There were any number of rumours that circulated around Sen'jin Village about the strangest troll they'd ever known. Some claimed him to be just a figment of their imagination. Others, thinking perhaps a spirit was playing tricks on them. Most, however, just saw him for who he was; little more than he seemed, just a troll that had lost his mind in his youth and never found it since. Just a wild-eyed outcast living along the coast, hiding among the outskirts of the village.
The truth was his parents had abandoned him in his youth to go join the efforts in the third war. Thinking he was safer at home, and quite frankly unable to handle his bouts of wandering off in the night and hiding in whatever caves and dark spaces he could, they left him behind to be a ward of the city as they set off to battle against whomever challenged the might of the Horde. Too strange for the other children, and too unwilling to listen to instruction to stay at Orgrimmar’s orphanage, he existed on the fringe of Darkspear society.
Most paid him little mind. To them, he was just a lost soul. The priests made their attempts to soothe his wanderlust, only to have him stoll away in those very same sessions. The witchdoctors concocted potions and salves to cure him of whatever strange possession had overtaken him, only to find that nothing worked. Nothing possessed the troll, after all - he just did as he wished.
Some of the villagers took to the strange troll’s excentricities. They’d leave out leftovers from their meals and leave messages in greeting. The more rambunctious boys would hide in their thatched roof huts and stalk around, looking to catch him, only to find that their prey was particularly evasive. The boy had a gift for the subtle art of not being seen.
Presenting himself only on the rarest of occasions, the boy seemed perfectly content alone. It wasn’t until a warrior of the Horde, a proud Darkspear, returned from the war effort and opened his eyes to what he could be - what he wished to be. The strange child watched him from a distance as he walked into the town, head high, covered in the shrunken skulls of his enemies, a massive spear across his back and two large pauldrons on his shoulders in the shape of a witchdoctor’s voodoo symbolism. A large pack was slung across one shoulder. To most, it was intimidating, a striking figure and fierce warrior. To the child who knew nothing of war, it was an awe inspiring sight, and one that he had to see more closely.
Sneaking underneath the wood and bone buildings, he lay quietly in the shadows as the warrior passed. He’d never seen anything like it! Such incredible strength, his lean, powerful form strutting confidently through the town. None dare question him. His ways were his own.
And then, abruptly, the warrior stopped. He turned, facing the young boy, finding him hiding behind a fisherman’s shack.
“Ahh, and who might ya be?” the troll asked, kneeling down to speak with the child, his weighty armour proving of little effort to carry. In shock, the boy couldn’t find the words to respond. He just stared. Neither did he run away. “Not a speaking one? Be dat way den,” the warrior laughed. “I’m Mez’zul. I be fightin’ wit’ da Horde against the humans north of here, at Tiragarde Keep. Ever hear of dat place? Crawlin’ wit’ Alliance! Took a couple back with me, though,” he said, shaking a few of the skulls. “
The child fought the urge to shrink back, trying desperately not to appear afraid. He shied away from almost every other troll, but this one was too interesting to ignore. That was not to say that the child was brave enough to speak, however.
“Still not talking? Alright, mon. But listen closely. They be tellin’ ya that it’s no place for a troll to be hidin’ in da shadows. But you be quite good at it, don’t ya? Use dem. Use the shadows. Dey can be ya best friend when ya need dem. When I’m there, I be feelin’ no fear.”
The warrior put down his pack and opened it, revealing a number of strange, miscellaneous items, some of which included a key and a letter. He pulled two grey bricks from the bad and tossed them in front of the child, landing in the sand with a thump. “Straight from Tiragarde,” he said. “I was going to keep dem, but… maybe you’d like dem more.”
The boy was aghast. He could hardly believe the fortune he had come upon. A real warrior, a true adventurer, had graced him with some of his plunder - and from a human post as well! Eyes welling up, he tried to muster the courage to say something to this incredible presence. It took him a moment too long, and with a chuckle, the warrior left and carried on his way.
“Thank you,” the boy muttered at his back, the first words he had said to anyone in quite some time.
--
For years, the boy still lurked among the shadows, becoming more of a legend than a member of the community. That seclusion, however, made him a target.
Just off the coast in the islands beyond, Zalazane, a leader-turned-enemy of the Darkspear, was securing his hold. The people of Sen’jin Village were growing increasingly uneasy about his presence. Worried there were traitors in their midst, the villagers grew paranoid and would accuse any that were deemed unlike the rest to be under some hex from the wayward Zalazane. Unfortunately, a young troll with a strange obsession with two bricks he carried around everywhere was a prime candidate for accusations.
Moving at night between the village homes, searching for scraps and whatever else he could make use of, he’d hear pieces of conversations. On one such night, he leaned close to an open door when he heard mention of himself. Two trolls were talking inside, and only stoking the fires of their own anger by the sound of it.
“Dat brick boy’s a demon,” the boy heard. “I know how, too. Zalazane’s potions make dat one go insane! How else?”
“Gotta find dat one! Stalking around like dat, not good for anybody! Sen’jin doesn’t need trolls like him.”
“Ya find him, ya know what to do…” the first troll said ominously.
The boy slid down the side of the building, fighting back tears. How could the gifts of a warrior, his most prized possession, be something that would cause them to hate him as they did? He hadn’t - wouldn’t - harm a soul, yet they still wanted him gone. Sulking, he returned to the outskirts of town. Circling to ensure he wasn’t tracked, he wandered back towards a small cave he called his home, one of many such enclosures he had around the landscape.
Just outside was a different sight, however. A lone fisherman, casting her reel deep into the waters. It looked so peaceful. And at night, too! Judging from the look of her catch, she had done well on the day - and had likely been here most of the day, as well. He found himself watching her sit along the shore, casting her fishing rod and waiting patiently for the fish to bite.
As she packed up to leave, she took just one of her two buckets of fish. The other, mostly empty, she left behind. For a moment, and surely he must have been mistaken, he thought she glanced his way. Just a fleeting, passing glance. Then she made her way back to Sen’jin without a word.
Once she was gone, he crept carefully forward, looking behind him all the way, and found a few leftover fish remaining in the bucket. A quiet, solitary soul, going about her business separated from the rest of the village - and she left him a gift. Even though it was cold in his secluded cave home in which he lived, he slept well that night knowing that at least one villager in Sen’jin thought he was more than just a monster.
--
It was weeks before the brick boy saw the woman again. He never sought her out, knowing full well what it meant to enjoy privacy. The shadows, just as the warrior had said, was friend enough, and they were typically a solitary place. To him, it was just a brief moment of a kindred spirit. Still, it filled his heart with joy, even when he heard the spattered curses and false rumours passed around about him in town.
Hoping he wouldn’t give further credence to those rumours, he snuck into town again searching for any spare food he could find. Never enough to be full, but just enough to survive. Much to his pleasure, he had the fortune of stumbling upon the woman he had seen fishing not so long ago. She was carrying her buckets back towards her fishing spot, her rod slung over her shoulder. He smiled, a wide grin opening just past his long tusks.
Two young trolls approached her. The boy wondered if they were friends, but judging from their demeanor it seemed unlikely. They seemed angry, at first speaking softly but with balled fists and fire in their eyes. It wasn’t long before they took to shouting accusations, deliberately loud, so the rest of the village would hear. The boy watched with fear for the closest person he had to a friend.
“Where do ya head off to at night? Ya go towards the isles - we all know who be out there!” the one called, a large troll with tusks that hung down to his chin and curved upwards at the end. His bright blue hair was tied behind his back.
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“Ah, we know, mon. We know. Ya be workin’ wit Zalazane, and ya not so good at hidin’ it! Aren’t ya!” The other troll stepped closer, face to face with her. He was slimmer, but carried a glint in his eye that showed he was looking for trouble and was eager to find it. “What work ya be doin’ for him? Ya don’t catch so many fish at night!”
“Just wantin’ to be alone,” she said, softly.
The big one spoke again, even more loudly this time. “And who be trustin’ that? We know Zalazane be takin’ people in the night, and yet you go anyway!”
“Ya be a traitor!” The smaller one stepped forward and shoved her to the ground, her buckets rolling away from her and her fishing rod catching beneath her back and snapping.
That was enough. Staying to the shadows as well as he could, the boy slipped forward, ducked low, and ran towards the big one. Just as he passed him, he held one brick tight in his hand and slammed it into the side of the troll’s knee before scampering off to the shadows. The big troll howled in pain, lost his balance and toppled over.
The smaller one looked around frantically, wondering where the attack had come from. The boy had already slipped to the other side of him, using the moonless night to his advantage as only a few small torches provided any light. It was the boy’s home territory now, as he had all the allies he needed in the shadows. Stepping forward again, he silently crept close enough before slamming another brick into the shoulder blade of the thin troll, causing him to fall and roll over, howling just as loudly as the first. Other voices could be heard above their wails. “Da brick boy attacked,” they called. “He hit ‘em hard, too!”
---
It was much harder to keep hidden the next day. Patrols were searching for him, checking his usual hiding places and meaning to find him to bring him to justice. The woman, a quiet, minor presence in the village lacked the ability to speak above the nonsense and tell things as they truly happened. Instead, they believed the story the two had told; they were the victims of a surprise attack as they questioned a troll over rumours of ties to the dreaded Zalazane. The boy only shook his head in shock. In the past few years he had turned from a misfit to a nuisance to a scourge.
They’d started searching outside the town’s limits for any activity of the poor, isolated troll. His cave systems in which he lived had to become more elaborate and farther away from the town than they ever had been before. The brick boy had begun to move west, far from the coast and disturbingly close to the centaur camps in the area, causing him many restless nights and countless close calls. Only his bricks, the last vestiges of his home and what he found to be a great inspiration to him, gave him any comfort. They never left his side, and even under the most dire circumstances, he would ensure that he wouldn’t leave them behind.
Even on one particular day when returning to his cave. He had heard voices, unusual ones, distinctly different from those of a troll. Their language was something he couldn’t understand, but the tone was distinctly familiar; bellicose and angry, not unlike the two trolls that had accosted the poor woman. The voices within were harsh and hacking, unpleasant to listen to. The brick boy stayed within distance for hours, listening to them build themselves up in fits of rage before calming down, only to have another one stir up the anger and have their fury rise up again. It took them well into the night for them to finally leave, their voices trailing off into the distance and echoing off the rocky landscape.
Patient and cautious, the boy finally entered the cave. The last embers of a fire were burning in a pit along the side, and a table made of stones and wood was set in the centre. They would most certainly return in the morning, likely thinking no troll would venture out this far away from the village. In fairness, few would. Strangely, they had left something behind. A thin, torn parchment lay on the table, held down by four rocks on each corner. Carefully removing the rocks, he took the parchment and brought it outside to see what was written on it using the dim light of the moon.
It was clearly a map. He tilted it to look upon it more closely, seeing a strange symbol of a face with tusks along the coastline, with a series of arrows and directions stemming from what appeared to be not far from his location. At first he refused to believe it, but he knew what he witnessed the moment he laid eyes upon it.
The troll’s head was Sen’jin. And the arrows...
This was a battle plan.
---
The boy sprinted back towards Sen’jin, throwing caution to the wind and hoping desperately that no centaur sentries would see him in the dark of night. However, the moment he arrived, he realized the sad truth that he would be chased out of town before he’d be able to present the information he held. Quietly, he remembered the words the warrior had given him. Make the shadows your friend.
Taking a deep breath, he entered the village. Torches were lit all around, making him wonder if they were placed just to give more visibility just in the attempt to catch him. Ducking under houses, he stuck to the darkest places and carefully avoided the trolls that passed through the village, many of which seeking to catch the brick boy and earn a reputation in the village. He paid them mind only as long as he was close to them. Even though they thought him a monster, a tool of Zalazane or perhaps even something worse, this was his home, and he would defend it regardless. All he had to do was reach the home of Master Gadrin.
The leader of the village, Master Gadrin was an old, wise troll that ran the day-to-day affairs. Living in the largest hut on the isle, it was not easy to find; but it was also the most heavily protected. A number of trolls were milling about, peering off into the darkness aided by their torches. His hand went to the brick at his side for comfort. The warrior he saw would have felt no fear.
Just make the shadows your friend, he thought. Waiting for sentries to pass, he snuck ever closer. A tense moment passed where a scowling troll looked long in his direction, only to finally turn away and allow the boy to breathe a sigh of relief. Undaunted, he pushed further.
Finally, he neared the entrance to the home. It was there his heart sank. There were too many outside the door, and even with his skills in stealth and quiet, there is no doubt at least one of them would spot him. With a sigh, he knew what he had to do.
He placed his treasured bricks on the ground. Using one, he scratched a single word onto the other. He then wrapped it in the all-important map and secured it with the thin piece of rope he used to hold his long hair back behind his head. He vowed he would get it back one day, but the threat to the village was worth more than his personal sentiment. Lobbing it in the air, he watched as it arced high and landed flat in the sand just outside the hut. Immediately, the trolls took notice and sounded the alarm - but he was already gone, sprinting within the shadows and out of the town. He was far away before they even knew he was there.
As he exited the town, he recounted the events in his head. Truly, he believed he did all he could. With a smile, he wished he could have seen the faces of the trolls when they opened up the package to reveal the brick and the map. The looks they must have had when they saw the word scratched into it! Lacking the schooling the scribes provided the youth, he struggled to write with any real ability, but he hoped he remembered enough that they’d decipher its meaning. On that brick was scratched a single word, poorly written and hardly legible - Brickboi.
--
Circling the camp the next morning, just before the sun came over the hill, the brick boy watched as small parties of orcs called in from Razor Hill filtered into Sen’jin, making camp just behind hills along the path of the proposed centaur battle plans. Paired with Darkspear hunters and witch doctors, they were a formidable force, ready to defend their home territory from those that would wish to destroy them.
It didn’t take long to see the first of the centaur war parties to come out from their hideaways and storm towards the village, war cries howling and spears raised in a desire for blood. Even with the element of surprise the orcs and trolls held with their waiting ambush, the centaur were a formidable foe. The battle that ensued was fierce and brutal, but ultimately ending in a retreat of the centaur warriors. Watching from the hills, the brick boy thought it must have looked not far off from when the orcs and trolls landed in Kalimdor under warchief Thrall, their numbers stretched across Durotar and the Barrens until they finally came to found the great city of Orgrimmar.
Cries of victory echoed across the plains from orc and troll alike, the seasoned guards of Razor Hill relishing in the chance to use their axes on something more than a target dummy. They had won the day, and in no small part to the efforts of one troll that still lurked in the shadows. But perhaps, not for long.
Feeling it was his chance, the troll walked out of the hills and moved towards the town. Nervous, unsure if he would be met with welcome or chains, he found himself still crouching low and walking carefully more out of habit than anything else. The sun was high in the sky after the battle, and the shadows, long having served him well, were not to be found. Perhaps it was for the best, he thought. This was meant to be his home; he had grown tired of hiding within it.
Summoning every ounce of courage in his bones, he stood tall and walked confidently past the resting orcs and trolls of the battle and straight towards the city. There, he was met with a number of looks and mumbled comments, the villagers being unsure if this was indeed the legend that had so long haunted the nighttime. After all, he had never even been so much as glimpsed during the daylight hours.
Finally, one troll stepped in his path. Grey hairs marked his withered face, a soul of many trials with the exiled Darkspear. The brick boy was happy to see that the old troll was smiling, long tusks and teeth showing in a warm grin. It was Master Gadrin himself, ready to welcome the hero back to town.
Ushering him over and patting him on the back, Gadrin opened his arms wide for the whole village to see. “Darkspear!” he called. “Our hero has returned! Da spirits tell me great things await this one! A true hero of Sen’jin!” He turned his head and leaned in to whisper something to the boy. “What do we call ya, mon?”
“I think there be just one name I be known by,” the boy replied.
Gadrin smiled and nodded. “Darkspear - we welcome Brickboi, hero of Sen’jin! And I’ve got somethin’ for him.” With a smile, he pulled out something from his robes. It was his brick, finally returned to his possession.
---
Long since having found favour in his village, the boy - Brickboi, as he came to be known - switched the bricks in his hands for two swords and upgraded from throwing one of his treasures to firing a pistol. Having owed so much to the shadows, he learned the art of the rogue, using his skills in quiet and patience to great use with the Horde. Still, even with the acceptance of his home, and that of the Horde as a whole, he saw himself as a more solitary, singular individual - a lone wolf, an outsider… an outlaw.
All across this world and others, orcs, trolls, blood elves, tauren - any race under their banner - found themselves outnumbered and outmatched, only to be saved by the actions of a troll attacking swiftly from the shadows. Few learned his name or even had the time to thank him before he left, only able to report that the strange saviour had two bricks tied around his waist.