In the Ru Steppes, years ago on the Sunken Summits, the Bonebreaker clan were conquered by The Red Witch's subservient tribes of Broken Plain orcs and Deepbloods. Those who were unable to die honorably in battle were domesticated, turned into little more than slaves and sheep.
The Bonebreakers long gave allegiance of sorts to the Sultarans, who were similarly wiped out through the conniving of the Red Witch. Old alliances are little more than a memory to most. But not to Umak.
Umak was quite young when these events took place, but old enough to remember how things ought to be. As he grew into adulthood, and anger coursed through his veins, he struck out.
He was not always a simple servant and debased in this way. Before that, those who resisted had been tortured by the Deepbloods. Tortured with physical pain, and with menial labor serving no purpose. Always denied an end. It broke his spirits, and like those around him he eventually came to simply exist; he stopped resisting.
In the weeks leading up to him snapping, a troop of Dwarven entertainers had been waylaid by the enforcers. They had some information the Red Witch had ordered obtain, or perhaps they just wanted entertainment of a different sort. He heard their screams throughout the nights, and remembered his time as a boy. His tolerance of his own treatment had started as a protest - a hesitant obsequence. Until he had forgotten what he was protesting. This treatment of the Dwarves stirred the old memory, and feelings. Perhaps he could live with his own mistreatment, but this was too much. The enforcers deserved to die, and if he were killed in his efforts then all the better, finally an end to this torment.
So Umak struck out. With nothing more than makeshift blunt weapons and an unstoppable rage, he slew the Deepblood interrogators and the Broken Plains guards, set the Dwarves free, and fled with them.
What to do now? He wasn't sure - all that he could think of was to find others interested in overthrowing the sad state of affairs in the Ru Steppes leadership, but an orc stands out like a sore thumb, and he assumed common opinions on his appearance from outsiders would receive no favors by the behavior of his fellow Orcs these past years. The Dwarves owed him a debt, and offered to take him in. He learned the ways of performance, as well as the ways of looking unthreatening and genial. Costumes for a theater act became disguises for the Bazaar - as well as you could disguise a gigantic orc that is.
Magic bloomed in his art, but the fire still flowed in his veins. Then news reached him of the funeral for Mar, heir of the Sultaran clan, and apparently sole survivor of the Sultaran Massacre. It was a blow - had he even know he was alive, he would have sought him out years before. All that remained was to attend the funeral, and hope the news would bring people of a similar mindset, so that something could be done, finally.
The rest is history.