Tixou's Guilt

‘Rest assured, brethren! Wherever ya go, however long ya away from da tribe, da Darkspear will neva’ forget yas!’
Two years after an army of brave Darkspear Trolls boarded ships and zeppelins bound for Northrend, Tixou stood on the coast of Durotar, and wished such good memory had worked the other way round, too.
She could see the distant Echo Isles across the waters, and took note of the small, faraway figures contributing to the construction work. There was a lot of them, more than three dozen, working this late in the day. The sun was soo to make way for the arrival of the two moons, but even when it had the builders, craftsmen and artisans would still be there, the night no barrier to realizing their new home. They had the work practices of ants, tirelessly seeking out chores to get on with: digging holes, taming the wildlife, carving wood, setting up basic defences, rooting out the hidden supplies of voodoo potions that Zalazane had buried all across the islands...
Tixou wasn’t part of it.
She wasn’t in exile, nor had she deserted. She had simply... drifted apart. Those two years away from the tribe had been spent with the Warsong Offensive, and it was under Hellscream’s command that she went through a transformation she now wanted more then anything to reverse.
Originally, she had made the decision to join the Offensive because she considered herself as true a Darkspear as any other. Representing her tribe as she and the rest of the Horde battled with both the Scourge and the Alliance was, she considered, an honourable, patriotic pursuit. Ever since the Darkspears’ escape from the Broken Isles, she’d fought selflessly for the tribe, staying as true as she could to the traditions she held dearly. In The Barrens, in Felwood, and upon the devastated homeworld of the orcs, she had been a fitting manifestation of the Darkspear spirit. Her alignment to the values of her people went further back than that: Back in the days on the Broken Isles, she had been a good, quiet slave, because that was what was expected of her. Later, when the Darkspears joined the Horde and Thrall ruled that women should have the same freedoms, it had taken her a while to adjust, but, thanks to the inspiration sparked after meeting with the fierce female orcs, she gradually developed a feminine strength and independence. She was living in the future, and she loved every second of it.
But now she understood that she had sleep walked into a new life. She had let loose the knots that had tied her to the Darkspear, and fastened herself to the manacles of the Offensive. She should have seen it coming; she had had plenty of opportunity to. But a more defensive part of her bristled, and said that all she had been trying to do was to fit in. To be a good soldier, she had had to compromise. Every commander, captain and overlord she had encountered was of the same opinion: the war in the Frozen Wastes was crucial to the survival of the Horde. She had to sacrifice her comforts, and rewards would come. That was how they won her over. This new conflict demanded compliance, which she gave.
When campfire conversations before sleep led unavoidably to the other conflicts and obstacles in Northrend, and the Drakkari were sneered at, and branded as backward, fanatical imbeciles with foul beliefs, she had said nothing.
When Witch Doctor Dom’jay was slain by a Cultist of the Damned and their twisted magic, and her squad leader played down the need for a proper, dignified trollish burial, she had said nothing.
When base after base was erected and none of them had anywhere for pious trolls to prey, offer tribute and worship, she had said nothing.
When there was no room for trolls on the list of commanders in the Offensive, but certainly space enough for them in the lists of the dead, she had noticed, but she had said nothing.
When the Lich King was slain and victory in the north secured, and she was asked to serve in Northrend a while longer so that the Horde could harvest the continent’s resources, she had said nothing.
So she had returned to Durotar only after the battle upon the Echo Isles. She had missed the glorious moment - one she had been hoping to see for a very long time - when her tribe finally earned a home. She hadn’t helped her tribe in forging their future. She had been hundreds of miles away, haplessly serving a faction that couldn’t believe their luck in having such a committed troll to fight for them. When the fight that mattered most to her tribe was taking place, she had been absent.
Her face felt strange, and she looked down at her reflection in the waters. Yes, she was glaring at herself, her hard staring features now hot with anger. She was making excuses, and trying to shift the blame. She was just trying to fit in? Why then, her reflection asked, was she so intent on bettering herself as a tool for war? She couldn’t hide from the memories of skipping the times when she’d normally pray to the loa, in favour of smashing a mace into the straw hide of a target dummy. Nor could she deny that the frenzy that roared in every Warsong Offensive Hold, fort, outpost and camp had also been particularly present within her. She had caught the infection and likely passed it onto other grunts, too. She had become ignorant to all but her mission in Northrend. Her original motives of bringing honour to her people had been eclipsed by new, more popular goals: to carry Hellscream’s will to all corners of Northrend, and to break anyone or anything in opposition to the Horde. She had been homogenised into the ways of the Offensive, and not once had she resisted.
Throughout it all, she had been a drone of the Offensive. Her emotions had been monotone; anger, arrogance and contempt. Her head began to fizz and pop as she recalled how the Taunka had been brought into the Horde. She'd been part of the delegation to "welcome" them. She'd thrust a sheet of parchment into their hands, and told them to repeat after her. The Blood Oath of the Horde. They had been too desperate to mull over the finer details; they just wanted to get it over and done with to avenge their people. Overlord Agmar had even elected himself to decide on their Chieftain. And then they were used for war.
The Darkspear hadn't entered the Horde that way. They hadn't had to sworn an oath until later, until they knew they knew the real dangers had passed, and that their saviours were decent people. The Darkspears hadn't been consigned to a camp and then assimilated. Yet for some reason, none of this had occured to Tixou when she was carrying out these deeds. She had only thought them to be great additions to the war machine. Strong, hardy, with knowledge and insight into the land. Assets.
It occured to her now, and it made her feel utterly sick. She realized she was so, so, so glad to be home, but looking over at it... The Darkspear had decorated their land, made it vivid with the tribe colours, and unleashed half a decade's worth of repressed creativity and pride. Everything the tribe had talked and dreamed about had become, or was becoming, a reality.
And she was alien to it.
She was rooted on the spot. It was as though she'd overdosed on juju. Through the tsuami of guilt, her head told her that she should take a boat and see the wonders her tribe were creating. Her heart warned against it, promising guilt and embarassment. She couldn't make up her mind.
So coincidence chose for her. An inhabitant of Sen'jin, watching from the window of his hut, was starting to get worried about the lone female troll standing by the sea, her movements only very slight. He gathered up some food and then made his way out of the house, and over to her.
'Girly, ya part of the Warsong Offensve?' he asked, noticing her tabard.
Tixou shook her head in surprise, catapulted out of the hovel in her mind she'd made for herself. She felt a rush of embarassed blood to the head. 'Er, yah. I'm part of the Offensive, yah.'
'Ya just be comin' back fram da front taday?' the troll wanted to know.
Tixou looked sideways at him, as if hesitant to see the far more true Darkspear addressing her. He was wearing a green and grey robe, and looked around middle-age. 'Yah. I reached the end of my service.'
The troll had sat down on the sand, and laid a bowl of rice out for her. Tixou looked at it. 'Brought it for ya, girly. Noticed ya out here by yaself. Gonna catch a boat to the shore, are ya?' he asked, motioning at the Isles.
'I was thinking about it,' she said.
The troll nodded. 'Ah wudd, if ah was ya. It be a reaaaaaal beauty. Ah'd wager it be a fair sight betta dan the nort', too!'
One thing that consoled Tixou was that, despite her time in the north, she could still understand her people's accent perfectly, no matter how thickly it was delivered. 'It is. It's beautiful.'
'I take it ya weren't at da battle?' he asked, but with respect coating the question.
'Naw,' she responded, truthfully. 'Ah was still based in Northrend.'
'Den ah got limitless respect for yah, girly,' he said. 'Ah've neva' fought a big battle in all me life, an' dere's you, in a place ya need ta use sledges of yah gunna get anyway, ha!' he said, shaking his head. 'We missed all of yas, girly. Welcome home.'
Tixou managed a smile, and then stuck her hand in the rice. She pulled as much out as she could, and started to stuff it into her mouth. The robed troll watched this with fascination.
'Ya eat rice like Bwonsamdi eats souls, mon!' he exclaimed, very impressed.
'Huh? Who's that?' asked Tixou, swallowing down the majority of the rice. She began to finger the rest out of the gaps in her teeth.
'Oh, ya know! Bwonsamdi! We used ta worship 'im when we had da isles da first time. Ya remember?'
'...I do now,' she said, and blinked. 'But we forgot about him. We stopped worshipping him.'
The troll nodded a few times, smiling broadly now. 'An' now we be worshippin' 'im 'gain! Ain't dat amazin'? We've gat da ol' ways back!'
'...the old ways...' said Tixou.
'Yah. Da ancient masks an' da spears, da axes, da charms. We've found dem all again, on da Echo Isles.'
Tixou nodded. Confidence was beginning to take wing in her mind. It was still not ready to fly, but... 'So, the Darkspears are making amends for time spent away?' she asked.
'Yah. Bwonsamdi is a' tough a' an ol' boot! It gunna take a whiiiile to make 'im happy again, don't ya think? It all be worth it tho, in da end. We're our own people again!'
The old drone of the Warsong Offensive looked back into her bowl, and seeing rice to be eaten, both hands descended in to claim it. Her right hand popped into her mouth first, and then her left. She ate quickly, and closed her eyes in concentration.
'Ya in a hurry?' asked the troll, intrigued.
'Yah, I gotta go see these Isles, mon,' said Tixou.
She would see them, around twenty minutes later. And when she did, she saw a set of islands that seemed so much like home, but yet as distant as Outland. Up close now, the trolls working to make the best home they could all held determined eyes and postures. They were up on ladders, laying stone bricks upon towers halfway to completion, or on the grass throwing buckets of water over rodents, to scare them away. They did all these things to the loud, rousing beat of drums. Tixou had scarcely heard music so joyful and made of such revelry. She wasn't sure what to feel. There harboured too much animosity towards herself to grin and dance, but the mood of the entire Isle was too euphoric to frown and scowl. She wasn't even sure what she was.
But she wanted to be Darkspear.
She found something that needed doing, and started, to the anthem of her tribe, to do it.