It was not a good time to be asking questions.
Tensions were high in Orgrimmar and there was a kind of war being fought. Not with knives and strength of arms, though those were known to flash steel cold and blood hot in the night, but rather with whispered words and hushed arguments.
Every dawn the ochre arroyos of the troll valley would be splashed with the yellow staring eyes of the Warchief or scrawls of trollish glyphs screaming "Empire". Braves and headhunters loudly proclaimed their allegiance to the Shadowhunter by wearing his colours, while others furtively decked themselves in the fetishes of the primal gods or southern loas, making common cause with their forest and jungle cousins.
Drunken fights became more frequent, even for Orgrimmar, and the presence of orc guards or out-and-out Garrosh loyalists more obvious. The New Horde had little patience for turncloaks and dissenters, no matter what their grievances. The careful ones slid into the shadows.
This kind of intrigue did not come naturally to the trolls – it was more suited to the backroom politicking of the sin'dorei or the cold cunning of the goblins – but they learned quickly.
They gathered on one of the many bluffs that surrounded the City of Spikes. It was not an easy climb, and surely that put off some who might offer wisdom to the proceedings, but they had to keep themselves hidden from prying eyes.
Someone had built a small fire, spluttering fitfully, and a pair of hexed rat ears burned blue, a middling charm to muffle any sounds from the circle. There were a good few of them there, ranging from muscled young with their warrior's mohawks, to older longtusks, still huffing from the climb.
Serat breathed heavily behind his wooden mask. He could feel the sweat beading on his upper lip despite the coolness of the night air. If the Kro'kon caught them they would have few qualms in throwing them upon the Warchief's infamous mercy. If it came to that, Vol'jin's shadowhunters were not likely to be any more gentle by anyone's reckoning.
'We gotta stop sitting on the shore on this. Big things are happening and if we ain't careful we'll end up missing the boat entirely. The world will change and the Darkspear won't,' a man was saying, gesturing insistently with his arms, 'All respect to Vol'jin, he's led us true to now but even the best of us can make a mistake, be blinded by personal bonds. This is too big, too important to miss out on. We gotta chance.' He opened his hand, 'Many tribes,' the fingers closed into a strong fist, 'One Empire.'
He backed down, crouching as a woman stepped forward. Serat felt the shift around him. Orcs had changed the trolls, gutted their traditions, but not of all of it had been for the worse, even he could see that, but it didn't mean there weren't old habits. The masks, apart from hiding their identities from each other, did mean that everyone spoke with the same weight.
'I hear you brother, I do. But these tribes you want to be brothers with… this ain't Raventusk or Skullsplitter across the water, or even the Smoulderthorn. This is Gurubashi! Blood drinkers brother,' she appealed to them from behind the visage of a god. 'I want to see trolls rised up, got up from underfoot, 'course I do. But it ain't so long since they were trying to pull Hakker into this world. Woulda fed us all to the Soulflayer.'
'It ain't just the Gurubashi sister. Can you fault the Amani for staying true? Or the Zandali? We all got black in our pasts, our whole history is about trying to kill each other. Spirits know I got bad blood with half the tribes out there. But look where it's got us!' The speaker spread his arms wide, 'Half way round the world from our island mother and jumping right quick at the orders of some orc we don't know.' He clenched his fist and Serat could hear the faith in his words, 'We're the First People dammit! There ain't no step taken on any land that ain't placed in the footprint of a troll. Yet we shelter in a city made by a clan not even from this world.' He paused, head lowered. 'Look what the orcs had done by becoming one Horde. You don't think that we can't do more? Can't do better?'
Serat nodded. This is what he had come to hear, the pride in his people that he had felt was missing, ever since that day they had been scattered from their home by the slithering foe.
'What is it then? We really gonna start sticking spears into our allies?' another troll started and Serat could see that some around the circle appeared to have no qualms with the suggestion, 'We fought with them, lay with them, died with them. Got to be honour in that.'
'Hey now, I ain't got troubles with the Horde, they've done us good over the years – can't deny that,' he patted down some complaints, 'You can't. But now we have a chance to clear a path made by trolls,' there was a pregnant pause, 'They just gotta know not to be in the way of that path.'
There it was. Anyone listening had to hear those as treasonous words, no matter how gently couched they had been. They made Serat's palms itch. He knew the kind of talk there would be, that's why he had come after all, but it was quite different to whisper euphemisms over jungle wine and another to hear it plainly said.
'So this is it. What are we going to do? How far is too far and what ain't enough. Otherwise, all we're doing,' the speaker made a puppet of his fingers and jabbered the mouth open and close, '…is parrot words.'
How many were there, Serat wondered, who weren't like this handful. That had heard the call of the Zandalar and felt the fire in their chest but did not know how or who to talk of it. That's what it all depended on – this strategising- the belief that the great majority of Darkspear wanted what they wanted. It wasn't the first meeting like this he had been to, and he was beginning to notice the familiar forms of the attendees. One wearing the red face of Ogoun had caught his eye. Often quiet, he spoke with a cool decisiveness that Serat admired.
Someone wearing a snake face was speaking. He was a moderate, wanted to take the message down into the valley and move the tribes with words, push Vol'jin to take them to Empire by force of will. Let the Horde go one way, the trolls another.
It wasn't popular talk and the speaker was hissed and scoffed to silence. The people round the fire were there because they were tired of words, they wanted to do something to be part of the movement.
By the time the meeting ended, the fire had almost burnt down, the rat ears nothing more than ash. Nothing had been resolved and very little ventured. There were firm in their resolve but it was not all that they needed, Serat could see that much. The trolls disappeared off the bluff in drips and drabs, finding a myriad number of ways to return to the city or Sen'jin.
A few of them remained, forming a small group around Ogoun.
'I think you know what I'm going to say…' the troll started, stroking his neck while meeting each of their gazes one by one. 'This is all well and good, knowing why we are doing what we're doing. But I can sense you see it. This ain't gonna take us nowhere without some kind of leadership.'
Serat held his breath, forced himself to appear calm, hands resting on his knees.
'Well, there is someone out there with a plan. A good plan. But they need braves with the strength of will to carry it out.'
He shook his head, fetishes clicking quietly in his hair, 'I ain't gonna tell you that no one is gonna get hurt, cause it would be a lie. And I won't tell you that the Horde will thank you for it, 'cause they won't. But ask yourself, does your loyalty lie to that chief?' He pointed in the direction of Orgrimmar's central spire. 'Or to that one?' His arm rose to point in the other direction, towards the Echo Islands. 'Or does it lie with the trolls that are and all those that will be? 'cause it's them you'll be doing this for.'
He raised a palm to quieten them before they could speak.
'You don't need to say anything to me. This bears thinking about. Real thinking. Once you're with us then you're with us. If this sounds like what you've been looking for then in three days we'll meet again. Go across the river to Ratchet. If not, don't and that'll be that.'
He rose, nodding for them.
'Oh, and should you come, leave off the masks.'