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Commander or Icebrood?

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You hear the spirit of dragon for the first time months before the great hunt.
The spirits voice promises, promises power, strength and might unmatched.
For a young hunter dreaming of glory it is much more enticing a call than that of measly Hare.
You follow it north.

Dragon grows your power as promised - ice strips through your hair as water freezes to your body, and Dragon gives you your first mission - You are to go south, to join the great hunt and show them your strength. When they adore you as they should you are to tell them the truth of your power, to send them north into the safety of the strongest Spirit.
You go.

 

The south is something you expect many things from; Less snow, more weaklings, to complete your mission and return north, To kill Whitebear and Stegalkin if given the chance.
What you do not expect is their immediate distrust - to be kept from the hunt until the very last moments.
You do not expect to begin to feel for the weak around you.
What you see proves to you, more than anything else, that these people need the guiding hand of Dragon.

You travel with Eir, her trust in you growing even as Garm remains wary, determined to deliver Jormag's salvation to everyone you can.
Dragons order to become stronger pushes at you. You join the vigil.

 

Forgal dies, and it pushes you to rise faster, even as Trahearne begins to appear in your life more.
To your own surprise you come to care for the strange, unsure sylvari. You worry about the weakness he displays even as his power and knowledge win your respect, knowing that Jormag will not tolerate it in the coming world.

You push him to be stronger. You spar and remind him of what he has achieved. It has little effect.

In desperation when you place your hand on his shoulder and remind him he isn’t alone, you try and press Jormag's magic into him, sure he would make a worthy lieutenant for the Dragon.

To your disappointment, the sylvari's rumoured immunity to the call of dragons holds, and the magic simply disperses into cool vapour.

You push on, into Orr, and Zhaitan dies.
You feel pride, the Dragons pride in you, and suddenly it is a waiting game as you watch for the next dragon, subtly beginning to send norn north, into Dragons arms.

 

Scarlet dies, Mordremoth becomes your next target. Then, the crystal egg diverts everything, changes everything.

Its song is sweet, even sweeter than Jormags, and you can hear your dragon roaring for you to return, to come back to the snow immediately.

You follow the crystal chimes deeper into the jungle heat.

The pact falls.

For the first time in almost half a decade, you scream to the dragon for more power and It denies you as you defy it, your orders to return unheeded as they rip at you. Dragons voice gone from a subtle breeze to a cutting blizzard.

You howl over the wind to the other spirits instead, desperate, to your shock Hare answers.
Her speed grants you the strength you need, and you pretend it is the wind wiping water from your eyes even as your ice melts in the jungle heat, as Jormag's frozen, wind like voice fades in place of a crystal melody shimmering through you.

Your speed saves Eirs life, but not the arm the vinetooths tail goes through instead.
You count it a victory, though not by much.
You place your hands on the crystal egg and the hatchling within floods you with song and power and love.
You know, with absolute certainty, there is nothing in the world that will ever pull this hatchling from you.

You expect many things when you go south,
You expect to kill two false heroes and bring the people of the world to Jormag's safety.
You expect to meet and kill the weak to prepare for the Ice Dragons coming.
You expect to join the vigil, felling it from within.
You do not expect to help create the order to kill the first dragon.
You do not expect to come to care for a strange, painfully unsure and sweet sylvari.
You Do Not expect Aurene, stronger, brighter and sweeter than any song before, overshadowing the false song of Jormag and you realise, - with a shock of clarity as clear as the crystal notes, there in the heat of a jungle buzzing with life, golden light pouring down on you like water - setting you free for the first time in years as the last of Jormag's magic drains away like ice-melt in the summer sun.