"Me be goblin. Live in cave. Elves come. Shoot arrows. Me run. Elves come again. Hit over head. Put in chain. Make hit rocks. Me tired. Elf hit. This time me no run. This time me hit elf. Elf die. Me break chain. If me can, you too can. We hit every elf! We break every chain!"
Little goblin stood on a small hill in the middle of a coal mine. A knife-eared slaver was lying by his feet with a pickaxe through the head. A little further, in a dark corner, lay another tall guy with a whip and an extra hole in the skull. Unwashed humans, dwarves, orcs and freshly-bathed elves looked at the goblin from all sides. After his speech, the drift fell silent for a few moments. And then, instead of coal, the miners started acquiring their freedom. It did not take long - the prisoners vastly outnumbered their jailers and most of them were not in chains. Chains were only needed the first few weeks, while a slave did not count himself as such. Once he accepted his fate, the shackles were removed and the prisoners were kept in check by punishments. Mass punishments. This made prisoners talk each other out of trying to run and worked better than a hundred jailers. Ironically, the fear of punishment was what made seemingly broken people take up arms this time - if the tiniest hint of disrespect from one slave cost everyone a whiplash, what would the killing of two elves entail? Quick death at best. So might as well die fighting.
When it all was over, all miners stared at the goblin, silently asking what's next. Goblin did not exactly have a plan. He did not have many options either - there was only one tunnel leading out. It connected the drift to the barracks - a wide room with sleeping bags, basic necessities and a sliding iron gate that went up. It was actually called portcullis but the goblin did not know that word. The guards ventured beyond that gate every day but a slave could only get out if he was dead. Barracks were full of prisoners awaiting their next shift with just a few guards. A perfect - and only - target.
"We go barracks. Free others."
At this time, a wiser individual would have developed a cunning strategy. And a group of such individuals would've spent the next few hours discussing it. But Goblin did not know the word "strategy" and the elf that appeared at the entrance made everyone act first and think later.
Miners stormed the tunnel, chasing after their jailer. The elf, losing his pride on the way, made it to the circular room that served as barracks. He was about to announce what was going on but the orc behind him had other plans. The green hunk of muscles with torn chains still hanging from his wrists picked the puny elf up and tore him limb from limb. This was an announcement like no other. The ghastly silence was then interrupted by a battlecry of several dozen men who had nothing to lose. With a spirit of rebellion in the air, a calm old dwarf flipped a spoon in his hand and jabbed it into a nearby elf's throat. Some lizardman bit another knife-eared head off. Cutlery, instruments and pieces of furniture were used in ways their creators did not intend and - in some cases - could not even imagine.
The jailers rushed for the gate. But it did not go up. The portcullis was there just in case of a rebellion and lifting it now would be counter-productive. The elves operating it were fully aware of that fact and managed to keep their heads cool since there was no danger of them being torn off. So in just a few minutes, everyone left alive inside the barracks felt the same way about elves.
The big orc tried to take matters into his own hands and lift the portcullis but failed. Another green individual - this time covered in scales - moved to help and together they lifted it just a bit. But not enough for anyone to go through.
An old dwarf was sitting at the table and calmly eating his soup with a spoon that had blood on the handle. They called him Yodimwitz. Why?
"Leverage, you dimwits! You need leverage," he said in a calm tone as he observed the two greenskins struggling with the gate.
In the next few minutes, alternating between consuming soup and giving directions, Yodimwitz had the unruly miners construct a system of blocks and levers out of the draft's support beams, stone slabs and furniture. He had a strange air of authority about him and a voice that commanded respect on an instinctive level, even to people who currently personified anarchy. Mining carts, buckets and boxes were then filled with rocks and attached to one end of each support beam. The wooden pillars slowly but steadily assumed a position parallel to the floor and lifted the portculli just enough for an average human to go through. With the same authoritative voice, Yodimwitz made everyone go out one by one.
After all the miners got through, the dwarf got up and started to walk out as well. There was a creak. There was a crack. The wooden beams were about to thwack. Not paying any attention to the sound, Yodimwitz walked out at a leisurely pace and made it through the gates just as the beams gave in. In the resulting silence, everyone silently wondered why the dwarf didn't warn them about the danger. Some even asked the question out loud.
"Because you dimwits would've panicked," stated Yodimwitz matter-of-factly, with a tone that firmly implied no further discussion was necessary.
There were several tunnels leading out of this place and as everyone thought where to go, someone noticed the green lizardman staring at the ceiling. There, in a small niche above the portcullis, a pale elf was staring back, paralyzed with fear. The knife-eared individual was approached and politely asked about the mine's layout, location and other things. He answered all the questions in a timid voice, not daring to look away from the lizardman and eventually collapsed on the ground mid-sentence. A heart attack. What a pity.
With the new information, the growing tide of unruly miners navigated the tunnels in search of an exit. One elf went to report the rebellion and some backup was about to arrive but the knife-eared snobs saw no reason to close off the whole mine. They were certain their metal gate would hold the miners off just fine. They were wrong. Turns out, there were several more drifts and barracks with many jailers inside but just two elves above the portculli. The horror on their faces was different yet the same every time.
Some miners were not sure if they should join this rebellion. It was likely doomed to fail and just staying and working could result in the elves not punishing anyone. Maybe they would even receive extra food for compliance. Those with such a defeatist attitude usually stated those points with their eyes cast downward. And inevitably noticed a little goblin with a pickaxe almost bigger than himself. The puny creature known for its cowardice touched their hand reassuringly and said "If me can, you too can."
The embers of self-confidence, long buried and repressed, lit up as if a mountain of sawdust was dumped on them. Some were inspired by a tiny creature who nevertheless had the courage to fight. Others felt too ashamed to hide behind a goblin's back. And the most pragmatic ones decided that a goblin would only fight if cornered and thus it was truly the only way to survive.
Soon, a small army of miners made their way to the final tunnel. It ended in a massive wooden gate with tiny bits of sunlight seeping through the cracks. But the way to freedom was blocked by a squad of properly armed elven spearmen, archers and two towers with ballistas on them.
Yodimwitz quickly had everyone construct massive mobile shields with the wheels taken off mining carts and thick pieces of wood tied together. The oil lamps, which let the miners see and indicated when their shift was going to end, could be thrown at the spearmen once the rolling shields were close enough. From there, getting to archers would've been easy. This, however, left the question of ballistas who would likely punch through the mobile covers. A plan to take them out was as risky and desperate as everything else the miners did that day.
A piece of wood on wheels, about as wide as the tunnel, rolled out to meet the elves. Archers gave a volley but it did little damage. Then two ballista bolts punched through the rolling shield and impaled two miners beyond it. The shield stopped for a moment and then kept on rolling. Elves at the ballistas prepared to shoot again. At this point, a desperate, high-pitched battlecry filled the air as a little goblin got flung right at one of the towers. He crashed into the only elf up there and buried his pickaxe deep into the knife-eared skull. Capitalizing on the confusion, the goblin turned the ballista and shot at the other tower, just as Yodimwitz explained. With both ballistas neutralised, the goblin lay down and hid behind the body of a dead elf. His part was done.
The shields went faster and faster, clashing with the line of spearmen who had no choice but to take a step back. Oil lamps went over the wooden walls and ignited the elves. Seeing their main line of defence crumble, some archers panicked and tried to open the massive wooden gates. But the mechanism for that was out of their reach. Soon, those who were supposed to crush the mutiny, were crushed themselves. Victory was achieved. Freedom was just around the corner.
The massive gates opened, letting miners - first time in years for some - bathe in the sunlight. People here and there had tears in their eyes - either from understanding what they've achieved or because they were adjusting to the bright light. They were at the heart of the elven kingdom. They could only count on themselves. With no allies, no choice, no fear and nothing to lose. An unruly crowd of desperate miners would shake the foundations of this elf-dominated land. Or die trying.
Little goblin stood on a small hill in the middle of a coal mine. A knife-eared slaver was lying by his feet with a pickaxe through the head. A little further, in a dark corner, lay another tall guy with a whip and an extra hole in the skull. Unwashed humans, dwarves, orcs and freshly-bathed elves looked at the goblin from all sides. After his speech, the drift fell silent for a few moments. And then, instead of coal, the miners started acquiring their freedom. It did not take long - the prisoners vastly outnumbered their jailers and most of them were not in chains. Chains were only needed the first few weeks, while a slave did not count himself as such. Once he accepted his fate, the shackles were removed and the prisoners were kept in check by punishments. Mass punishments. This made prisoners talk each other out of trying to run and worked better than a hundred jailers. Ironically, the fear of punishment was what made seemingly broken people take up arms this time - if the tiniest hint of disrespect from one slave cost everyone a whiplash, what would the killing of two elves entail? Quick death at best. So might as well die fighting.
When it all was over, all miners stared at the goblin, silently asking what's next. Goblin did not exactly have a plan. He did not have many options either - there was only one tunnel leading out. It connected the drift to the barracks - a wide room with sleeping bags, basic necessities and a sliding iron gate that went up. It was actually called portcullis but the goblin did not know that word. The guards ventured beyond that gate every day but a slave could only get out if he was dead. Barracks were full of prisoners awaiting their next shift with just a few guards. A perfect - and only - target.
"We go barracks. Free others."
At this time, a wiser individual would have developed a cunning strategy. And a group of such individuals would've spent the next few hours discussing it. But Goblin did not know the word "strategy" and the elf that appeared at the entrance made everyone act first and think later.
Miners stormed the tunnel, chasing after their jailer. The elf, losing his pride on the way, made it to the circular room that served as barracks. He was about to announce what was going on but the orc behind him had other plans. The green hunk of muscles with torn chains still hanging from his wrists picked the puny elf up and tore him limb from limb. This was an announcement like no other. The ghastly silence was then interrupted by a battlecry of several dozen men who had nothing to lose. With a spirit of rebellion in the air, a calm old dwarf flipped a spoon in his hand and jabbed it into a nearby elf's throat. Some lizardman bit another knife-eared head off. Cutlery, instruments and pieces of furniture were used in ways their creators did not intend and - in some cases - could not even imagine.
The jailers rushed for the gate. But it did not go up. The portcullis was there just in case of a rebellion and lifting it now would be counter-productive. The elves operating it were fully aware of that fact and managed to keep their heads cool since there was no danger of them being torn off. So in just a few minutes, everyone left alive inside the barracks felt the same way about elves.
The big orc tried to take matters into his own hands and lift the portcullis but failed. Another green individual - this time covered in scales - moved to help and together they lifted it just a bit. But not enough for anyone to go through.
An old dwarf was sitting at the table and calmly eating his soup with a spoon that had blood on the handle. They called him Yodimwitz. Why?
"Leverage, you dimwits! You need leverage," he said in a calm tone as he observed the two greenskins struggling with the gate.
In the next few minutes, alternating between consuming soup and giving directions, Yodimwitz had the unruly miners construct a system of blocks and levers out of the draft's support beams, stone slabs and furniture. He had a strange air of authority about him and a voice that commanded respect on an instinctive level, even to people who currently personified anarchy. Mining carts, buckets and boxes were then filled with rocks and attached to one end of each support beam. The wooden pillars slowly but steadily assumed a position parallel to the floor and lifted the portculli just enough for an average human to go through. With the same authoritative voice, Yodimwitz made everyone go out one by one.
After all the miners got through, the dwarf got up and started to walk out as well. There was a creak. There was a crack. The wooden beams were about to thwack. Not paying any attention to the sound, Yodimwitz walked out at a leisurely pace and made it through the gates just as the beams gave in. In the resulting silence, everyone silently wondered why the dwarf didn't warn them about the danger. Some even asked the question out loud.
"Because you dimwits would've panicked," stated Yodimwitz matter-of-factly, with a tone that firmly implied no further discussion was necessary.
There were several tunnels leading out of this place and as everyone thought where to go, someone noticed the green lizardman staring at the ceiling. There, in a small niche above the portcullis, a pale elf was staring back, paralyzed with fear. The knife-eared individual was approached and politely asked about the mine's layout, location and other things. He answered all the questions in a timid voice, not daring to look away from the lizardman and eventually collapsed on the ground mid-sentence. A heart attack. What a pity.
With the new information, the growing tide of unruly miners navigated the tunnels in search of an exit. One elf went to report the rebellion and some backup was about to arrive but the knife-eared snobs saw no reason to close off the whole mine. They were certain their metal gate would hold the miners off just fine. They were wrong. Turns out, there were several more drifts and barracks with many jailers inside but just two elves above the portculli. The horror on their faces was different yet the same every time.
Some miners were not sure if they should join this rebellion. It was likely doomed to fail and just staying and working could result in the elves not punishing anyone. Maybe they would even receive extra food for compliance. Those with such a defeatist attitude usually stated those points with their eyes cast downward. And inevitably noticed a little goblin with a pickaxe almost bigger than himself. The puny creature known for its cowardice touched their hand reassuringly and said "If me can, you too can."
The embers of self-confidence, long buried and repressed, lit up as if a mountain of sawdust was dumped on them. Some were inspired by a tiny creature who nevertheless had the courage to fight. Others felt too ashamed to hide behind a goblin's back. And the most pragmatic ones decided that a goblin would only fight if cornered and thus it was truly the only way to survive.
Soon, a small army of miners made their way to the final tunnel. It ended in a massive wooden gate with tiny bits of sunlight seeping through the cracks. But the way to freedom was blocked by a squad of properly armed elven spearmen, archers and two towers with ballistas on them.
Yodimwitz quickly had everyone construct massive mobile shields with the wheels taken off mining carts and thick pieces of wood tied together. The oil lamps, which let the miners see and indicated when their shift was going to end, could be thrown at the spearmen once the rolling shields were close enough. From there, getting to archers would've been easy. This, however, left the question of ballistas who would likely punch through the mobile covers. A plan to take them out was as risky and desperate as everything else the miners did that day.
A piece of wood on wheels, about as wide as the tunnel, rolled out to meet the elves. Archers gave a volley but it did little damage. Then two ballista bolts punched through the rolling shield and impaled two miners beyond it. The shield stopped for a moment and then kept on rolling. Elves at the ballistas prepared to shoot again. At this point, a desperate, high-pitched battlecry filled the air as a little goblin got flung right at one of the towers. He crashed into the only elf up there and buried his pickaxe deep into the knife-eared skull. Capitalizing on the confusion, the goblin turned the ballista and shot at the other tower, just as Yodimwitz explained. With both ballistas neutralised, the goblin lay down and hid behind the body of a dead elf. His part was done.
The shields went faster and faster, clashing with the line of spearmen who had no choice but to take a step back. Oil lamps went over the wooden walls and ignited the elves. Seeing their main line of defence crumble, some archers panicked and tried to open the massive wooden gates. But the mechanism for that was out of their reach. Soon, those who were supposed to crush the mutiny, were crushed themselves. Victory was achieved. Freedom was just around the corner.
The massive gates opened, letting miners - first time in years for some - bathe in the sunlight. People here and there had tears in their eyes - either from understanding what they've achieved or because they were adjusting to the bright light. They were at the heart of the elven kingdom. They could only count on themselves. With no allies, no choice, no fear and nothing to lose. An unruly crowd of desperate miners would shake the foundations of this elf-dominated land. Or die trying.