sharpknife and Tuffnut Junior were having a swordfight in one corner.

The door opened with a gigantic crash. Even Snotlout knew better than to disobey Gobber, and he sat down too, muttering darkly to Hiccup that he would get him later. Stand up here in the front. Gobber put his hands on his hips, threw back his huge hairy head until the horns on his helmet touched the wall behind him and shouted with laughter.

For starters Bog-Burglar soldiers were always women. Not a boy or a dragon moved. Which one of you is being the Heir to the Hairy Hooligans? You be tellings your Chief that Big-Boobied Bertha sends you her lovings and is giving you this letter. Gobber the Belch had turned purple in the face. The redder, the hairier, the tanglier the better, as far as the Hooligans were concerned. These are Romans! He had gone into a blood-rage just like Stoick ten minutes earlier.

They threw them into the bottom of their boat — a small, clearly Roman ship with a very badly made Bog-Burglar flag flying from the mast. The Kidnappers set sail in the opposite direction to the land of the Bog-Burglars. The wind was very strong. This was a bewildering muddle of thousands of small islands some miles south of the Isle of Berk, many with gigantic sea cliffs.

Its eerie atmosphere led most Vikings to believe it was haunted. Huge black mountains with grim scrabbles of rock rose on either side of them.

The greasy sea swirled underneath, with every now and then a pointy rock appearing out of nowhere in the mist, so that the Second Kidnapper had to swiftly steer the boat clear. The closer they got to the Roman Headquarters, the less wildlife there was around them. Seals slumbered fatly on the rocks. Birds wheeled in the skies, zooming down on any morsels of fish that went astray during dragon fights. But as they neared the fort, the seas around them became a desert.

Not a bird called, not a fish jumped. The reason for this was clear when they spotted two dead Slither hawks all tangled up in a gigantic net, hanging from a cliff face.

Hiccup began to feel a bit sick. And then his heart skipped a beat. He swallowed hard. Their mouths flopped open in astonishment. Vikings are used to fairly simple living conditions. A Chief just has a larger hut than anybody else. So they had never seen anything the size of Fort Sinister before. The Island of Sinister was surrounded by enormous black cliffs plunging dizzily down to jagged rocks.

On top of these cliffs the Romans had built the biggest fort you could possibly imagine, covering the entire island. The wind shrieked through its awful towers and great grim cages, the sea seeped through its iron gates and into its terrible dungeons; it was a fort as black and bleak as the rocks it was made out of.

Countless numbers of dragons were being held in fifty enormous iron cages, with no shelter from the wild wind and bitter cold of the Inner Isles. No wonder they were screaming. And this entire, massive area was encircled by high wooden fences, with watchtowers manned by sentries every hundred meters.

Four enormous observation balloons sailed overhead. These balloons were powered by the flaming breath of a dragon kept in a cage just above the basket, and they were manned with more sentries, keeping a sharp eye out for escapees or invaders. These were in themselves impossibly huge doors, larger than some of the sea cliffs on Berk. As they neared, there were cries from the sentries in the watchtowers and the great doors opened to let them in.

The Second Kidnapper gave the boys a glittering mile as they moored the boat. They walked up some steps and through a door into a brightly lit, gorgeously painted room. Tapestries hung from the walls, couches were draped in silken covers, the mosaic floor was warm and toasty underfoot. The Romans certainly knew how to make themselves comfy. In another, the Thin Prefect was having his temples massaged. When they came into the room it heaved its enormous bulk onto its thick muscly legs and an ominous growling began deep in its thick bull neck.

It leaped at the First Kidnapper, who dropped Fishlegs with a scream. Very poor Dragonese, but Dragonese nonetheless. The man was bald; completely hairless all over.

Even his eyelashes had disappeared. The last time they had seen Alain he had been inside the stomach of the Monstrous Strangulator at the bottom of the underground sea-cavern.

And what was he doing posing as a Roman? How could we know? I would strongly suggest you read this book. And whoever has heard of a hairless Viking?

I was thrown out of my own Tribe and forced into exile. I told them I had thought of a way they could conquer the Vikings by turning the Tribes against each other. An arm that ended not in a hand but in a huge curved HOOK made out of the most brilliant gold. It was the only thing I could carry through the Caliban Caves.

I need that book to command the dragons in my Dragon Army. Where is your half of the book, Hiccup? If you tell me I will let you and your fish legged friend live. Hiccup felt into his pocket and handed Alvin his damp and tattered half of How to Speak Dragonese. He knew Alvin would find it at some point anyway. He unscrewed the hook from the end of his arm and replaced it with his famous sword, the Stormblade.

The Fat Consul had finally polished off a large helping of roasted baby Puff Nadders in garlicky Dreamserpent sauce, and he started to take an interest in what was going on.

He was covered from head to toe in nasty red bites, and every now and then he reached out a fat arm to scratch his gigantic blubbery behind. He looked at Hiccup in astonishment.

We must kill him NOW while we have the chance. Well, Berserks were Vikings who vent crazy on the battlefield. Good men to have on your side. Not so good when hey were on the other side, though… a Berserk before. He should be most amusing at the Games.

He smiled at the Consul through very gritted teeth. The First Kidnapper had to prod the dragon very hard with the handle of his sword to get the Gronckle off before he squashed Alvin entirely. He talked to the Gronckle directly. Which was tricky. A Treacherous Never Forgives. This was the door to the prison where Alvin was keeping the other Heir.

The First Kidnapper opened it with a large key that was hanging from his belt. It was a large, bare space with a table and a few chairs and some straw in the corner that served for beds. The windows were barred. The boys were clearly not going to have the same luxuries the Romans gave themselves.

The Gronckle dropped Fishlegs and Hiccup on the floor and backed out of the room. Standing in the middle of the room was a small girl with wild blond hair and a ferocious expression. The girl drew her sword with a flourish.

What are your names? Where do you come from? Fishlegs began to laugh. Hiccup drew his sword just in time to parry her lunge, and they began to fight. Since then, he had discovered he had a gift for sword-fighting.

It was the only thing on the Pirate Training Program he was truly good at. He could beat even Oikish and Dogsbreath quite easily, and was having extra lessons with Gormless the Grim, the best sword-fighter in the Hooligan Tribe. But this little girl was just as good at sword-fighting as Hiccup. Her arm moved so quickly you could hardly see it.

She turned cartwheels between moves. The little girl stuck out her hand for a handshake. Nice to meet you. What are you doing here, anyway? He bit the Prefect on the nose when they brought him in! It was a stout soldier carrying a small green ball in one hand. The poor little animal had lost so much weight he was all skin and bones.

Hiccup could feel his ribs sticking out, and his tail had gone all floppy and lost its pointy fork, which is what happens if a dragon is imprisoned or deeply unhappy.

He soon recovered himself, and to make up for this moment of weakness he gave Hiccup an embarrassed nip on the ear. This book will be a hit with children and adults alike. Haddock III was an awesome sword-fighter, a dragon-whisperer and the greatest Viking Hero who ever lived.

But it wasn't always like that. Video Audio icon An illustration of an audio speaker. Audio Software icon An illustration of a 3. Software Images icon An illustration of two photographs. Images Donate icon An illustration of a heart shape Donate Ellipses icon An illustration of text ellipses. How to speak dragonese Item Preview. EMBED for wordpress. Loved each and every part of this book.

I will definitely recommend this book to fantasy, fantasy lovers. Your Rating:. Your Comment:.