Journey to Oblivion

A Story by Mad Ben

A brief glimpse at a journey through the icy winter... only one type of rest for the wicked

Journey to Oblivion

Like a mask of terror with shifting eyes of distant lightning, the sky heralded the coming storm. Icy winds gnawed hungrily at the two figures standing around the flickering fire, their heads and faces covered in cloaks that seemed grossly inadequate for the winter air.

"Can't we raise a southernly wind?", one of them asked weakly.

"Not unless you want to spend all your energy and then die from exhaustion", replied the cracked and obviously much older voice of the other figure.

"If we don't reach Winterhold by tomorrow, it won't matter either way. There is no more food."

"You can go on for at least a week without food, you were trained for that. It actually gets easier after two or three days. That's why I told you to light the fire with the salamander stone. You will need every ounce of strength you have."

They curled up next to the flickering flames like children in their mothers' wombs. The younger one lay shivering, uttering an the occasional sob. The older one mumbled something to herself that ended with a long pause and a sigh.

"Sleep now, Merin. You will be alright. Remember the way, always follow the glow of morning. You will reach Winterhold, I just know it. You must..."

The rest of her words was lost in the rising winds of the storm. Soon the two travellers were fully obscured by the rush of wind and falling snowflakes. The fire had gone out, but a glow remained. The glow of a focus stone held by a shaking hand. Soon this gave out as well, lost in the howling of the gale.

A lone figure was stumbling over the ice of the great Wyrn lake, wrapped in two layers of cloth now. Snakes of hot breath curled from underneath the cowl. She did not feel hungry nor did she feel cold.

"Arys gave her life to protect me in the storm. She kept me warm and died."

The young woman peered at her left hand and removed the glove, revealing something that looked like a limb out of nightmares. Black red-veined fingers ended in white claws and the very light seemed to dim around the appendage.

"She knew that I have to reach Winterhold no matter what. I was chosen for the task and the winter is hard. Those white mages must pay for defying the Order of Blood."

A shudder ran over her as she replaced the glove. Then she looked up and the cowl fell from her face, revealing an expression of cold realization.

"If she hadn't given her life to me, I would have taken it."

A line of footsteps reached toward the horizon. The wind howled once more and snowflakes soon erased all signs of the woman's passing. The winter was still hungry. The ravens circled. Soon a young soul would warm itself at the fires of Oblivion.

(word count: 2621; edited for style and typos)