As you might know, Janthir Wilds is dropping soon (20th of August to be precise), so I wanted to "steal" an idea for an event that ffxiv side of things did before the release of Dawntrail, (Count) Down to Dawntrail. I did not want to do it by expac, and we haven't had a Commander Week community event in forever, so here it is! Commander Week 2024 (24th of July - 31st of July), hosted by yours truly!
Who can participate? Anyone who's ever played gw2 in their life. Bonus points if you're all caught up on the story!
What kind of content is allowed? Writing, art, screenshots, edits, any creative outlet you want! Even poems are allowed. It doesn't have to be new writing either, as long as it fits the prompts :)
Is it a nsfw event? Please refrain from any spicy/nsfw stuff. This is a strictly non-spicy event.
Will there be spoilers? Yeah! Please tag them accordingly if they're newer content (EoD and SotO primarily) but this isn't a spoiler free event by any means.
Is shipping allowed? Full speed ahead, my good Commander. Full speed ahead, if that floats your skiff.
Are Wayfinders included? As long as they're the same as your Commander, sure! This event assumes that Wayfinder = Commander, so if they are separate characters for you, please focus on the Commander.
If you have any additional questions, feel free to shoot me an ask, but these are general guidelines! Go forth and create, gw2blr, and let's celebrate the Commander for being the most Protagonist of All Time!
Where life goes, so too, should you: The world is a delicious and gorgeous place created for us to explore, enjoy, and protect. I will seek out the lessons in every experience, and as I grow, I will have more to offer in return.
Cycle of Night: Sylvari awakened at night are secretive and cautious with information. We make our own decisions, and we come and go as we please, nimble of mind and body.
Day one: Race
They tell me it was a bloody awakening. My first kill. My first mistake.
Day two: Profession
It's an extension of me. I never questioned it, I never could. It's what I was I was born for. Built for.
Day three: Pact
All paths unify in the end.
Day four: Elder Dragon
The differences seem so trivial now. Wrought from the womb of the Void, just as everything else. And yet you dominated my every waking moment.
Day five: Love
You taught me what it was. What it meant. I'll spend all my days repaying it back to you, if you'll let me.
Day six: Legendary
I wrenched it from her. I didn't mean to. It sears through the veins in my arm, pulses fissures into my being. I've never been the same since.
Day seven: Aurene
Unburdened we would stand together. I hope you never forget that feeling. I feel like I already have.
Day eight: (free day) Fury
What is left of me from the ashes.
Summary: Taimi enjoys being able to contact the Commander at a moment's notice. The Commander, not so much.
Content warnings: Rated T. Contains suggestive themes and Norn Debauchery.
Spoilers: Mild Spoilers for HOT/LWS3.
Note: Takes place during LWS3. Originally written for GW2 Summer Fest, but you guys never got to hear about that one time Kara had a Free Day.
"Oh Commander! Wakey Wakey!"
Taimi's voice ripped Commander Kara Jorgensdottir from her slumber far sooner than she would have liked.
Again.
It was the middle of Wintersday, and four days before her twenty-first birthday. She had been filling her time with keg brawls, and eggnog, and hot buttered rum, and very much enjoying the perks of her fame during her short visit home. Whilst a running commentary on Taimi's progress was useful, she couldn't help but miss the ability to open letters on her own terms, instead of being screeched awake and summoned to Rata Novus as and when the Asura pleased.
Kara shuffled into the Dragon Lab an hour later than the rest of Dragon's Watch, squinting as the harsh lighting sent shards of agony through her skull.
"Commander! You made it!" Taimi looked up from her work, grinning.
Kara forced her face into a diplomatic expression, her left eye twitching slightly from the effort.
"Taimi...we need to talk."
"We sure do! What's a keg stand?"
Kara raised an irritated brow. "See, that's the thing. I don't mind having this communicator and all but you can't just-"
"And who's Sigfast?"
Kara inhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose.
"Oh Spirits...oooookay...um...look Taimi, it's always nice to hear from you, but you can't just listen in to what I'm up to whenever you want. Can we install a button so that we can only hear each other when we want to talk?"
Taimi didn't look up, but she nodded her agreement as she pointed something out to Kasmeer on the console.
"That's not a bad idea. You two were having some sort of sparring match late last night and it really distracted me from my work. All that crashing and grunting-"
Kara's eyes widened. Her head tilted slightly as she swallowed hard, fighting to maintain a neutral expression. Kasmeer raised a brow at her over Taimi's shoulder as she covered her mouth with her hand, eyes alight with amusement.
"So you'll get it set up, Taimi? Like, today? Ideally now?"
"-you seem like a really supportive coach though, telling him how good he was doing and stuff..."
Kara glared at Kasmeer as the mesmer leaned back against the wall, tears of silent laughter streaming down her face.
"...I wish my mentors were that enthusiastic-"
"TAIMI!"
"Okay okay, I'll get on it."
"Thank you."
Kara turned away just in time to hear Kas give a very unladylike snort, and joined Rytlock across the room as he investigated a large, round mirror. He turned slightly, sniffing at the air around her head, then chuckled.
"You smell like a moot. Always thought Wintersday was a human thing."
She shrugged. "The humans started it, but it has all the traditional Norn pastimes. We love drinking, and singing, and fighting..."
"And...sparring?"
"...Quite. And unlike Divinty's Reach, Hoelbrak already looks the part."
"So who is Sigfast?" Rytlock teased, wiggling his eyebrows.
"Siggy is a friend."
"A friend that you...ahem...spar with?"
She glanced sideways, eyes narrowed. "Are you telling me you have no friends that you spar with?"
Rytlock coughed.
"You know what? Never mind. It's none of my business."
She flashed him a lascivious smirk, snickering under her breath as he pretended to examine his claws.
My body did not emerge from my pod as it should have. I was imperfect, flawed. The flow of magic that should have spurred my Sapling body onwards was quiet, empty. With my Luminaries hands submerged in my solar plexus, it could be stirred, awoken - but it refused to bend to my will. He looked at me with soft eyes and I hated the pity, and then hated the guilt that twisted my stomach at rejecting the aid of the kindest person I would ever know. Training became one of physical strength, and then of flexibility, anything that could give me the edge I would need. And yet, as if to torture myself on what I could not do, I read stories of Mesmers with magic that spellbound their foes and brought daggers to their fingertips.
You can imagine my relief when one day, as the earth rumbled with the cry of a beast that bore my destiny, I felt it spark to life. I didn't know then why my body responded as it did to the magic of Elder Dragons, as if it was greedily drinking the blood of its kin. I'm wiser now.
I felt the Elder Dragon Zhaitan's magic burn in my body and I, unwisely, clawed what I could from him. For the first time since I'd breathed the air of Tyria I felt strong, powerful. My destiny did not feel so impossible. I did not feel as if The Dream had mistaken me for another Sapling.
And with this power came the cold sting of daggers - the crystalline imaginations of my mind as I absorbed tales of Mesmers more skilled than I could hope to be back then. I was overjoyed, entranced. I could make copies of myself, and I danced with them in celebration, a childlike glee on my face as we - or rather, I - spun myself in circles.
But the magic of a dragon was not without its flaws. I was no more than a conduit, and the magic left my fingertips reflected that. A magic that usually glittered brilliantly faded with the shadows of Zhaitan. Reflections of myself would be marred by tinges of shadow where non-one else would notice. But I didn't care. I was strong, powerful.
Home is where she wanders. Every inch of Tyria offers great challenge and great reward. While there is no feeling quite like the enjoyment of a Great Moot, there are legendary battles to be had everywhere, friends to be found, challenges to overcome, and many celebrations to be had.
She is Norn.
The way she holds herself in battle, to how she holds conversation - whether to friend or foe. The tones in her voice ranging from booming orders to quiet, soft melodies, singing the songs of the skaalds. She carries generations of history in her, and thanks to her actions, her people will continue to tell stories.
She is Norn.
GW2 Commander Week (I'm a little behind. Shh)
Prompt #1 - Race
“You are a norn of prophecy, but you are not yet true norn. Any can wear the wolf, but only true norn can become the wolf.” Wolf said to Braham. He turned to the brothers standing behind him- “With some exception.”
The comment was very obviously directed at Hunter, who puffed up his chest in pride. Thorne frowned, however- unlike his little brother, who made up for his lack of spirit magic by directly channeling Wolf as a revenant, Thorne did not have any substitute.
“Focus, Vætkisson,”
Thorne took a deep breath as he hyped himself up quietly. He was stronger now- he had more power, maybe now- just maybe- he could hold his leopard form for more than 30 seconds.
It had been over a decade since he last tried to become the leopard. He just hoped he remembered how to do it.
He took another breath. Even ignoring the pain and fatigue it caused, it was always more of a process for him than most norn. For them, it was a fast blink of an eye- one moment norn, the next animalistic. He had seen it with Shamans, and when Braham had attacked Bangar and Ryland. For Thorne, it was a slow transformation that had been described to him as ‘horrifying’ and ‘disturbing.’
He would describe it as ‘painful,’ personally.
Thorne closed his eyes and took a metaphorical tug at the magic around him, just as he had felt himself do when he was a child. He felt the rolling shudder force itself down his spine and he let out an audible grunt of pain, squeezing his hands into a fist, but his nails had begun to lengthen into claws. He choked back another cry as he felt his bones lengthen and morph, feeling his fur spread to the rest of his body.
By the time his face was deforming, he was screaming with the voice of a panther. It was just as bad as he remembered, despite his hopes.
Why was he doing this? To prove he could? To prove he was norn?
There he had been, writhing on the ground as he forced his body into his leopard form. Rough, scratchy yowls ripped from his throat, and by the time he had fully transformed, he was too exhausted to even do anything but lay there in pain.
“Commander? Thorne- holy spirits!”
Thorne tried to open his muzzle to speak as Braham ran up to him but all that came out was a pained sound.
“Bear’s bloody nose, Commander, I-”
Thorne finally gave up and instead pushed the energy away as much as he could, only for the process to reverse as he screamed. He had gotten better at that part at least, from how many times he had given up halfway through as a child.
“Braham-” Thorne tried to rasp, before he started coughing blood onto the ground.
“Holy shit,” The other norn wheezed. “Thorne- why- why did you do that?”
Thorne scrunched up his face. What was he supposed to say? Oh, I was jealous that you’re able to do the thing our entire race is known for being able to do.
“I just…” he coughed again, trying to make his voice more light. “I just thought I'd try again,”
It was Braham's turn to scrunch up his nose. “Well, don't do that.” He huffed. “Come on,” He grabbed Thorne’s arm and pulled him up to his feet, supporting him to make sure he didn't topple over again. “You should get some rest.”
“I don't need-”
“Commander.”
Thorne sighed in defeat, gesturing at Ivory to tell her to follow. She hopped up to her feet and bounded over to follow them. “You know, I accepted an invitation for a couch to crash on, not codling.”
“I feel like ‘needing somewhere to stay while I'm ill’ includes ‘codling.’”
“I'm recovering, not ill!” Thorne hissed, narrowing his eyes. “And I’m older than you.”
“We don't know that,” Braham said with a shit-eating grin.
Thorne blew out an angry puff of air as he sat down. “Well, we don't know that I'm not older than you, either.”
“Alright, alright.” Braham laughed. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”
Thorne blinked for a moment, caught off guard by the question. “About what?”
“About trying to transform.”
“I already said, I just wanted to see if I could, now that my magic is being purified..”
“You’re sure?”
“YES, Braham!” Thorne snapped before he could stop himself. “I just- It’s hard being around other norn, okay?! Being the Commander only made me even more different than I already was and I just-!”
Thorne pulled away with a thrashing tail and a burning heat behind his eyes. “I’m tired of being strange! I just want to fit in with a homestead, even just for a little bit. Fuck,”
“I… didn’t think you were that interested.”
“I- I wasn’t. Not until now. I…” Thorne sighed. “I guess I just want somewhere to belong now that Dragon’s Watch is… on standby. Spirits, that’s stupid.”
“No, no, I get that.” Braham said quickly. “After Jormag went dormant, I felt like I couldn’t show my face anywhere. When we went up north, being called ‘Vowbreaker’ to my face didn’t help with that. It… it took a long time for me to be comfortable again. It’s not stupid, promise.”
Thorne sighed. “Right…”
“You’ll find a place, Commander. Just focus on not going insane first, yeah?”
Thorne smiled before he could stop himself. “Yeah. Yeah, alright.” He sat back down with a huff. “I’ll consider not going batshit on you,” He smiled.
“I appreciate it.”
“Don’t celebrate too soon, Eirsson. I may be weakened, but I can still put up a fight.”
“I’ve noticed. You’ve been hunting, right?”
“Hunting is easy. It’s the least I could do.”
“Hey, that’s something. Helping out the community,”
“Like I said, I’m trying to fit in.” Thorne chuckled. “Stop trying to make me feel better,”
“Is it working?”
“Eh… not really. Thanks for trying, I guess. I just don’t think this is something that can be talked through.”
