Bwosamdi

Galen closed his eyes, extending his soul to sense the demonic essence within Zem'lan's head. This "Magic Essence," or "Mojo," wasn't the "white tadpole" the trolls often joked about—a reference Galen had always found distasteful from his previous life's adventures in Zul'Farrak. Instead, it was the very foundation of the Loa gods. As long as their mojo remained intact, even if their physical forms were destroyed, they wouldn't truly die and could be reborn. This was evident in Vol'jin's rebirth as a new Loa after absorbing Rezan's essence in the Shadowlands.

The importance of mojo to the troll gods was undeniable. Bwonsamdi, the god of death, was particularly rich in it, trading it far and wide. His diverse clientele, ranging from the Soulflayer Hakkar, the pirate Zem'lan, showcased the breadth of his influence.

The amount of mojo in Zem'lan's head was substantial, roughly the size of an adult man's fist. It wasn't a solid crystal, but a pulsating, active ball of essence. After all, if it were solid, Zem'lan would have had a literal brain tumor! Galen focused his soul, delving deeper into the mojo, seeking the connection to Bwonsamdi.

Soon, he felt a faint link to the troll god of death. Following this ethereal thread, Galen's soul seemed to stretch infinitely, transmitting him to the northeast of Vol'dun. Like a rollercoaster ride, his perception shifted, and when he opened his eyes again, he found himself in a crumbling palace, distinctly Zandalari troll in style.

The palace was in ruins, many buildings collapsed, and grey brick walls overgrown with vines, giving it a desolate appearance. A thin layer of mist, emanating from an overwhelming power of death, enveloped the structure. Above the fog, translucent troll souls drifted aimlessly, mechanically moving deeper into the palace. Alongside the upright Zandalari trolls, there were also hunched figures from other troll clans.

This place was eerily familiar. Galen recognized it as the Halls of the Dead, Bwonsamdi's temple. His unique divine power meant other Loa often shunned him, forcing Bwonsamdi into seclusion. His temple wasn't in the prosperous Dazar'alor, but in the troll-abandoned Nazmir swamp. Yet, in this Halls of the Dead, beyond the translucent troll souls, there was no sign of Bwonsamdi himself.

"I've come all this way to your lair, and you won't even greet me?" Galen thought, "How rude!" Despite this, he maintained his composure and entered the main hall of the Halls of the Dead, calling out, "Hello? Is anyone here? You have guests!"

On the central wall of the main hall hung a troll-style bone mask. Two massive fangs protruded from its mouth, and its curved lips perpetually suggested a cynical, smiling expression. Aside from the masks, the palace was bare, even the eternal lamps extinguished. "Tsk tsk tsk," Galen mused, "it's your own temple, you should really take better care of it."

Bwonsamdi was a troll Loa with a peculiar personality. Though he appeared as a troll, he always claimed to be older than their entire race. Troll history held no record of how he became a Loa god. They only knew this cunning god of death loved to offer tantalizing contracts, promising power or escape from peril in exchange for souls upon death. To these souls, he was utterly impolite, mocking them with his venomous wit. The Zandalari trolls rarely worshipped the god of death, turning to him only in dire mortal danger, abandoning their usual Loa to beg for his protection.

"Bwonsamdi, I know you're home," Galen persisted, summoning the Troll Death God. "I've even brought you a gift. Remember Pirate King Zem'lan, who made a deal with you seven thousand years ago? I'll help you collect the debt he owes you!"

Just as Galen began to grow impatient, blue soul fire sparked in the eye sockets of the bone mask on the wall. Soon, a troll materialized out of thin air behind the mask, floating in the air. The troll was shirtless, with white stripes painted on his shoulders, chest, and waist. Ornaments of animal teeth and skulls adorned his neck, a tattered black robe hung around his waist, and bone greaves encased his legs.

"What do you want with old Bwonsamdi, mon?"

"A deal, of course, old Bwonsamdi."

"Hahaha!" Hearing Galen's answer, the Troll Death God roared with laughter, even falling backward in amusement. "Look, the King of Stromgarde, the Lord of the Alliance, wants to make a deal with me? Is he still the fair, bright, and selfless Paladin King?"

"You know me?" Galen was surprised, recalling little interaction with the troll god of death.

Bwonsamdi stopped laughing, pointing a hand at Galen while placing the other on his hip. "A golden soul, there are not many such special beings in this world. Is it difficult to guess?" The Grim Reaper approached Galen, stretching out his bone claws to pat Galen's shoulder, but Galen deftly dodged him.

Bwonsamdi didn't mind, instead joking, "I think you're following the wrong Holy Light, mon. If you want to change your beliefs, you must tell Bwonsamdi, understand?"