Black as Sin - By Faydra

Fan fiction from the Darkness Falls universe.
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Black as Sin - By Faydra

Post by Daleth » Mon Feb 01, 2016 7:19 pm

Black as Sin
By Faydra

Since I was small, I was taught the ways of the Priestesses of Vesta. I was held in her arms in my prayers, I was fed in her halls, everything in myself was from and for the goddess. The sun rose in Vesta’s graces, and the moon glittered the night because of her wisdom. We would have been lost in that world, except for the guidance of the Lady Vesta.

Everything that was me… was lost in one day, for in Carendel, death on foreign soil was disgrace, just as death on the earth blessed by Niord was a hero’s fate – one of story books and great legends of past. My soul was lost, in more than just one way.


Imriel leaned back against the dark maple wood, feeling the waves heaving the ship closer toward their goal, the land of Tamia. The sun above was shining merrily upon its blessed children, the people of Niord. Imriel felt the safety of the massive ship, the advantage of the multitudes of Niordians, and the tender cradle of Natalya’s arms around him.

He looked down at her, smiling, his green eyes sparkling, catching the rays of the sun. She smiled back up at him, and then buried her face into his chest. Natalya was silent for a few minutes, before turning her head to ask, “Why aren’t we blessed before Vesta? I know she sees our souls as befitting of each other.”

Imriel was quiet before whispering to her, “In time, my love. If Vesta sees us fit, then only time will make that judgment greater. We will be together forever, in the eyes of Vesta, blessed by her Guardian or not.” He pulled her chin up to his face and kissed her, smiling. “Together, yes?” He brushed his hands along her face to caress her pointed, elvish ears. She nodded, tugging gently in return on his own elvish ears, relaxing in his arms, soon falling asleep to the lulling of the boat and his softly beating heart.


The sun had toppled into the icy waters of the Rigan Sea, melting into a blood-red sunset that spilled into the clouds. The waves lapped the side of the tiny rowboats as the stronger Niordians, paladins, monks and rangers, pulled the oars with powerful arms toward the beach. Imriel squeezed Natalya’s hand, nodding to her. She remembered what he said as they climbed down the ladder into the unsteady vessels: ‘I will be right behind you. Vesta’s priestess you are, and I have taken it upon me to guard you with my magical lore. Love be with you.’

The boats ran ashore quietly and the children of Niord scrambled onto the sand. The beach suddenly was brighter, the auras around each man and woman meshing together to make the area as brilliant as mid-afternoon.

All moved to the directions of the leader, a tall rogue with a trick of hiding in the shadows too well, while being illuminated with light. Imriel ran ahead, until the sounds of wolf cries filled the air, pausing everyone in their tracks. A pair of dwarven paladins took the front, bracing themselves for the rush of evil. Arnak’s children were spawn of the night, able to sneak into the battle unannounced. Gnomes and halflings looked around the legs of the taller folk, looking for where the evil would come.

A strike; a backstab from a tiny imp took someone in the back and he fell. Natalya gasped and turned, a healing prayer falling from her lips to embalm the man in healing winds. She felt the blade pass by her face and she froze. Pandemonium was everything for the next minute. Natalya could hear Imriel screaming the runewords of his spells, lighting bolts striking from his fingertips. The stench of charred flesh and fur filled the air; the screams of Arnakians and Niordians alike rang in her ears. Her hands flew from body to body: clotting the bleeding, mending the torn muscle of warriors. Steel against steel reverberated and echoed against the cliffs.

Turmoil and confusion died into a daze, and the few Niordians left standing began to take what things they could from the battlefield. Eyes were averted from the dead, especially from those in the worship of Niord, their pure bodies now defiled by the blades of Arnak. Natalya leaned over and took a necklace of black rose-buds, which was looped around the neck of a young vampiress. Beautiful; Imriel would appreciate these.

A hand touched her shoulder, and Natalya turned, already her staff at parry. It was a familiar face, a monk she had hunted with many times. “I’m sorry,” he said, his eyes looking at her face, searching, “Niord will help mend your soul, Natalya.”

Natalya looked at him, and then her eyes widened. Imriel. She gazed around the field, her eyes hunting for his body, twisted and ensanguined, in the midst of the evil. A cry of horror escaped her lips, and she rushed to him.

Kneeling, Natalya clutched his hand to her breasts and cried out to the heavens. Niordians around her averted their eyes, ignoring the blasphemy she was committing.

“Niord! My lord, please, heed my cry!” she screamed into the darkness around her. “Forgive your children, we fight in your name. Do not forget Imriel, he was nothing but loyal. He died in your name!” Her voice died out as the waves crashed against the beach, roaring in her ears.

“Vesta, my guardian, my goddess. My soul is lying before me, cold as the death you have taught me fight against. Why must I endure this? This love, blessed by you, only to watch it bleed unto the rocks of this evil beach?” She coughed; her throat was dry.

No one would look; some climbed into the boats and began to leave the Rigan beach with slow oar strokes. She watched them go. They had forgotten the dead, for it was taboo to do anything otherwise. She had thrust herself into that taboo with her appeals to her gods.

The sky was dark above, the clouds still holding a blood-red tinge. Rain began to fall from heaven, the Tears of Niord, mourning these deaths that Natalya now sat amongst. He mourned his children. The taint of wickedness in the sky, the temptation of that wicked god… Natalya ran her hand along Imriel’s cold face, wiping the rain and her tears from it. “ARNAK!” she implored, in her native Niordian tongue, “Spirit of all that is evil and wicked.. I have been forgotten, my soul and my body. Please bring Imriel back to me, you can have anything you wish of me, just bring him back to me.”

The spirit of Arnak came before her. Atrocious in sight and sound, he stood before the two elves. “I will take the soul of your elf there and give it a new life, but in return, I require the souls of your children. The graces of the living will once more be upon your Imriel if I only have your word.”

Quickly, she agreed, pleading with Arnak to bring Imriel back to her, whole, but before the words fully left her lips, unbearable pain ripped through her body, tearing her heart from its place in her chest. Natalya could only scream in agony as the god pulled from her the very soul that she had promised for Vesta’s keeping. As the wash of pain passed, she looked at Arnak, “Traitor, you promised to bring back Imriel! Alive!” A shriek of grief escaped her lips, until she felt Imriel stir in her lap.

Natalya looked down and his eyes opened… black. The green of the elves had left him, and his eyes were now dark as the night. Imriel looked up at her, confused.

“My love, Natalya, why are you crying?” He reached up and wiped away the blood red tears that stained her cheek. She knew her eyes, too, were as black as the sin she had committed.

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