The temperature had dropped dramatically the night of the revolt, meaning that most guards were wearing thicker clothing and slaves huddled more closely by the fires. Many more slaves were forced to huddle in the meager warmth of the damp, rocky, and cramped tunnels. There, Titus had managed to gather at least ten or so trusted friends to act as leaders and rabble-rousers, and perhaps fifty or so slaves had decided to join the revolt. His hope was that once the weapons were delivered to them, more would follow and they could overwhelm the camp as they stormed east.
Hiding in plain sight amongst the more docile slaves, Titus and his men divided up what rations and medical supplies they could to each other, speaking in hushed tones as they waited for Kublai and the servant-slaves to bring about their weapons.
Meanwhile, the slaves that wished to accompany Kublai had discussed what they wanted to take. Many had basic combat experience, either because of their previous professions or because they were forced to fight in pits for the guards' amusement. Dwarves seemed to whisper about axes and crossbows, elves, about bows, and halflings about spears and polearms. Those of Sangrian descent seemed hell-bent on getting their hands on long axes or swords, while those of Asrakosian descent prized javelins, slings, and shorter blades. Some Sooleran elves wanted quarterstaffs and clubs, while those from Linistel desired rapiers and sabers.
As for Kublai, Warden Niphos and his commanders had listened to his warnings, and were prepared for the eventuality of the slave revolt. As such, they agreed to keep the armory guarded, and that they would kill any of the servants that accompanied Kublai, while leaving him alive.
The plan was set, the targets dyed indelibly, and cruel, barbed traps laid out. All Kublai needed to do was to lead these mark'd animals to their slaughter. As he left the cave, he would see mothers cradling their skeletonized children, fathers holding their heads in shame, and even graves filled with bodies of men, women, and children. He saw the look of hope and desperation in the eyes of those he called compatriots. Many spoke of being able to see their families, or of being able to save their children from starvation. If Kublai had an ounce of sympathy or compassion left in his heart, now would be his last chance to act on it, lest his soul be irrevocably crushed.
Kublai does feel the sting in his chest from the suffering he knows will soon follow. Yet, his time in the camp has taught him some new life philosophies.
These people would not have a chance to escape, even if they wanted to. Even if some managed to get out of the camp alive, most of them would be cut down and butchered before they'd reach the border. It was a fool's errand to begin with. A beggar would be incredibly happy if you'd give him 100 radiants, but that would also sign his death-warrant as muggers will take advantage of the weak and stab him, taking his money. So it is too with these slaves. It is not in the hands of any Dwarf to change the wheels of life. The weak will be preyed upon by the strong, forever. One must not think themselves above the mechanics of the universe. Had Kublai planned on handing them weapons, they would find their deaths as well once they clash with the guards. All one can do in this cruel time spent on the mortal soil is to create control over one's own life. Kublai's life. And so, Kublai reasons himself out of his guilt and presses on with the plan.
He pretends to have a sudden surge of pain from his last whooping, just before they would make the turn to the armory, telling his fellows to go ahead to the armory without him and that he will be along shortly... Instead, once they're out of sight, he would make a turn to Warden Niphos' quarters to tell them the time to strike is now...
The servants would nod and rush off towards the armory with all due haste, while Kublai manages to make it to the Warden's tent. The winds howled through the hollow paths of the camp, silencing even the clang of steel and ring of laughter. Upon seeing the turncoat enter his quarters, the Warden would nod to his commanders. But one of them brings up an interesting idea.
"Warden, sound the alarm, but let the rebels get their weapons. If we charge into the caves now, we may kill the fodder that hasn't risen up, and we'll ultimately waste all our cattle before we can tell which ones are sick. Sure, some might join them, but we can always get new slaves."
The Warden thought about this a moment and nodded as he strapped on a breastplate under his shirt of mail. In a gruff, snarky tone, he set out his decree.
"Let it be so. Let the cravens have their precious arms- it will give our men something fun to do. After all, there is nothing better in life than reminding your foe where they belong!"
He and the other lieutenants would cheer and clap Kublai on the back, before taking up their arms and parading out of the tent in single-file, leaving to do their murderous work. Left alone in the canvas confines of the tent, silence enveloped the dwarf. Before him, was a part of his prize; a succulent meal of a whole roast duck, fluffy, white bread, tankards of mead, cheeses, and fresh vegetables. A beautiful dwarven maiden stood before a large stone hearth, preparing more food and drink for the dwarf, dressed in fine, white silk and a golden circlet upon her head. She did not speak to him as she filled his tankard with the drinks of his choice, and her eyes were cold and angry, and in them were written the words "traitor."
Meanwhile, the slaves took up glittering spears of steel and swords of bronze as they rushed out of the tent and towards the cave, their arms filled with the tools of war. They passed the guards, who made little effort to stop them besides running after them.
Once the servants had brought the weapons to the caves, Titus looked out for Kublai, his eyes widening as he realized that he was not there. Initially, he believed him dead- a sacrifice to a noble cause- but when he was told that there was no resistance, Titus realized that he had been betrayed. Hurriedly, and wordlessly himself with a lamellar hauberk, he and his men rushed out of the caves, with a few dozen other slaves following them, armed with swords, axes, spears, and javelins.
The battle was fierce, and swift, as the more experienced rebels used the highground of the cave entrance to their advantage, hurling spears down at the charging guards. Titus himself wielded a greatsword and fought with vicious abandon, cleaving his the men he once called brothers in twain, and knocking their heads from their shoulders. The Jishrimites tried to run down the slaves on horseback, but were stopped by brave slaves holding pikes and tridents. The Jishrimites called for their cavalry to retreat and allowed their heavily armored infantry to step in and begin kettling the rebels back into the caves, where it would be easier to cut them down one by one.
Beyond the main fight at the entrance, those slaves who wished to escape were being escorted by archers down the hill that the quarry sat on. When horsemen charged at them, some of the Asrakosian slaves popped out of bushes and hurled javelins and slingstones into their faces, while some Sangrian dwarves tackled horses and hacked at their riders with polearms and mining tools. They cheered as the remaining cavalry panicked and ran, sending them off with an afterthought of arrows.
From the safety of the guard camp, Warden Niphos watched with worry; it seemed that the will of the slaves was greater than he had expected. Many unarmed slaves were now taking advantage of the chaos to burn tents down, run away, or even steal food! The guards were overrun as Titus broke through the blockade and made straight for one of the commanders, taking his legs off with a single swipe of his greatsword. With a frustrated growl, the Warden hopped off his horse and swiped a crossbow away from one of his bodyguards. He set his boot in the crossbow's stirrup and pulled upwards on the bowstring with all his might, nocking it into place. There, he loaded a cruel, barbed bolt, took aim and loosed it into the courageous heart of the rebellion.
Titus felt the cold bite of steel in his chest, and the warm, metallic taste of the blood rising into his esophagus. He was just about to strike down at a soldier, his sword raised in a single hand. The warrior willed his body to send this one last message of defiance into the neck of his oppressor, but it was not to be. His right hand loosened the grip on his sword and he fell down onto the cold, rocky ground. The Warden smiled and handed the crossbow back to his guard, before calling for a general charge.
Seeing their brave leader dead, the will of most of the slaves was shattered, and they began to flee while they still could. Some of his chosen captains were still trying to finish the operation, and a few even escaped with a goodly portion of slaves, but most were quickly abandoned by their flighty comrades and were quickly slaughtered alone. With the rest of the resistance either escaped or dead, the Sons of Jishrim scoured the camp for remaining slaves, who were either killed or corralled back into the caves. Within twenty minutes, the rebellion was finished, and as Kublai predicted, it costed more lives than it managed to save.
Once more, the harsh scream of the cold winds started up where the hot-blooded cries of defiance had left off. Kublai would be left alone in the Warden's tent for the rest of the night, all his needs taken care of. He was given a bath, as much food and drink as he desired, dressings for his wounds, and even musicians and dancers, if he desired such things. The sounds of the battle had hardly reached his ears that night, and neither did the wail of broken souls once it was over.
Kublai loved hearing the suggestion of letting the slaves arm themselves. It would increase the death-toll among the proud Jishrimites. Sitting there with his food and luxury, he felt an accomplished Dwarf. His plan had worked out. He had played those marked for certain death out against the evil oppression and was able to guide what he viewed as 'walking dead' against those who certainly had deserved it. The universe would have had them lose their lives, so now Kublai had steered them to take a few unworthy lives with them to the grave. A perfect execution...
Yet, naturally, something gnawed on his conscious. He ordered the Dwarven maid away from the tent. Any musicians or dancers that would enter were quickly sent off too. Kublai knew by his actions here, he had set his destiny towards a darker road. He pondered and closed his eyes to allow total focus upon his thoughts. Dark as they may be... He had been in total control. A feeling of great power surged through him and he could not deny: He liked it.
