Snippets of Destiny

By Leoni Venter

Based on Oblivion by Bethesda Softworks

Warning: This is kind of scary, for me at least ;-)

Part 5: Consequences

The darkness seethed.

Martin cradled Lark's body against him while he kept the creatures in the dark at bay with spell, sword and sheer willpower. He felt that if they could only survive till dawn, all would be well, but he had long since lost track of time in the all-consuming darkness.

Something lashed out through his defenses and claws tore at his robe. He jerked back and lost his grip on the unconscious minstrel, who toppled to the ground. Martin didn't know whether Lark was still alive. In sudden despair he found hidden reserves, and launched himself at the undead creatures with a great cry.

His sword flew, and his spells spread destruction wherever they hit. As his levels of magicka depleted, Martin felt a growing fear that he would not last the fight, but when he knew that he could do no more, he found that there were no more to face, for the moment. He had prevailed. The cavern floor was strewn with the remains of the undead, but nothing stirred in the darkness and the whispers had ceased.

He stumbled to where Lark lay in a crumpled heap on the ground, and sank down beside him, fearing to find that his friend had died during the fight. To his relief the minstrel was still alive, and watching him. His pain-filled eyes were lucid again as he spoke softly. "All that sword practice was worth it."

Martin tried to laugh, but found his eyes filling with tears. "Forgive me, my friend," he said. "I should have listened to you." He swallowed. "I have been a fool." Lark merely nodded in agreement. Martin smiled at that. "Yes, you have every right to blame me." He sobered. "I have caused the death of my friends, and if I don't heal you soon, yours as well."

He busied himself making Lark more comfortable, folding his cloak as a pillow for the minstrel's head. "I need a few minutes to regain some magicka." He settled down next to Lark. "You rest now, I'll watch over you." He watched as Lark dropped off into an exhausted sleep as he replayed the events of the last few days over and over in his head.

--

It was the lure of knowledge, he told himself, but he knew in his heart it was rather the seduction of the power such knowledge could give him, that made him follow the lore of Daedric magic. Against all the rules of the Mages Guild, against the council of his father and his mentor, Lark, he pursued his unhealthy obsession with the darker arts to the extreme. And, caught in his wake like stars in the tail of a comet, had come his fellow apprentices, lured by his expositions on the duty of mages to know and harness all power – to be used for the good of the Empire, of course.

When he mentioned that he believed Daedric Shrines had power imbued in their very structure, someone in his group of followers had suggested that they try their experiments to summon a Daedra Prince at such a shrine in stead of in the woods out of sight from the town, where they had met no success.

Martin had agreed and they enthusiastically planned the expedition. Almost as an afterthought Martin had mentioned the whole thing to Lark, who had vehemently tried to dissuade him. But Martin's mind was made up, and Lark had reluctantly decided to join them, to "keep you out of trouble."

But none of them could ever have imagined the trouble they were getting themselves into. In an underground shrine devoted to an unknown Daedra Lord, they had cast their spells. Martin's idea had worked. The Daedra Prince had appeared through the shimmering portal they had created, glared contemptuously at them, shrugged off their command spells as if they were of no consequence, and had proceeded to wreak havoc amongst them.

Martin recalled with horror how his friends had died. Some, torn limb from limb by the awful strength of the thing. Some he merely picked up and smashed to the ground. Martin had been flung to the side and had seen when Lark hit the cavern wall. One unfortunate apprentice had been tossed through the portal to Oblivion knows what. Then the Daedra prince had stepped through with a last snarl at Martin. "Your protection will not last, boy!"

The portal collapsed and they were left in utter darkness. Too shocked by the events to give any thought to the Daedra's words, Martin had gathered up his surviving followers and Lark, and they had tried to go back to the surface, but somewhere they had lost their way. They had been attacked again and again, and after every skirmish there were fewer of them left. After what seemed like days to Martin, only Lark remained, and the minstrel was too weak to cast spells to heal himself, and all of Martin's energy was spent in fighting back the hordes of undead.

--

A fool indeed, Martin reflected. But now his only concern was to heal Lark before the man expired from his wounds. His magicka restored, Martin cast a healing spell on Lark, watching in satisfaction as wounds closed and bruises faded. After a while Lark woke.

"Welcome back," Martin said. "How do you feel?"

Lark's eyes looked peculiar in the light of Martin's spell. "I don't know," he said hesitantly. "I feel... strange."

"I can cast another healing," Martin said, getting ready.

"No, wait," Lark forestalled him. "I feel fine, really, it's just..."

Martin looked at him closely, noticing that Larked seemed very pale. And his eyes...

"Oh no," he said softly. "Lark, those vampires..."

"How long ago was that?" Lark asked. "Three days? And I've slept..." He trailed off. The thought was in both their minds. Vampirism has no cure. "No, not that," he muttered. "Martin, I couldn't stand it."

"Perhaps we're wrong," Martin tried to reassure his friend. "It can't have been three days. You should be fine, it will go away now that I've healed you."

Lark shook his head. "Healing is not the same as curing disease, you know that."

Martin sat back, stumped. He had no Cure Disease potions, and no spells to do the same. The only hope was to get Lark to a temple, but he feared they were too late already. And from the look in his pale red eyes, Lark knew it too.

"Well, this wasn't part of the plan, was it?" Lark asked, trying hard to hide his fear, but he did not fool either of them.

"We'll figure something out, Lark," Martin said. "Somehow, we'll work it out."

--

It took them two more days to fight their way back to known tunnels. As the time went by, Lark showed more and more symptoms of the awful disease he had contracted. His pale skin and sunken cheeks sharply reminded Martin of the terrible consequences of his rashness. Not only had he caused the deaths of his Mages Guild friends, he was the sole reason why Lark would now be forced to live an eternity enshrouded in darkness, feeding on the lifeblood of living beings.

In a world where vampires were despised as foul animals, Lark would be hunted by everyone, other vampires included. Never again would he sing for his supper in a tavern common room. Never again would his marvelous voice entertain his listeners.

Martin sunk into deep despair, while Lark, strangely, came to be resigned with his plight. As his symptoms worsened, he also became aware of the new abilities that he developed. His reflexes and speed increased until he could dart through the cavern like a shadow, making no sound. He could see in the dark, and he could detect living and undead with sight and hearing so acute, it astonished him that he ever thought he was good at it before.

But in him grew a hunger – a craving so intense that it caused him agony. He suppressed it, and said nothing to Martin, determined never to feed on a person, even if it meant starving to death.

--

Martin woke during one of their rest periods to find Lark – who was taking first watch – in agony on the ground. Martin ran to his friend, realizing that Lark had not fed since he had contracted Porphyric Hemophilia.

"What a fool I am!" he cursed himself for the added pain his inattentiveness had cost his friend. He tried to calm Lark, but the minstrel moaned and tossed and showed no recognition when Martin spoke to him. Not knowing what else to do, Martin cut his wrist, and as the blood welled up, forced Lark's mouth open and let the blood drip in a steady stream down his throat.

After a while Lark stopped struggling and swallowed. The next moment instinct finally took over as he grabbed Martin's arm and bit down. Martin grew dizzy as his blood was drained, until he became afraid that he would pass out.

"Lark!" he cried, trying to get his attention, but the vampire paid no heed. In desperation Martin slapped Lark with his free hand. "Lark! Please!" As his sight dimmed he felt the pressure on his wrist ease, and then he knew nothing more.

Lark came to himself out of an ecstasy like nothing he had ever experienced before. The warm blood sang through his veins like fire. It was like being born into light. He felt alive like never before. He glanced around with his new-found perspective, and suddenly became aware of his surroundings. Next to him lay Martin, pale as death, blood still pumping from a cut and two puncture wounds on his wrist. Lark finally realized what he had done.

He grabbed Martin's arm and tried to staunch the bleeding, tearing strips from his shirt to bind the wounds. Then he cast a healing spell, and then another, desperately trying to save Martin's life. At last the spells began to make a difference. Martin's colour improved and his wounds closed. Then he regained consciousness. As soon as he opened his eyes Lark was urging him to his feet.

"Move, boy!" he said, handing Martin his pack.

"What's going on?" Martin asked in confusion. The last thing he remembered was his blood draining from his veins, and now Lark would not even stop to talk about it.

"I don't know enough about this foul disease," Lark snarled. "If I just infected you, you need to get to a temple as soon as possible." He shouldered his own pack. "Come on."

Martin followed in dazed comprehension.

--

At last they found the way out, and came to the exit of the cavern just as dawn was breaking. Lark could feel his skin hurting with even the barest amount of sunlight falling on him. He ducked back into the shade of the cave.

"I can't come with you," he told Martin. "Go on without me."

"I won't leave you!" Martin protested.

"You have to," Lark said forcefully. "I didn't protect you all these years just to turn you into a vampire now. Don't worry, I'll make my way to your secret cave, travelling by night. Get yourself cured, just in case, and meet me there when you can."

Martin was not sure that he believed Lark would really go to the cave. He suspected Lark would disappear into the darkness to try and end his life there. "I want your promise that you'll come," he said, holding Lark's gaze with his own. "Your oath."

"I swear, Martin," Lark said earnestly. "I will meet you there. Now go!"

With that he darted into the shadows so quickly that Martin could not see him move. Martin sighed, then stepped out of the cavern and started the long walk back to the town. He had thirty-six hours to get to a temple. Thirty-six hours were enough: Enough to beat into him with every step that he did not deserve to live; that his ambition and lust for power could never again be allowed to rule his life, and that he should spend his life somehow trying to make amends for his folly.

The temple of Akatosh welcomed him when he arrived. The humble brothers cured him, fed him, gave him comfort. In their ministrations he found a kind of peace in himself, and he resolved to join the order as soon as he could tear himself free of the life and debts he had created for himself. Lark waited in the dark, and that was one debt he could never settle.

To be continued...

Disclaimer: All of Oblivion belongs to Bethesda Softworks. I'm just letting my mind wander through time and dark dungeons a bit...