"My warriors served me with all their hearts, yet I failed to save them in time. Worse, their souls remain trapped, unable to find freedom." G'hnir sank back onto the stone, utterly dejected.
"You feel your honor has been insulted, so until you clear away this disgrace, you can no longer—or perhaps simply have no heart to—accept other followers?" Zul'ra asked tentatively. His little brother had been killed, and his soul was imprisoned too. No wonder G'hnir was ashamed to take on more followers.
"Yes." G'hnir glanced up at Zul'ra, then lowered his head again in dejection.
"I have a question for you." Zul'ra looked at the great tiger with his head bowed, rose to his feet, and brushed the dust off his clothes.
"..." G'hnir raised his head and gazed at the standing Troll in confusion.
"I want to ask you: do you care more about your own honor, or the trapped souls?" Zul'ra held up one finger.
"Are you insulting me?" G'hnir pushed himself up on his forelegs, his narrowed tiger eyes looking down at Zul'ra.
"No, no, God of Tigers, King of Beasts, Bane of Prey. Is there anyone you fear?" Zul'ra waved his hands repeatedly.
"As you say, I am the King of Beasts, Bane of Prey, Master of Beasts. I fear nothing." G'hnir rose to his full height, holding his head high as he looked down and answered with a series of roars.
"Since there is nothing you fear, why do you refuse to accept new followers? Why have you hesitated here in this temple for hundreds of years?" Zul'ra bowed slightly and asked.
"..." G'hnir looked at the bowing Troll, his straight whiskers drooping at once as he wore a somewhat bewildered expression.
"G'hnir, you are fierce and swift, with sharp claws and teeth. You are skilled at lying in wait and even more skilled at patience. No prey you set your eyes on can escape. These are the things that make you feared. But I think what makes you most worthy of respect is your quick mind, exceptional wisdom, and just will. Your warriors willingly gave their lives for you. You should see that their deaths were not in vain." Zul'ra spoke in a measured rhythm, praising and persuading him at once.
"But their souls are still not free, and I..." G'hnir's ears drooped too. He didn't dare look at Zul'ra. For hundreds of years, he had found no way to free his followers' souls, so he had hidden here, too ashamed to face anyone.
"That is all the more reason to find a way to free their souls and protect your other followers. You have no reason to remain shut away in this temple. A tiger should roam the wilds; a king should bravely own his mistakes." Zul'ra couldn't help saying it. The Loa were worshipped as gods because of their humanity, but they couldn't escape human weaknesses either: pride and complacency. So have a bowl of chicken soup!
"A tiger should roam the wilds; a king should bravely own his mistakes." G'hnir's drooping ears perked up, and the despondency in his eyes gave way to a gleam. His tail swished back and forth, and with a whoosh, he rose from the boulder.
"I must admit, you are very wise, Zul'ra. I acknowledge my mistake, and I will leave this temple. As you said, I will roam the wilds. But first, I must make amends." G'hnir bowed his head slightly to Zul'ra, then raised it high again.
"The King of Beasts is about to return." Zul'ra smiled and bowed in return.
"However, I need your help." G'hnir lowered his head toward him again. Seeing Zul'ra's face stiffen, he gave him a playful look.
"I can see you have courage. Come along! It's not dangerous. You only need to help me enter the spirit world and kill someone." G'hnir raised his head into the air, his whiskers twitching.
"Thank you for your praise." Looking up at the great tiger, whose whiskers kept twitching, Zul'ra had little choice but to agree.
"Bring your weapon. In that world, you will be like the creatures there. Once you're ready, put on this mask." G'hnir jumped down from the boulder and lightly brushed a paw across the ground. A wooden mask in the Voodoo style appeared before him. Zul'ra saw it and quickly took the Zandalari Greatsword from his waist.
"Once you put on this mask, you'll enter the battlefield from back then. I'll guide you there. Kill the soul of Mepgira for me, and the curse will be lifted." Seeing Zul'ra grasp his sword, G'hnir couldn't help cautioning him.
"I just have one question. If it's that simple, why don't you go?" Zul'ra gripped the Greatsword in his right hand, took the Voodoo Mask with his left, and asked G'hnir.
"Because I can't get in. The curse was aimed at me." G'hnir's tigerish expression turned awkward.
"Thank you for explaining." Zul'ra looked at the awkward great tiger and put on the Voodoo Mask. A simple, boxy tiger face had been painted on it, and his tusks held it securely against his face.
As if he had put on one of those legendary full-immersion headsets, Zul'ra looked out through the mask and felt the surroundings change in an instant. He found himself in a world of shifting clouds and mist, with countless figures flickering all around him. Zandalari Trolls were fighting ugly, serpentine Naga, and there were Tortollan too.
Zul'ra blankly touched his face. The Voodoo Mask was gone. He seemed to have entered another world—yes, a spirit world, as G'hnir had described it. A battlefield repeating itself because of the curse!
"Don't just stand there!" G'hnir's voice in his ear snapped Zul'ra back to his senses. He began scanning his surroundings.
"There!" As Zul'ra looked around, G'hnir's warning rang out, and a figure in the distance suddenly lit up, like a boss's name highlighted in a game from his past life. It was a slender Naga.
"I'm coming!" Zul'ra roared at the figure and charged toward it. But a male Naga suddenly swam across his path, sweeping a trident as large as an anchor at him.
"Be careful. If you die here, I might be able to revive you, but the pain you suffer here could stay with you for the rest of your life." G'hnir's warning came as Zul'ra barely dodged the trident.
"Thanks for the warning, King of Beasts." Zul'ra sidestepped the sweeping trident and swung his sword back, cutting into the male Naga's shoulder and cleaving him in two. He rolled his eyes. He was grateful for the strength of his Troll body and the Zandalari blade, though perhaps a little less grateful for the blade. The Zandalari sword was rather impractical; a beautiful, sharp sword might have been better.
The Greatsword Zul'ra held was one of the standard Zandalari swords. It was four feet long and six inches wide, with a slightly thick spine. It was called a sword, but it was really a saber. Its two cutting edges slanted at different angles, making the tip a little wider than the body of the blade. Its overall shape somewhat resembled Ashbringer.
The Zandalari Greatsword was designed for Trolls, who were born with three fingers. It was meant to be wielded with the arm as the axis, swinging down in a chopping blow. Zul'ra had learned how to use this kind of sword, but it still felt a little uncomfortable. A sword should be straight, the gentleman and king of all weapons. It should cut through the air with effortless grace, letting its wielder calmly take a head and walk away. That was the swordsman of his dreams—the...
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