ESO Fan Fiction: Search For the Sky-Crystals – Part I

Tur’a wakes in the Warrior’s Rest Tavern, yawning and stretching in her bedroll. She has returned to Cyrodiil at the behest of her sister, who left a cryptic message before leaving to roam the desert sands with Dar. The message simply reads: “Remember the Chalamo.” Tur’a is still unfamiliar with the war-torn land, having only recently completing basic training there. She has used the siege machinery at the practice field, but that is a far cry from using them in the heat of battle. Rubbing her eyes, she sits up near the fire-pit. She is clad in a simple tunic and breeches; modesty and practicality dictate sleeping in light clothing, at the very least. She rummages through her bag for a quick meal – she has been cooking more and more for herself, finding hearty soups and stews more to her liking than the sugary-sweet fare her sister used to provide. She chuckles at that thought; Dar’s tastes have definitely influenced Sister’s cooking! The venison fricassee is delightfully filling as she readies herself for the task of the day. She needs to get behind the enemy gates to the west, avoiding the skirmishes in-between, then head south and storm the gates there. Her goal: the precious sky-crystals, guarded deep within hostile territory. She has chosen her gear well for the excursion; the pact forces dominate the map at the moment, but there are always small squads of enemy scouts that are eager for an ‘easy’ kill.

All of her armour has been newly-crafted and expertly fitted: for once, she doesn’t have to accept well-used hand-me-downs! All of it was forged by Bulgor, the Orc smith who has worked for their family for as long as she can remember. She recalls watching wide-eyed as a young child, seeing sparks fly as he hammered glowing ingots, crafting an impressive cuirass for her father. Now, she wears one which is nearly identical to one her mother wore during a family celebration, long ago. Her parents always looked so fierce and intimidating on the few occasions she saw them fully girded for battle! Tur’a dons her gear, leaving the gauntlets and helm for last: she needs to see to her mount, first, then check up on her order with the siege merchants. Leaving the tavern, she walks down to the stable. Her panther chuffs and grumbles as she walks up; she scratches the big cat around his ears and accepts his gentle forehead-bump. “I know, I know – you’d rather be roaming free. We’ll be back in the homeland soon, and you’ll be able to hunt to your heart’s content.” She turns to the stable-master. “He hasn’t been to difficult to handle, I hope?” she asks. “Not at all, milady,” laughs the other. “He’s been fairly quiet. I think that the treats you provided kept his temperament mellowed, but he definitely seems eager to run.” Tur’a laughs: “Indeed…and he will have to run fast and hard, today!” She pays the stable-master for his care, tipping a little extra since she didn’t stable a horse. He unlocks the corral and the big cat leaps out, nearly knocking Tur’a over as he rubs against her greaves. She laughs again as he rolls on the grass nearby, but he quickly follows her as she wanders over to the siege merchants.

Twin saurians are in charge of the wood-hewing: Star-Scales and her egg-brother, Teeth-Like-Stars, quickly and efficiently mold the wood into impressive works of deadly architecture. They speak to the timbers while they work, and the wood almost seems to form itself into the desired shape before they use hammer and nails. Tur’a watches them at their craft, impressed with how effortless they make something difficult appear…they are true masters. Star-Scales sees her and walks over, wiping clawed hands on a rag. “Excellent work, I see,” Tur’a says. “My thanks,” Star-Scales replies, inclining her head in polite greeting. “It fascinates me,” she continues: “Soldiers cut down trees in order to fashion the timbers that are used to create these weapons. In turn, the weapons are used to cut down the soldiers. Such is the cycle, no?” Tur’a bows her head in agreement. “So it is. That is an observation that few comprehend,” she replies. She glances over at Teeth-Like-Stars, who was staring openly. The fins on his head darken in embarrassment as he quickly looks back to his work, gazing intently at some designs which he is holding upside-down. She chuckles, looking back at his egg-sister. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your work – it looks as though the ballista is nearly finished,” she says. Star-Scales laughs as well: “No interruption at all… ’tis a welcome break from this task. You are one of few who seems to appreciate what we do here, and you always treat us with courtesy and respect…it is welcomed.” Tur’a inclines her head again. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Stay moist, my friends.” She turns to go, then stops for a moment. She looks back at Teeth-Like-Stars, who is gazing at her again. “We should go swimming sometime,” she says. Star-Scales hisses laughter at the expression on her egg-brother’s face as Tur’a walks away. She chuckles to herself as she sets the riding gear on her panther and fastens it in place. The wolf-blood that runs in her family was latent for some time, but finally emerged in her. She is now coming to terms with her own animal instincts, just as Sister did. It feels odd, in a way; memories of her first transformation still seem more like dreams than reality.

The big cat is now fully barded, and Tur’a dons her helm and gauntlets. It’s time to go. She consults her map, then leads the cat to the shrine of transitus: she needs to see “the Chalamo,” first. She steps into the proximity of the blue flame…all goes black and silent for a moment. She awakens, dazed, seeing nothing for a moment. As her vision returns, she sees the guards on the inside of the fortress: some are walking around, others stand at attention. She looks at them closely, and can’t help but grin foolishly. They all wear the colours of her guild, looking smart and sharp wearing her tabard over their armour. Another surprise: a scroll spins slowly above its platform, bathing the entry hall in a soft, blue glow…Sister has welcomed her to the battlefield as an equal. Tur’a smiles and blows a kiss to the ceiling. “Thank you,” she whispers. She unfolds her map in the glow of the scroll – it’s time to plan the crashing of the gates.


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