How to Train Your Dragon

This is Berk.

It's twelve days north of hopeless and a

few degrees south of freezing to death.

It's located solidly

on the meridian of misery.

My village. In a word, sturdy.

It's been here for seven generations,

but every single building is new.

We have fishing, hunting

and a charming view of the sunsets.

The only problems are the pests.

You see, most places

have mice or mosquitoes.

We have...

dragons.

Most people would leave. Not us.

We're Vikings.

We have stubbornness issues.

My name is Hiccup.

Great name, I know.

But it's not the worst.

Parents believe a hideous name

will frighten off gnomes and trolls.

Like our charming Viking demeanor

wouldn't do that.

Morning!

- What are you doing here?!

- Get inside!

- What are you doing out?!

- Get back inside!

Hiccup! What is he doing?

What are you doing out?! Get inside!

That's Stoick the Vast,

chief of the tribe.

When he was a baby, he popped

a dragon's head clean off its shoulders.

Do I believe it? Yes, I do.

What have we got?

Gronckles. Nadders. Zipplebacks.

Hoark saw a Monstrous Nightmare.

- Any Night Furies?

- None so far.

Good.

Hoist the torches!

Nice of you to join the party!

I thought you'd been carried off!

Who, me? No, come on,

I'm way too muscular for their taste.

They wouldn't know

what to do with all this.

They need toothpicks, don't they?

The meathead with attitude

and interchangeable hands is Gobber.

I've been his apprentice

since I was little. Well, littler.

Move to the lower defenses.

We'll counterattack with the catapults.

Hurry!

See? Old village,

lots and lots of new houses.

Fire!

Let's go!

That's Fishlegs, Snotlout, the twins:

Ruffnut and Tuffnut...

and...

Astrid.

Their job is so much cooler.

Come on. Let me out, please.

I need to make my mark.

You've made plenty of marks,

all in the wrong places.

Please, two minutes. I'll kill a dragon.

My life will get infinitely better.

I might even get a date.

You can't lift a hammer.

You can't swing an axe.

You can't even throw one of these!

OK, fine,

but this will throw it for me.

See? Now this right here

is what I'm talking about!

- Mild calibration issue...

- Hiccup!

If you ever want to get out there

to fight dragons...

you need to stop all this.

But you just pointed to all of me.

Yes, that's it!

Stop being all of you.

Oh, yes.

You, sir,

are playing a dangerous game.

Keeping this much

raw Vikingness contained?

There will be consequences!

I'll take my chances.

Sword. Sharpen. Now.

One day, I'll get out there.

Because killing a dragon...

is everything around here.

A Nadder head is sure

to get me at least noticed.

Gronckles are tough.

Taking down one of those

would definitely get me a girlfriend.

A Zippleback?

Exotic. Two heads, twice the status.

They found the sheep!

Concentrate fire over the lower bank.

- Hurry up!

- Fire!

And then there's

the Monstrous Nightmare.

Only the best Vikings go after those.

They have this nasty habit

of setting themselves on fire.

Reload! I'll take care of this.

But the ultimate prize

is the dragon no one's ever seen.

- We call it the...

- Night Fury!

Get down!

Jump!

This thing never steals food,

never shows itself and...

never misses.

No one has ever killed a Night Fury.

That's why I'm going to be the first.

Man the fort, Hiccup.

They need me out there.

Stay. Put. There.

You know what I mean.

- Where are you going?

- Yeah, I know!

- Hiccup!

- Be right back!

Let's get him!

Mind yourselves!

The devils still have

some juice in them!

Come on. Give me something to

shoot at. Give me something to shoot at.

I hit it. Yes, I hit it!

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