From Distant Shores Collection Part 1 - K.R. Gomlok (free books to read .txt) 📗

(This work [which is the property of Keiran Gomlok] is dedicated to Salem Samuelson for her many helpful proof reads)

He could not see, he could not hear. He was surrounded by darkness. He could not feel, nor smell, for the darkness engulfed him. He could barely think. On the rare occasions in which he found himself conscious, he thought about his childhood and the cleansing ocean he had heard about in that time.
The Shadow often came to talk to him, taunting him for his weakness. It had been so long ago that it had captured him. Now it was the only one who saw him. He could always sense it, a lingering shadow at the back of his mind. Nimrolav, it called itself, took joy in paining him. Paining Valormin.
Yes, that was his name: Valormin. When had he last used it? He now knew not for he had lost count of his days in shadow. All that was left for him was false hopes and broken dreams that he would someday escape and go to the redeeming shores, leaving his dark bondage behind.
Then, one day, Nimrolav did not return. He could no longer sense it. Slowly, he became aware of the fact that he was sitting in a dimly lit tent.
Blinking quickly, he realized that he was actually seeing. He was not in the dark, nightmarish trance he had been in for so long. Looking around, he drunk in the limited sight around him. A staff lying by the entrance, a few swords and shields in a corner, and three cloaks hung up on a wooden stand as well as some bedding that was strewn across the room.
Voices could be heard outside, strange voices, it almost sounded as if each voice was two voices saying the same speech in perfect sync.
Carefully rising to his feet, Valormin took an unsteady step forward and fell on his face near the cloaks. An angry reproach from his famished stomach told him he hadn?t eaten in a while.
Pushing off the ground to try again, Valormin caught sight of something deathly pale under him. Jerking in horror, he fell once again. Slowly, he moved his hand in front of his eyes, finally taking in the unhealthy hue of it. Why were they so white? They were not a pure white, more of a morbid grey.
Ignoring his hands, he grabbed one of the cloaks and threw it around his shoulders, welcoming the warmth and realizing how cold he actually was. With renewed determination, he staggered to the swords and attempted to lift one. To his surprise, the sword was an unearthly weight, seeming to be forged of gold. Abandoning the heavy blade, he grabbed the staff and moved out of the tent. He had no thought of where he was going but he felt compelled to leave the tent and it?s immediate surroundings as soon as possible.
Outside of the tent it was late evening and a full moon was illuminating the sky. The tent he had left was surrounded with five similar tents and two huts arranged in a haphazard clump and were, in turn, surrounded by more permanent buildings of the same chaotic arrangement. From inside each of these came a deep glow of unnatural green and horrible chanting that assaulted his new found senses. Outside of one of the tents he spotted two squatted figures talking in the dual voices he had heard inside the tent. Their skin was the same hue as his and their hair was a despairing coarse black clump on their heads, only styled to be grotesque rather than interesting.
Feeling panic engulf him, Valormin bolted through the dark city as fast as his clumsy legs could carry him. The chanting became howls of delight at anguish, reminding him of his time with Nimrolav. Desperate, he heightened his pace.
At last he came to the city gates, panting from his exhausting sprint. Taking the last stretch at a feeble walk, he started out of the cursed city. As he approached the dark guardians of the chaotic land, he felt his steps falter. Keeping his eyes to the ground, he stepped forward.
The motion was painful but in such a way that it rekindled his determination. His next step became easier, but he felt tension in the air. Something did not want him to leave. Setting his feet out to steady himself, he continued on. The air came more easily and his pace became less labored. As he stepped out after what seemed like an eternity, he looked to the star lit skies.
When he was some distance from the foul settlement, he stopped to rest under the branches of a tree. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid sight upon, its bark was smooth and crimson and its branches reached out like welcoming arms, bidding him to sleep under their protective covering.
Laying down his weary head, he was almost asleep when he felt it. It was not quite like Nimrolav, but it was similar. Two of them, watching from the shadows, waiting for something?
?He is rather restless, isn?t he?? The first one said, stepping forward, He was a powerfully built fellow who resembled the humans in the city. At his side was a scythe whose blade gleamed in the moonlight.
?Who are you?? Valormin croaked, clutching his staff.
The man laughed, a supernatural gleam in his eyes, ?It matters not, Nimrolav, though I was rather hoping you?d remember. What are you doing out here??
?Out here?? The attempt of innocence was unbelievable even to Valormin?s ears.
?Yes, outside Ramador, where we are supposed to be gathering to plan with the others? The man sneered, drawing his weapon from his belt, ?You were always arrogant Nimrolav, I suppose your defiance of Gorban should be expected. For that we finally have a reason to kill you.?
?What?? Valormin exclaimed, ?No! Please! I?m not Nimrolav! Nimrolav is Dead!?
The man stopped, ?You killed your Galdrood, eh? Well I guess we?ll have to avenge Nimrolav whether we liked him or not.?
Lunging forward, the dark man hacked at Valormin who rolled to the side and smacked his opponent across the skull with his staff. The man roared, now more creature than human, overwhelmed with hatred for Valormin. ?You will die! You cannot escape us! I will??
His ranting was cut short as Valormin reached down into his deepest reserves of strength; his newfound freedom fueled a sharp hit to the beast?s stomach. It doubled over on the ground and gasped, it looked up at Valormin with hate in its eyes, and then something completely unexpected happened. From the creature was spewed forth a creature entirely of shadow, with eyes like embers. It leapt and clawed at Valormin, who was now completely exhausted and could do little to stop it. Biting his hands and grasping for his throat, finally achieving a stranglehold on him.
And as Valormin struggled in vain, the creature taunted him. ?Filthy Human! You are a Zalian! You were in allegiance with us! Now die knowing what a fool you?ve been!?
Suddenly, the shadow screamed out in anguish and dissolved as the blade of a scythe broke through its writhing body. All that was left was the man with the scythe, standing battered and bruised. Looking at Valormin with desperate eyes.
After a hesitant moment, Valormin sought out the courage to speak, ?If you?re going to kill me, would you be merciful and do it now??
?Kill you?? The man laughed, or at least attempted to, ? My dear rescuer, I have no such intent. Though it seems you are a little too late. I fear my time is at its end, for Enesäm did not leave me without crippling my body. My name is Mäsene Turinil, I was once a great man, but a lust for power consumed me and I joined the Zalians. It was then that I met Enesäm and began to hate it.
?Yes, that?s right,? he continued as he noticed Valormin?s interest in the subject. ?You weren?t the only one enslaved Enesäm and Nimrolav are creatures called Galdrood. They are the ones that keep us in the dark. Enesäm disclosed many things to me, some of which I will tell you now. A Galdrood can only be killed by its ?Host? or at the hands of a Chronic Guardian. Know this, the Zalians are a wicked people; they have merged with their Galdrood. This leads to many adverse effects such as our pale skin tone and eventually a wiry frame completely dependent upon its Galdrood for survival.?
Valormin kept silent as Mäsene continued to explain many things. But as the night drew on, Mäsene?s strength waned and he neared his end. At last he asked two things of Valormin, to escape the Zalians and tell his tale, and to find his brother Bemaldar and bring him his last apologies.
Thus, the life of Mäsene Turinil ended. But part of him lived on. A young man with a wandering heart had taken his first steps into the world. He was headed for all he could remember, the cleansing waters of the great bay. His name was Valormin Korlon, and his life had just begun.


Valormin took a breath and pulled on the rock ledge. Just over the ridge was the ocean. Valormin had never seen the great bay and now he was only a few short bounds from looking upon the thing that had inspired so much.
Just one more tug and he would be there, surveying the majestic waves and breathtaking beaches that he had longed for all his life. The rock felt steady beneath his grip and with a final heave he pulled himself up to the top of the sheltering ridge.
The sight that greeted him was awe-inspiring. The sun began to rise over the shimmering waters and the clouds loomed overhead like a protective blanket as the morning mists blew out of the bay like specters fleeing from the dawn.
Valormin felt himself take a half involuntary, half embracing step forward as the beautiful sight enticed him to join it, calling with the voices of a thousand waves. Suddenly, as his foot set down on the further soil, he felt the cliff shift beneath his weight. He came to his senses just in time to grab for stable ground as the cliff gave way beneath him. It was too late, however. The rockslide carried him toward the beach at the foot of the cliff.
The ride was rough, needless to say, and Valormin did not escape without a large collection of bruises and welts. But, as he skidded to a halt, found himself still in his right mind and,