Over the Sunken Realm – Part 5
Having saved your life, Bazkior the Druegan leads you to the safety of a subterranean train. But as soon as you embark, Kobold pirates attack with guns blazing.
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Zvakar hurries you along the tight corridor; you scramble onwards on shaky legs, row after row of seats blurring past you: you have just eaten after long hours of exertion, and in spite of the rush of adrenaline and the blood pumping through your veins, your body longs for rest.
A dozen small explosions erupt behind you, sending sparks flying around – you even feel a few of them burn out on the top of your unprotected head. Good thing the rest of your body is protected, at least for now!
A second later, Bazkior shouts a short guttural order: and in an explosion of blue fire, the Druegans unleash their weapons upon the enemy. A shrill bestial scream attests to their accuracy. But the kobolds, as Bazkior called them, hardly wait for their reply; soon fire answers to fire, and a Druegan screams in pain, followed by another. Evidently, they are closing in on their targets. Time is short: you scramble on with baited breath, but not fast enough to outrun the stench of calcinated flesh.
“You hurry!” Zvakar barks as a round door slides open in front of you on an entirely dark room, “you find a box, and stay inside!”
As the door noiselessly closes behind you, buffering out the noise of battle and shutting the room away from any light, an orange glow slowly emerges from gems set across the walls, revealing several rows of large dull-black cases.
Zvakar leaps up to one of them, and in an instant it opens wide. “You get in, I close it,” he says. “When all over, I come for you.”
You are about to obey and get in – when something pulls you back.
Your memory quickly flashes back to the events of the previous hours: Andhal’s hand plunging into the water to save you from drowning; the creeping monster shot down by Bazkior; you have been dragged along, pushed on, and protected by every person you have encountered up to now. But somehow, at this moment, you would rather take a chance and fight it out. Even though you would risk your life against an unseen enemy – or perhaps precisely because of it.
You shake your head, and explain yourself to Zvakar, as succinctly as you can: you cannot hide while your friends are fighting to their death.
The Druegan shakes his head: “Ash! I can not make you die! No, you stay protect, I go!”
You insist, pleading to at least get a weapon so you might defend yourself. Behind the black door, the buffered noise of explosions reaches your ears – adding to the pressure on Zvakar, who looks at you, then at the door, with ever widening eyes and a growing snarl of anger. After a few seconds, he starts to rip stubs of hair off his black beard as he mumbles what you can only assume are curses in his own cryptic language.
“Fine! I give you a Drapnor, but stay behind the door!”
And with that, he throws an odd metallic object into your arms. You catch it awkwardly: it’s about two feet long, of a blueish tint, and in spite of its weight – which bears heavily upon your skinny arms – it is so remarkably well-balanced that it is not cumbersome to manipulate. As you realize you are no longer helpless, a feeling of boundless confidence radiates through your body.
Zvakar does not give you time to get used to your first weapon. Grabbing it violently, he puts your hand on the handle: “press here to shoot” he spits, pointing at the trigger. And with a hushed snarl, he adds: “and never point it at me, understand? Always at enemy. Or else I shoot you.”
You decide to chalk up this last remark to the stressful situation Zvakar has found himself in, and get in position, crouching behind the door.
With a gesture, Zvakar motions it open. The sounds of battle instantly pour into the room, bolts of burning light flashing across the corridor. You wince at the painful change of light.
As soon as the opening is just big enough, Zvakar rushes out, shouthing a shockingly shrill battle cry as he rushes to his companions’ aid. You peer through the half-open door, and see the Druegans forming a line of defence on the other side of the wagon.
Seconds feel like hours. Beads of sweat drip down your forehead. Suddenly, flames burst from the other side of the door. It slides along, melting through its invisible hinges, until it falls with a loud clang.
The Druegans pour a deluge of fire upon the enemy, but they replicate, soon forcing them back into the wagon, where they find flimsy cover behind rows of seats on each side. This gives you a full view on the attacker, and you immediately regret it.
Their silhouettes appear gigantic next to the Druegans. Their elongated arms dangle in front of caved-in chests, their long-fingered hands reach almost to their disfigured feet – which appear to have only two or three toes. Their skin and heads are entirely covered with hair, safe for metal pieces embedded into their limbs and faces. But what catches your eye are their white lidless eyes, and their gleaming razor-sharp teeth, which glimmer with every Drapnor shot. And the way their lips retract as they laugh sends shivers running down your spine.
The Druegans flee back under their heavy fire, and one by one, slip back into the room you are crouching in. You step out of their way as they pass through, hoping to recognize Bazkior among them, but to no avail.
As the last one passes by, you rush back to your post behind the door, desperate to see your friend: but the only Druegans left on the wagon turned battlefield are lying on the floor, dead or wounded; and the Kobolds – how you know now the horror behind that name! – moving from one to the other, put an end to their misery.
Just as the soul-crushing weight of loss hovers over you, a shrill battle-cry echoes from your left – and Zvakar, leaping from behind a row of seats, mercilessly strafes the attackers. Two Kobolds fall dead under his shots, the others bound away with yelps of terror… Safe for one who, with a bestial snarl, shoots back at the black Druegan.
You see Zvakar fall over, his upturned face towards the door. You can tell by his eyes that he is still alive, but defenceless against the beasts who now gather again, blood dripping from their cruel tusks, sniggering among themselves as they approach their easy prey…
This time, you stop thinking. Too many have died for him to perish like this, when only a few feet away from safety!
With an indescribable yell of righteous anger, you push yourself through the half-opened door, and jump in front of the wounded Druegan.
The Kobolds are too stunned to react: did they not expect to see a human on board? But you don’t let that stop you: your Drapnor is pointed at the first Kobold, and your finger is already pulling the trigger.
A blinding bolt of light shoots out, and burns through the creature’s skull. This shakes the rest of the group out of their apathy: right as they point their guns at you, you throw yourself to the ground, and shoot into their legs. They let out apish screeches, and bound left and right to avoid your shots.
But there is not much hope: already a few stray shots splinter on the floor next to you. You cannot move out of the way and carry Zvakar with you. Without stopping from shooting, you spare your last thoughts for the new world you have discovered, and your last regrets over how little time you have spent over the sunken realm.
“ELMORLEM! STAY LOW!”
You raise your head at the sound of that voice: could it be…?
Blue light-beams burn through a Kobold’s chest. The shot came from the side and – yes, you recognize him now!
Bazkior, springing from behind a row of seats to the right, has begun unloading his weapon upon your common enemies!
The Kobolds cry out in surprise, and another two fall over dead. And the rest will not last longer…
For the door behind has opened, and the other Druegans pour out, surrounding you and Zvakar, hammering the pirates with everything they have got. The Kobolds’ attack turns into a rout, and they flee back through to the previous wagon, as the other Druegans give them chase.
Bazkior limps up to you: the side of his head is seared as if by fire, and he appears to have been shot at least once in the leg, but in spite of it, he congratulates you with a warm smile.
“Thank you, Elmorlèm! You have saved Zvakar. But, it was a big risk! Do not take these risks again, unless I am with you!”
He chuckles merrily, though spasms of pain flash across his face.
“Now let us attend to our captain…” he says, and turning to Zvakar, he begins talking in Drueganic.
The black Druegan’s only answer is addressed to you. He raises his head, and pointing to your chest, mutters:
”Bas-Basquionná”
And his head drops again.
Within little over an hour, the Kobolds’ bodies have been thrown away, and there is again a semblance of order on the train. Zvakar has been taken to a hospital aisle near the back of the train, and you remain with Bazkior, who is too happy to explain Zvakar’s odd words:
“When a tall-one saves the life of a Druegan, the life becomes his. So, you save Zvakar, and now his life belongs to you! You are his Basquionná.”
But of course, you don’t want to own someone else’s life!
“Oh, you can make him free,” Bazkior replies. “Simply, you make him save your life.”
This seems to make sense. You could always tell Zvakar that he saved your life before, when he led you to the dark room away from the battle… but would that be enough?
Then another thought occurs to you, and you quickly share it with Bazior: if Zvakar’s life is mine, then what becomes of his previous Basquionná?
Bazkior’s eyes gleam: “well… if I remember well, the Dreamer said there can only be one Basquionná. So, as long as Zvakar owes you his life, you are his rightful master.”
But then… Perhaps this could be a way to get out of the current Basquionná’s control! To give their freedom back to the Druegans!
Bazkior blemishes: “I do not know such things, they are above me… But we can ask the Dreamer when we reach the village!”
You let out a sigh. So, rest and comfort are still far away… But the thought of keeping Zvakar’s “life” in your hands, of dominating another being, feels deeply wrong. And yet, is it not the best way to keep him from obeying the other, seemingly more sinister Basquionná?
Bazkior leads you to another wagon, where you find a bed slightly big enough to curl up upon, and decide to sleep on it. But even as you fall into slumber, the question rings out into your mind:
Should you remain Zvakar’s “master” for the time being, or should you let him go free?
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