“Da winds,” replied Faultye. “Dey be speakin to us.”

“And what do they say?”

“Don’t know, mon. Don’t speak wind.”

Dyer put his face to his palm. Most of the time he never knew if Faultye was being serious or not. He was a Troll.

“Do you have anything meaningful to add?” asked Dyer.

“You know how Garrosh don’t like my people,” said Faultye. “Vol’jin tell us dat despite Garrosh bein a fool, we still be listenin to him. Da spirits say we gotta do dis thing, mon. Also, dey say someone from our past be joinin us.”

Sometimes Dyer was sure Faultye overplayed his role as a shaman. He had known Faultye for a long time but he seldom had any serious spiritual insight. He might as well have gotten a job at the Darkmoon Faire as a soothsayer. At least there he could impress commoners with his mysterious messages.

Ultimately Faultye was right. They needed to do the job Garrosh ordered them to or risk never working for the Horde, or worse, being hunted by them. The only remaining question Dyer had was who Faultye thought would be joining them.

“Alright,” said Dyer. “Well, we better get going then. Do we need to call anyone else in?”