Tricksey Loas (Erzulie In’ama – WoW)
They had walked through the day. Abi’jah roused Erzulie from a deep sleep at the side of her mate, Mo’sul Mo’ana once dawn had broken in the Ghostlands. Without a word she gathered supplies for what she knew would be a long journey. She was not mistaken. They walked mostly in silence, speaking from time to time of the Loas, their relations to the deities, the rumblings and recent murmurs of them. They spoke of her spirit walk, of parenthood, and mates. The Witch Doctors prayer beads never leaving her hand for longer than a moment to eat some dried fish, mango or to drink a bit of frog venom brew. Her feet were worn, sore and her body tired as they reached the giant maw of the shark leading in to Booty Bay when they were stopped by the figure of an old Troll, leaning heavily on his staff.
“Your father is passing, Daughter.”
The old Troll stated simply in Zandali and turned from the pair to hobble down the rickety wood entrance. Her face took on a grave expression as she looked to Abi’jah.
“Da ship beh dere, go na Zufli. Go fast.”
Without another word of encouragement or release, Erzulie shifted into her wolfish form, the tawny fur bristling with the different rush of emotions. She ran as fast as her paws would carry her down to the docks, the ship waiting for her to board. That same old Troll, leaning on his staff waited for her at the helm. In her shifted form she came to sit beside him, knowing the form to be the avatar of Legba. The Loa rested a wrinkled and well aged hand on her head.
He remained by the side of his devouted Witch Doctor until the ship docked in Ratchet. And just like a passing storm, he was gone. The Troll wasted no time in running at breakneck speeds towards Sen’jin Village and the tent she had shared with her father and Tusklings for so long.
“Papa?” Her voice chimed full and true in her native tongue as she pulled back the beaded curtains that served as a doorway to the tent. She paused in the entryway, watching as her father sat crouched over the fire pit making a large pot of tea. Two large makura shells they used as cups set out beside him.
“Zufli, Agwe told me you’d be coming.” The aging Priest smiled, brushing is greying dark blue hair from his face and behind is ratty old ears. He patted at the mat beside him, motioning for her to take her place. She did so without a word, her legs curling off to the side as she rested her head on his knee, watching the fire closely. Even at forty-one, she was still a child to this Troll.
“Legba tells me you are passing, Papa.” She says quietly, not wishing to beat around with her fathers’ unique way of speaking. Riddles and rhymes like the Troll Priests of old Zandalar. The fur over his fingers was balding, giving way to the obvious look of liver spots underneath the wrinkled skin. Old fingers with yellowing claw like nails brushed through her purple hair, catching on the gems and shells as he poured out two cups of tea.
“Hn. Yes. Yes. I’m not going far though, only to the spirit world. You’re a talented girl, you can find me there easily enough. I’m sure that Papa Ghede would allow it, by serving Legba you in turn serve him as well. Which is quite interesting to me considering…”
Erzulie raised her head enough to look over her father, her gaze locking on his eyes; eyes clouded by cataracts and nearly blinded by age. “Considering?”
He grunted and handed her a large shell of tea. “Tell me. Have you taken a mate yet, Zufli?”
“No.” She took the shell and quickly corrected herself. “Yes.”
The old man cackled with laughter. “Well, which is it?”
“My heart has taken a mate, it just remains unknown if he has taken me.” With her words, her ears flattened against the back of her head and she took a sip of the steaming tea. Kelp and Lotus. Her favourite.
“If your heart has deemed him worthy, then he must be accepting to you. You were wife to the Loas you served for a long time, swearing that no Troll was good enough for you. As a father, I agreed with this. But I knew it not to be right.” He took a drink of his tea and cackled with laughter again, “This is what I needed for these bones!” He exclaimed joyously and took another sip before continuing. “Who is this Troll, what Tribe is he?”
“He is Mo’sul Mo’ana of the Darkspear.”
The old man sputtered and stared at his daughter. After a moment he roared with laughter; a reaction that left Erzulie staring blankly and completely lost.
“I know that he’s…”
“Dead? That’s between you and the Baron.” He takes another sip of tea and grins rather wickedly to his daughter, “And knowing you, you’ve prayed to the point where the Baron would give you a kingdom just to shut you up. That is not why I look at you with such surprise. You’ve given our family three tusklings, who you choose to have between your legs now is not a concern of mine. So long as it’s not Zar’huda…” The old man grumbles and sips at his tea. “…or Zultepe.”
“You just listed a Mo’ana and the only other Troll I’d ever consider to be a mate. Thanks for limiting the choices.”
“There never was a choice for you, Zufli. Finish your tea and rest your head so that your ears will see.” Ever the dutiful daughter, the middle-aged Witch Doctor did as she was instructed, drinking down the last of the still scalding tea before resting her head again on her fathers’ knee. He’d finish his own tea in silence before running his fingers through her waist-length hair. “Now it is time for you to learn of Shango’s tricks on three little Darkspear.”
“You were always such a beautiful girl. So regal. You still are, really, but this is not my point. A daughter of a Priestess of Ezili and a Priest of Agwe truly made you an object of desire around the isle. Your mother and I, we had many issues in keeping proposals at bay when you entered into adulthood. Your first heat, we kept you inside the prayer hut. Your second… that’s when Shango made his play for you; do you remember?”
She nods, “Zar’huda and I were traipsing through Stranglethorn at the time collecting herbs for some ritual he was preparing for, we had to split up to sneak past the Bloodscalp encampments.”
“And that’s when the heat hit you, of course, you ran without bothering to shift. Your body raging with something you could hardly comprehend. Your mind was made up, and who could blame you? Since you were barely six years of age nothing could come between you and Zar’huda. It was only natural that he is who you would chase after. The Loas, however, had a different idea for you. Before I go on, do you recall your first vision quest?”
Again, Erzulie nods. “Legba was the Loas to greet me, he told me that I had t-“
Her father interrupted her, “That you had to understand chaos in order to properly understand what it meant to be his daughter.”
“You ran, your feet carrying directly into the path of Mo’sul Mo’ana. He could catch the scent of your heat as well and placed himself in front of you. If I’m not mistaken, he took hold of your arms. His touch was gentle to you and harboured enough force to make such a stubborn girl pay attention to him. Being the flirt that he was, he invited you explore the cave he stood by, informing you that inside you’d find something harder than a basilisk, correct?”
She cackled quite loudly, “Yes. And to answer him I kicked him in the balls. I seem to recall him doubling over before I ran off. He claims it took him months to recover from that kick, I suppose I knocked more than testicles that day.”
At this, her father cackled as well, “Of course you did! You, my dear, Zufli, had been the object of his desire for quite some time. Legba had sought in his way to urge the three of you onto your proper paths. You, my stubborn girl, kicked the Old Man’s efforts straight into the testicles; bruising both Mo’sul’s ego and in time, cursing each of you.”
She sat up quickly and blinked at her father, “You mean Mo’sul and I?”
The aging Priest shook his head and set the shell down as he came to stand, “No, I mean all three of you. As you know, that was the day the twins were conceived. Twins that never should’ve been born of Zar’huda.” Slowly he lowers himself onto the tiger hides that had served as his sleeping space since they had departed the Echo Isles, shortly after their arrival on Kalimdor. He took note of his daughters’ shocked expression, despite his nearly obsolete vision. “Your tusklings are hardly mistakes, my dear, their father has always been wrong. You’ve never taken a mate because there has never been one fitting for you.”
She followed him to the side of the skins and kneeled beside him, taking his hand in hers. Thyr’sos, Priest of Agwe, mate of Ok’anu and father of Erzulie, licked his tusks and wet his lips, “Your journey to Legba has led you back to the Troll who should’ve been your mate. It has always been. I’m proud of you, Zufli.”
His eyes closed and his hand went limp in her grasp. The Witch Doctor laid her head on her fathers’ chest. There was no heartbeat and there was no breath. She cried herself to sleep.
In the morning she would set out to begin the process of offerings, making sure her fathers’ spirit reached the spirit realm.