Warriors of the Night Wind

Scout Leader

Still taut with fury, Xoco slaps the release and squirms out of her teaching suit as fast as she can.  As she walks past Tecolotl, she slams her hand on his chest and shoves him out of the way at arm's length, glaring.  She walks over to Nochehuatl and drops to one knee, bowing her head and placing her right hand on her left shoulder.

"The victory is yours, Storm Warrior," she says.  "I claim it in your name.  I am shamed for causing you harm by inducing you in error through my foolishness."

She turns her head and looks up at Huemac and High Priestess Centehua.  "Nochehuatl Tlacatl¹ must lead us.  He will be strong where I am angry, and he will unite where I would divide."

The Hummingbird Warrior slips out of her suit with ease, and gingerly hops to the floor, her cape giving the illusion of bird landing.  Ignoring the others, she gracefully walks over to where Xoco kneels.  "The Storm Warrior means survival for this group and our mission.  The blessings of Yoali Ehecatl shall follow him and our group!"  Her cape gently blows away from her legs, and she kneels before the Storm Warrior, the High Priestess, and Huemac.  "The battle has been decided.  I accept Nochehuatl as leader.  Nochehuatl Tlacatl."

Yaotlquauhtli unstraps himself from his suit, ignoring the slight bruise on his back where his onyx war club has been resting.  Extricating himself from the tangle of bars, straps and panels he drops lithely to the floor and adjusts his headdress and cape.  He watches Xoco's reaction with some surprise, careful to keep a neutral expression.  This is certainly an interesting development.  What has the Storm Warrior done for the Youngest Sister that he deserves such devotion?  Centehua's immediate acceptance is not unexpected, he himself seems to be the only one to earn her immediate ire, though he is still unsure what that is all about.  Yaotlquauhtli grins to himself - perhaps it means she likes him, as a schoolgirl would taunt a boy she admires.   Staying in the background and pretending to correct his war club's position, he waits to see what the others' response will be.

Nochehuatl still seems slightly dazed as Xoco and Centehua declare him the leader.  His eyes seem focussed on something that's not there, as though the teaching suit still had him elsewhere, but then he suddenly wakes to his surroundings.  This still leaves him somewhat confused however.  "But... I failed.  I was the first to fall.  Had I won, I would have accepted the burden gladly, but..."  He shakes his head.  "It's not important to me who leads, but it is important that it be decided, that we all understand who to follow."

He pauses again and glances around the group before looking back to Xoco and Centehua, his voice turning uncertain.  "It was the word of Centehua... um, the other Centehua... that the first scorer would lead.  Are you going to defy her?  And would the rest of you accept that?"

Centehua Matlalihuitl turns to the High Priestess and Huemac, bowing humbly.  "It was never my intention to go against the will of you or the gods, and it is still so. With your permission, I shall explain my behavior and why I feel Nochehuatl brings Yoali Ehecatl's blessings to this group.  If my explanation does not satisfy you or gods, then may the will of Yoali Ehecatl be done!"  She continues to bow her head, waiting patiently for the reply.  If there is one.

The High Priestess Centehua wears a look upon her face that indicates quite clearly that a) the idea of a Dog Person filling the role of leader is not what she had in mind, and b) that this outburst is not what she considers seemly.  The look on her face is one that will undoubtedly be cherished by those who will suffer her tutelage in the future.

Huemac, on the other hand, seems to find the entire situation amusing.  He merely leans against one wall and smiles slightly, obviously curious to see what new surprises are in store.

At last Centehua manages to compose an answer.  "The terms of the contest were clear, yaoquizque," she says sternly.  "The individual who scored the first goal was to lead.  You scored the first goal," she says to Xoco (is there a bit of wistfulness in her voice?) "and by the terms of the contest you will lead.  It is decided."

Huemac chuckles.  "And exactly how will you compel the Chichimec to lead if she chooses not to, priestess of Yoali Ehecatl?  Will you stand by her on the battlefield and force her to give commands?"

The High Priestess gives Huemac a poisonous look but merely repeats, "It is decided."

Even from her genuflecting position on the floor, Xoco is looking less and less respectful and obedient by the second.  As Centehua Matlalihuitl, then High Priestess Centehua speak, her frown deepens.  She finally jumps back to her feet and moves forward by a step, brushing past the younger Hummingbird.

"Look, Feathers," she says in a low, but by no means inaudible voice, "don't you think I should take the first shot at explaining this?  I did sink the damn ball in the hoop, after all."

Centehua Matlalihuitl remains with her head bowed, unresponsive to Xoco's outburst and her explanation. If anything, at least she is not the current focus of Centehua's displeasure herself.  However, she knows she is not in the clear yet.

Xoco faces the High Priestess and Huemac, and remembers to bow low, if briskly.  As she straightens up, she explains: "Honoured Lords of the Battlefield, I assume that you heard all the exchanges between players on the ball court.  In short, Nochehuatl, Centehua Matlalihuitl and I agreed to team up in order to select the leader who would best serve the team, rather than rely on chance.  We -- I -- believe that Nochehuatl would best fill this role because he is fair, even-tempered, strong, and not self-serving.  Others..." she glares at Tethered Owl, "understood the ploy and sought to thwart it out of sheer spitefulness.  Yet I ask you to allow it to succeed."

Hearing this description, Nochehuatl winces.  It sounds so cold-blooded, phrased like that.  He hadn't viewed the alliance as a way to gain the leadership for himself.  "I just prefer playing on a team," he murmurs.

The Chichimec squares her shoulders and continues.  "It is true that the battle, the game, was to select the strongest among us all.  Well, aren't earning trust and being able to work as a team as sure or better signs of strength in a leader as being able to pound things with a missile, a club, or --" she grimaces -- "a slave?"

"In addition, the team would be most strengthened by the benefits Nochehuatl's powersuit would receive as leader.  And if I, or for that matter any of several others here, were to lead, personalities would clash often.  I trust Nochehuatl to lead for the benefit of the team, not for his personal glory."

High Priestess Centehua grimaces, "You go too far, Dog Warrior!  What you suggest is an insult to the sacred game of tlatchtli!  One does not change the rules in the middle of the game, or proclaim the loser to be the winner after the goal has been scored!  The gods alone have decided that you shall be the leader.  It is unseemly to deny what the gods alone have chosen!"

Huemac mutters, "It's just a game.  A recreation!  An entertainment!  Why you people all make such a big deal out of it...."²

Tecolotl watches silently as the debate goes on, but he finally can't hold on to himself...  He erupts in a thunderous laughter; distorted by his mask, it echoes onto the chamber's high walls, sounding less and less like a laugh than like a Mech needing a good oil job.  Finally composing himself, thankful that his mask hides the remain of his scorched face to the others, he strides a few paces toward Centehua and takes a long, slow and deep bow and addresses the high priestess:

"Forgive my outburst, Honored one, I didn't wish to insult either you or the gods, but I couldn't help it.  You are all arguing about the same thing, all opposed to each other's will, but you are all right in what you say.  The little one has a temper, but she is only being true to herself.  She is right about me knowing about their plan, one should check that he/she is using a secure channel before he/she describes a plot.  But my actions were not made out of 'spitefulness', they ware made out in the interest of all, please let me explain myself."

"It was said that the leader would be decided in a game of honor, and so I think it has been done.  I overheard their conversation and I chose to test that honor, I blew up the Storm Warrior's powersuit, pursuing him until he died, giving both the Hummingbird and the little one a chance to break their oath and to claim victory for themselves.  But they did not do it.  They honored their oath and now they ask you to recognize it.  By refusing Xoco to claim victory for Nochehuatl, you are pushing her to break that oath for which she has fought so hard.  So I too will solemnly ask you to agree to it, no rules of tlatchtli have been broken, and foremost, Honor has been respected... as it should be."

Leaning down on one knee, folding his arms in his black robe, he speaks again, but not directed at Centehua, not directed at anyone, lost in the arched ceiling shadow : "Honor is what ties us together, they have fought honorably and deserve to be rewarded.  Let Amapan and Yoali Ehecatl hear me and judge me if they deem my words to be untrue.  Let Nochehuatl be the leader.  Nochehuatl Tlacatl."

During the exchange, Yaotlquauhtli's expression has been growing progressively more grim.  Finally, unable to contain himself any longer, he strides forward.  Bowing to Centehua he says, "I beg leave of your eminence, but I feel that something must be said."  Without waiting for proper permission to be given, he turns to Xoco and continues in a voice that is angry but just shy of being raised, "You speak grandly of earning trust and working as a team, as well as having a leader who is even tempered and not self-serving.  Very well, I agree.  Or rather, I would have agreed had anyone had the courtesy to consult me.  If we were to vote on a leader rather than relying on 'random chance', did you truly believe that such a method would earn the trust or confidence of the entire team if the entire team was not trusted to give its opinion?  In short, why by all the gods do you three feel that you are fit to give input on who is to be leader while I, and for that matter Tecolotl, are not?"

The Jaguar Warrior continues in a voice that is still not quite shouting, though the edge in it is unmistakable, "I have no real wish to lead.  I am a warrior, not a general.  I have no wish to see the Death Messenger in that position either.  I would in fact have been quite happy to see Nochehuatl take charge.  But then, nobody wanted to know my views on the matter, did they?  If I am not to be trusted by the members of this team, or by its leader for that matter," he gestures at Nochehuatl while still staring directly at Xoco, "then perhaps I should be assigned to a 'team' where my skills and my judgment will be appreciated."

Nochehuatl sighs.  "This is what I meant.  We can all accept the word of the gods, even if we can't accept a, a choice made by a group of us.  Still, it wouldn't have been right to make an alliance with anyone more... tlatchtli with everyone on the  same team is worse than tlatchtli with no teams at all.  I thought I was the one chosen to score the goal because I was the one with the best chance to get the ball."  All of this is said in a steady, low, yet audible voice.

Tecolotl, whose giggling has stopped, looks up to the Jaguar Warrior and speaks softly, in a low tone: "Well, Jaguar, then this is your chance to 'give' your views on the matter.  For you didn't seem too interested in conversation at the beginning, but were rather concerned with pride and confrontation with the feathered one."

"WHAT wish you for? or rather should I say "WHO" wish you for, to lead us?  Let Centehua and Huemac hear you, for they are now making their decision.  And what say you, Chipotle of the Way Bringers?  Let us all speak our mind now and decide."

Xoco nods her agreement to Tecolotl's words, visibly mollified.  But she raises her hand.

"Allow me to answer the Jaguar's reproach first," she says.  "The explanation is simple: I knew that we still had to have a game, and so two sides; that to be fair the sides should be of equal size; and that of the warriors on the court, I could most easily get the Hummingbird to ally with the Storm Warrior.  Furthermore, it was clear to me, War Eagle, that you meant to claim victory for yourself, and I did not think you would be willing to give up this shot at leadership.  Of all the choices available, I preferred Nochehuatl to lead us, and so I offered my support.  He is right to say tlatchtli is a team game, and so we played it.  And won."

She pauses, suddenly sheepish, and looks down.  "I considered contacting each of you and making separate alliances," she confesses, "then just double-crossing you all and snatching victory, but I thought that even if I became scout leader that way, I'd get shot in the back five times on our first mission.  So instead I'll stick to the oath I gave."

Yaotlquauhtli allows the corner of his mouth to rise in a smirk.  "So instead of five times, you settled for once.  No, don't get yourself all uptight, I do not betray my oaths, to Yoali Ehecatl or anyone else.  Not until they are rendered void by the recipient.  Xoco, perhaps nobody explained the concept of a team to you when you were young.

The Chichimec crosses her arms and snickers, all decorum forgotten, while Yaotlquauhtli continues.

"In order to be a part of a team, one has to be aware that the team exists.  Three of you simply deciding that there are two teams and ganging up on the opposing players one by one does not make it so.  Of course it was ridiculously easy to get me to attack my own 'teammate', because it was my impression that everyone in this game had an equal chance.  Imagine my surprise to find out that Tecolotl was working with me, rather than against me.

"Yes, I began the game with the intent to win, as that is the object of any game.  Unless of course you three have decided to change that definition as well.  I never really considered what I would do with the title once it was won, but it makes little difference since it appears you had decided the outcome for me.  Your version of tlatchtli is not a team game, it is a political game. Though we Jaguar are quite used to political games.  I was unprepared for the rules to change without notice.  I will not make the same mistake again."  He glances down at Centehua Matlalihuitl, "With anyone."

"Look, Claws," says Xoco drily, "of course it was a political game since that's how our leader was to be selected."  She is determinedly oblivious to Nochehuatl's chagrined look over the cold calculation involved.  "If I had called you and said, 'Jaguar, let's make a deal,' you would have told me to get out of the way.  Where would you think that places you on the list of most team-spirited players?  In any case, your particular fight was no different than if I had never spoken to anyone.  Fea... Centehua and you were going to be at each other's throat no matter what.  Things only changed at the point when Tecolotl shot Nochehuatl and I tried to intervene."

She turns to Nochehuatl at looks at him sternly, and a little sadly.  "You see, Storm Warrior, that's what I feared if I won.  I make people angry, and I have no patience."  She shakes her head.  "If you want the leadership, it's yours.  But if you refuse, I will shoulder the load -- only, I don't want to hear any complaints afterward."  She glances around at Tecolotl, still unsure about the Tethered Owl's motives.  A little further down the group, her eyes drift to the still silent Chipotle, who was her target during the game.

High Priestess Centehua once again opens her mouth to speak, but before she can utter a word Huemac cuts her off.

"Enough," he says, and now there is no merriment in his eyes.  "I have other more pressing duties than to stand and listen to the bickerings of Yaoquizque.  The Chichimecá has proven that she is most skilled of all in kicking a ball through a stone hoop - if you consider this the most important skill for leadership then she will most assuredly make the best leader.  Regardless, she has refused the position in favor of another.  That is her choice - leadership cannot be forced.  The Cuauhtlcallia has also abdicated her place.  The Chantica has stated that he is no general, and the Tepeyolohtla had no interest in leadership either.  Perhaps the Ixcuina may wish to wear the Iyac's feather, perhaps not.  But the Toxcatla has yet to prove that he can bear the mantle - the accolades of others are no sure proof of leadership.  Let him carry the leader's shield in the upcoming mission.  Let us see if he can bear its weight or if it crushes him flat.  When the war party returns, then they will judge.  They may choose the Toxcatla or they may choose another.  But this time, their choice will be based upon their works, NOT their ability to kick a ball through a hoop of stone, whatever Amapan may think."

He turns to face Nochehuatl.  "Gather your war party and go to the slaves of the priests of Macuiltotec.  Tell them of your desires for your powersuits that they may begin fashioning them.  Then return to your Priestess," he indicates Centehua, "who will instruct you in your first undertaking for the Huitznahua."  He turns to Centehua.  "Await them in the hall of instruction." he says.  He deftly retrieves his shield and war club, then looks again at Nochehuatl.

"Go," he says, nodding in the direction of the exit.  "Now."
 

More Bickering

Nochehuatl listens to Huemac's decision with the air of a man receiving a sentence of execution.  If he had won the game, it would be one thing, but this...   Well, it is nothing to fret at.  He will do his duty and lead this time, and then the team's decision will come. He silently bows to Huemac and Centehua, then walks to the door. He knows that a confident leader would go, not looking back, in the assurance that the others would follow.  Nochehuatl knows this, but cannot help looking back to see.

After making proper obeisance to Huemac and the High Priestess (as if it wasn't much too late to salvage good will there!), Xoco also follows Nochehuatl and her other companions to the lower levels of the House of Darts.  Mentally, she's already thinking about the minor changes she would like to see made to her 'suit.  Absorbed in this contemplation, she silently ticks off points on her fingers, as if checking a list.

Centehua Matlalihuitl rises up still bowing, and backs away from Centehua and Huemac.  Once she is out of the "respectful" zone, she rises up to begin to follow Nochehuatl.  She maneuvers by Yaotlquauhtli, and speaks quietly, but not inaudibly, to him.  "My battle with you was a destiny chosen long before any alliances, Jaguar.  I needed to see if you could  truly wield one of those clubs you are so fond of!" Her smile shows off the taunting behind her words, reminding all of the exploding Jade war club.  "And may I remind you that I never broke my oath to you, either." She smirks a bit.  "If you believe that I have beaten you at your own political games, so be it!"  She holds the smirk for a second or two, just to let it sink in.

Though he doesn't look over at Centehua, Yaotlquauhtli's carefully neutral expression sours for a moment as he mutters, "If you wanted to test my prowess with the club, perhaps you shouldn't have shot it, hmm?  As for your oath, you had no need to break it to effectively remove me from the game.  The oath itself did that quite nicely."  He shakes his head slowly.  "To be perfectly honest, it was a move worthy of a Jaguar.  I'll have to be more wary of spontaneous species changes in the future."

Centehua's face grows more serious. "You and the others have been worthy opponents.  All have my respect and I am honored to have all as teammates. I believe our team does have the blessings of the gods behind us." She pauses a moment. "But let us hope that you are better at netting enemies of the empire than birds!" she adds, unable to end without teasing Yaotlquauhtli once more.

Eyes still ahead, the left corner of his mouth quirks up slightly - the closest thing to an amused look Yaotlquauhtli has allowed to escape since emerging from his suit.  "Blessings of the gods?  I'd hate to see their wrath."  Then his face hardens again, looking over at the Hummingbird, "My respect is not easily gained, small one.  It requires more than combat prowess and barbed political strategy.  I must know that I can trust my compatriots to be there when they are needed, and that can only be demonstrated in true battle."

Centehua lets her mind wander while the Jaguar speaks.  "Respect and trust are two different words," she thinks to herself.  "I do not confuse the two!"  Luckily she did not hear the "small one" quote, or the Jaguar would be nursing a bloody nose now.

Yaotlquauhtli continues: "I can only hope that the coming mission will separate those I can trust from those I can't, so I can know who will be at my back with a shield and who with a dagger."

Centehua continues with her thoughts. "He certainly has the makings of a politician.  He can talk endlessly about what he will do, and yet do very little."  She then begins to imagine smashing various politicians in the head with her club.

He turns to look ahead again and a smirk creeps into his stony expression.  "Just be aware that a net is not the only weapon I have to use for snaring small birds.  The hunt is always more enjoyable when the prey comes to me."

Centehua, in the middle of bashing in the head of a politician who claimed that that only true way to happiness is through diplomacy, briefly comes out of her daydream. "Did you know that jaguars easily fall into pits?  Several hunters in my village caught one that way...  Grandfather once 'treed' one before killing it during a hunt."  She says it aloud to no one in particular, but it is obvious who is meant to hear it.  Before Yaotlquauhtli can answer, Centehua is lost her in daydreams again.  This time she bashes the head of one who claimed that everyone should exchange their "clubs for hugs".

Chipotle remains looks at the other players, upset at his own performance and at the factionalization that is the earmark of their society.  "It is amazing, isn't it, that the gods would desire to create a group made from separate clans? They must laugh at our foolishness and hubris.  Pay them the respect they deserve.  If the choice is not clear, we must offer sacrifice and await a decision."
 

The Slaves of Macuiltotec

In silence the war party departs the Teaching Hall, and in silence they move to the great stone stairway that leads to the lower level.  Here the signs of battle are evident, for in the chamber below, unreachable by the god weapons of enemy warrior skins, that Quetzaltepec's sect of the priests of Macuiltotec made their final stand against the forces of the Death Messengers, the Jaguar Lords, and their Chichimecá allies.  Here the battle was fought not with gigantic warrior skins, but with powersuits, and as they near the landing for the powersuit bay the yaoquizque can see the signs of violence etched into the stones of the walls.

If the shrines of the warrior skins in the level above were desecrated, then this lower level has been utterly ransacked and destroyed.  The remains of a barricade made of whatever material could be scavenged still lies shattered near the stairway.  The walls, floor, and ceiling are pocked and marred by the force of projectile and beam weapons.  Upon the far wall the great stone circle depicting Macuiltotec has been shattered by repeated blows and lies in pieces on the floor.  Of the thousands of cubicles which normally would hold the Feathered Serpent's powersuits, the yaoquizque cannot discern a single one which appears whole and untouched.  The sacred constructions of Macuiltotec have been pried from their appointed place in many cases, and simply destroyed by explosives or repeated beam weapon hits in others.  The destruction is thorough and systematic - those who were here took everything that they could, then destroyed whatever was left to prevent the Feathered Serpents from using it again.

Throughout the vast bay only a few figures now move - perhaps no more than a few dozen within a space which once serviced 4,000 powersuits.  One group of three waits near the entrance, and moves towards the war party as they enter.  All three wear simple loincloths denoting their status as slaves - the gray color indicating that their city of origin is Toxcatl.  Each wears a lip piercing  in the form of a silver sphere, though the metal is not silver, but is the material from which warrior skin and powersuit armor is made.  Such a piercing indicates their status as slaves to the priesthood of Macuiltotec, patron deity of the House of Darts.  The three approach the war party and bow deeply, as befits their station.

Nochehuatl looked first at the war party, then to the three others.  "We're here to tell you our needs for our powersuits.  Would it best if we told you one at a time, or three at a time -- one of us speaking with each one of you?"  He glances back at the other warriors; Xoco had seemed anxious to make changes, but were the others ready?

One of the slaves moves his arm in a sweeping gesture, indicating the whole of the war party.

Centehua is driven from her daydreams once they start into the lower level.  "I'd like to club those who thought of this attack!" she thinks to herself, looking around at the battle debris.  Her brow furrows, reflecting a mixture of disgust and anger.  "I am ready," she says, her voice calm and steady as she looks at the energy blast scars throughout the bay.  She turns to Nochehuatl and the slaves.  "I know what changes I want on my suit."

One of the slaves nods to her.

Xoco nods as well, as Nochehuatl and Centehua speak.  "I too know what changes I would like made."

A different slave nods.

"But where will we find our powersuits?" continues Xoco.  "We are new scouts of Yoali Ehecatl.  Is there a particular area reserved for the powersuits of the Night Wind God?"

The third slave shakes his head, gesturing to encompass the destruction around the party.

Yaotlquauhtli ignores the slaves utterly, being busy deciding what to change and what to keep.  They can wait on the others first, if they wish, or stand there all day awaiting the pleasure of the Yaoquizque.  It makes little difference to him either way, as they are only slaves.  Hand to his chin in thought he mutters quietly to himself, "I'm as much a suit designer as I am a general..."

To this the slaves make no response.

Xoco suspects she knows the reason for the slaves' silence.  In what is for her an unusually sober tone, she explains the changes she would like to make to her powersuit.  "I would like to replace the Dart of Anger with a Hunter of Enemies, the Wasp Sting with ammunition for the Hunter of Enemies, and the ammo in the left leg with a missile defense pod."  Her words come more slowly than is her wont, as if she was reflecting as she speaks, and are accompanied with gestures.  She looks around at the damaged shrines without really seeing them, frowning, deep in contemplation.

One of the slaves bows.  They continue to wait patiently.

Nochehuatl waits for anyone else to speak.  As moments drag by, it occurs to him that perhaps they are waiting for him.  As the thought strikes him, he abruptly begins to address one of the slaves.  "I would like the gravitics in my suit's legs removed, replaced by the ECM currently in the arm.  The space freed up in the arm should be filled with a second Skin Flayer."

Hearing Nochehuatl's voice brings Tecolotl's mind back from his dreams of a perfect powersuit and focuses again on the slaves and on his comrades. " If only such an armor could exist" he thinks...  "It would combine the grace of a Hummingbird with the strength of a Chichimec and the capacity of a Death Messenger."  But such an armor only exists in the legends of the priests in a place far, far away from here.

"I have a lot of modifications" he hears himself saying, "I want to remove the Gravity Lens and the Refined Sensors and replace them with smoke/chaff pods.  I want an Energy Shield, a Skin Flayer and a changeable weapon mount in the left arm.  An Avalanche in my left hand.  For the right arm, install the Powerfield, Avalanche ammo, and a Wasp Sting.  A Thunderbolt in the right hand.  Both legs should have a Jump Jet and a Sun Missile."

He finishes his sentence and begins to wonder immediately.  "Did I make the right choices?" and his mind starts to wonder again, remembering the other legends of past wars and heroes.

One of the slaves nods.

Yaotlquauhtli shakes his head finally, "I can think of no modifications I wish to make.  Leave my suit as it is, it will serve well."  Then, to himself he thinks, so long as nobody shoots my war club in the first few seconds of battle and I learn to shoot, that is...

Again one of the slaves nods.

Centehua breaks her silence, her mood unchanged.  "It takes some longer to learn the lessons of battle than others. I have learned much from battle.  I wish to exchange my Thunderbolt for a Sun Ember. The ammo will replace one of the Wasp Stings."

The three slaves pause for a moment more, looking expectantly at the Way Bringer, but when no information is forthcoming, they bow in unison, turn and walk away.

Xoco stares at Chipotle and Yaotlquauhtli with a creased brow.  "That's it???" she exclaims.  She shakes her head.  "So much for strengthening the team..."

Nochehuatl shifts in place, awkwardly, then shrugs slightly.  "And now we find out what we are to actually do," he says in a quiet voice, then heads for the hall of instruction to meet with Centehua.  Still uncertain, he looks back again to see if anyone is actually following.

Xoco nods vigourously.  She is rather pleased that she won't have to face High Priestess Centehua alone -- their relationship is not starting on the best footing.  She turns to follow Nochehuatl, but hangs back for a moment and looks hopefully at Yaotlquauhtli.

"Are you sure you won't reconsider?" she says pleadingly.  "Trade that club for a Smoking Mirror, maybe?  Or a Sun Spear or a Soul Flayer?  Or change that Thunderbolt for a..."

She finally comes to a stop when it becomes evident that her advice is not particularly welcome.  She shrugs.  "Just trying to help..." she mumbles.  She hurries to catch up with Nochehuatl.

"Hey, Nochehuatl!"  The others can hear her voice trailing down the corridor as they climb towards the Hall of Instruction.  "Have you considered trading in your Shielded Power Plant upgrade for the Thought Control upgrade?  It seems to me you really need to improve your speed.  And how about dumping both the Thunderbolt and the Avalanche for a Soul Flayer?  Or just the Thunderbolt for a Sum Ember? or a..."

The rest of the babble is muffled by distance.  Thankfully.

Snapping out of her thoughts, Centehua Matlalihuitl turns on her heel and heads down the corridor after Nochehuatl and Xoco.  Her head bows slightly, so the others are unable to see her expression behind the long bill of her headdress.  Her pace is not quick as she walks, as if she wishes to avoid Xoco's chatter for as long as possible...

The Spirit Warriors depart the precincts of Macuiltotec and move back up a level via the stairs.  Near the training room where they donned their teaching suits is the hall of instruction, where the priestess Centehua awaits them, seated on a reed mat.
 

First Mission Briefing

Once the warriors of Yoali Ehecatl have filed in and found places on mats of their own, the priestess speaks.  "Yoali Ehecatl commands that you go to the city-state of Tepeyolohtli to attend the Festival of Skulls.  You will present yourselves to the Snake Woman of the Death Messengers - Three Ways Skull Talks - and will attend him³ during the four days leading up to the Festival of Skulls.  A Papalotl⁴ class shuttle waits at the landing field for your use.  At dawn of the morning following the Festival of Skulls you will return here."  She eyes the Yaoquizque.  "Are there questions?" she asks.

While Centehua speaks, Xoco gives her companions sidelong glances, hoping someone else will ask the obvious questions.   Why should she always have to be the one to attract the High Priestess disfavour?  But if no one speaks up...

Her gaze settles on Tecolotl.  It's his city they're going to visit, after all.  She returns her glance to the High Priestess, a picture of attentive interest, but carefully extends her leg until she can just reach Tethered Owl.  With the tip of her toes, she nudges the Death Messenger, then discreetly retracts her foot.

Yaotlquauhtli, not noticing the exchange between Xoco and Tecolotl (not that he would have cared if he had), bows to the priestess.  "I presume we are to act as bodyguards to the Snake Woman, or whatever else he may require.  Are we to participate in the Festival as well?  I fear I do not have proper clothing for such an event, will we have opportunity to acquire some?  And, will we be taking our suits, or will we not be needing them?

"You will be attending to the Snake Woman's needs as he sees fit.  You may participate in the festival or not, depending on what the Snake Woman requires of you and your desire to appease or displease the Revered Speaker and Mictlantecutli.  Your suits will not be required.  I am certain that appropriate clothing is available once you reach Tepeyolohtli."

Nochehuatl shifts uneasily.  There must be be more to ask about, but his brain refuses to provide any reasonable questions.  Probably, it will come to him when it is far too late to ask.  If he is to lead -- even if only nominally and for this one mission -- then responsibility lies on his shoulders.  He begins to speak, slowly, forming the question even as he asks it.

"Can you tell us if there are any... particular problems we should expect?"

High Priestess Centehua begins to scowl at Nochehuatl, but her face just can't sustain it, and she breaks into a bit of a smile almost in spite of herself.

"Ah, yaoquizque, now you face the full reality of your service for the first time," she says, not unkindly.  "Lord Night Wind serves as the eyes of the Huitznahua, viewing all impartially, serving the all the Huitznahua and not a particular deity.  Because of this it is often true that we who serve as Night Wardens are called upon to go here or there, to do this or that, without explanation.  It may be that another of the Huitznahua wishes to observe the Festival of Skulls but cannot or will not do so directly for reasons we cannot fathom, and has asked Lord Night Wind to give assistance.  It could be that one or more of the Huitznahua have offered some favor to Lord Night Wind in exchange for your presence, and have offered no explanation.  It may be that your simple presence will change the actions of someone who would otherwise have acted in a way that Mictlantecutli disapproved of.  The opposite could also be true.  You could be a ruse.  You could be a deterrent.  You could be a favor, a gift, a threat.  It will be for you to determine once you arrive why you are there, with the help of your wits, your intelligence, and the blessing of Lord Night Wind.  This is one of the reasons that service to our Lord is considered quite - lively."

Centehua suddenly realizes that she is looking rather indulgent, and plasters her "stern and disapproving" look back on her face.

"Are there other questions?" she asks.

Nochehuatl looks at the others.  No one else seems to have anything else to ask.  "I... do not believe there are any more questions, High Priestess."  He looks at the others again, to see if anyone will suddenly correct him.

At long last, Xoco succumbs to her innate curiousity.  She pokes her head out from behind Tecolotl.  "Does Lord Night Wind generally give signs of his wishes or intents?  Do we get clues at some point, or just do what we think best?"

Centehua looks at the Chichimecá with veiled disdain.  "Lord Night Wind will guide you on your journey," she says in that tone of voice that one usually uses when speaking to recalcitrant 5-year-olds.  "You need only open yourself to him and be alert for signs of his desire."

Xoco knows very well she should resist the impulse.  She knows she's not going to improve her status with the High Priestess that way.  But it's just too much.  "Oooo," she chirps, "that sounds sooooo exciting!" She retreats behind Tecolotl, but a sound of half-smothered snickers can still be heard.

Centehua Matlalihuitl, who had been sitting quietly, ready to go on the mission, opens her eyes wide as she turns to look at Xoco, in very much a "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" kind of way.  After a moment of disbelief, she collects herself.  She bows before Centehua as low as she can go, since the high priestess has been so insulted. "Please forgive Xoco. She is still learning, and sometimes does not realize what she is doing."  She flashes a glare at Xoco. "In light of all that has happened so far, I ask if it would be appropriate for the party to perform a ceremony in honor of Lord Night Wind before we leave for the mission. It seems we need to show him we are open to his desires and only wish to do what he commands.  I do not know if time will allow it, so I ask your guidance."  Centehua waits for the answer, quietly wishing that some of those chile frog legs were around to stuff into Xoco's mouth.

"Do any of you have any preparation best done before we leave?" asks Nochehuatl of the others.

Xoco shrugs.  "I only need what I walked in with, since it seems we'll be provided with suitable clothing."

Yaotlquauhtli plasters a hasty scowl to his face, desperately resisting the urge to laugh at the predicament Xoco has allowed her mouth to get her into.  At least she hadn't lied earlier - she would indeed have made a terrible leader.  The resulting fireworks should be interesting and perhaps when all was said and done he would have one less thorn to remove from his side.

He bows quickly in Centehua's general direction and mutters a prayer to Yoali Ehecatl, just loud enough for the Priestess to hear.  Then, changing in his displeased expression for a worried one, he remains quiet and watches.

The High Priestess - caught in the very motion of opening her mouth to issue some sort of blistering rebuke of the sort likely to cause enemy superheavy mecha to explode or suns to go nova - pauses on hearing the younger Centehua's quick reply, then curtly nods once.

"Of course," she replies.  "As you are all now servants of Lord Night Wind it is only proper that you begin learning his ceremonies.  For today, I will teach you one of the most basic - 'The Calling of the Night Wind'.  It calls the favor of Yoali Ehecatl and may be performed without requiring undue amounts of preparation or bulky sacred vestments or headdresses.  We will perform it today while wearing your cloaks of office and headdress, but these are not required."

She claps her hands and servants enter bearing knee length cloaks made from crake feathers, midnight blue and slightly iridescent, interspersed with bright yellow wing feathers from a jacana, and headdresses made of owl feathers.  These they present to each of the Yaoquizque with a bow before withdrawing.  Centehua indicates that they should put their new robes on.  When they are finished, the Yaoquizque look around - each somewhat amazed in their own heart.  Where before they had been all different, all from different and in many cases hostile City-States, their new clothing made them look similar, alike.  Where before they had been strangers now they were part of something all together.⁵
 

Ceremony

The Jaguar Yaotlquauhtli looks resplendent in his robes, almost like a high priest himself though the cloak and headdress are relatively simple in design.  He dons both nonchalantly, almost casually, as though knowing that they will look perfect on him without the least effort on his part to make it so.  Barely less splendid is Nochehuatl, who for the first time really looks the part of a leader as he dons his headdress carefully, and adjusts his cloak with equal care, smoothing out every feather so that it lay just so.

Both Centehua and Chipotle manage to don their new garments without embarrassing themselves, but look uninspired.  Chipotle cannot seem to get his cloak to hang quite the way it should, and fiddles with it for several moments before simply flipping it over his shoulders with a snort.  For her part Centehua finds that under the unwavering gaze of the High Priestess fingers which can work the targeting mechanism of a powersuit with great precision suddenly seem completely unable to perform the simple task of dressing in a satisfactory manner.

Fortunately for her, others are available to distract the High Priestess from her own particular failings.  The tight fitting clothing which Tecolotl wears over every inch of his body is ill-suited to the addition of a cloak (which is meant in this case to be worn bare chested) and his mask makes it difficult to fit the headdress properly.  In addition, the subtle differences in the way his limbs are shaped, compared to how they SHOULD be shaped, and his rather lopsided stance make the others subtly uncomfortable - wondering just what is under all that cloth, and at the same time hoping secretly that they may never find out.  Xoco is only marginally more successful - it might even be said that she is less so, lacking physical deformities to use as an excuse for not looking particularly good.  The cloak went over her shoulders in the same manner that a chilly peasant might wear a blanket for warmth, and she jams the headdress on her head with the same force and determination that most Spirit Warriors reserve for clamping on their powersuit helmets just before a desperate battle.  It sits askew across her forehead, feathers awry, the Chichimec seemingly oblivious as she looks around at her companions.

While the Spirit Warriors are dressing, several additional servants enter.  Two assist the High Priestess in dressing.  She dons a cloak and headdress similar in design to those of the Yaoquizque, but with the clasp of the cloak made of gold, eagle feathers interspersed with the owl feathers in the headdress, and several precious gems worked into the headdress itself (in other words, High Priestess garb).  Though not a particularly physically attractive woman, she most certainly looks the part of a High Priestess when her dressing is complete.

Meanwhile, the other servants bring in a selection of drums, flutes, and rattles.  They place these in one corner before leaving after bowing to the High Priestess.

Nochehuatl looks around at the group and feels a surge of something like pride in his chest.  At last!  For the first time since he found himself alone on the island, he feels like he is part of a true team again.  Facing the world alone is just too cold a prospect to contemplate.  He whispers a brief prayer of thanks and smiles broadly at the others, hardly noticing the awkward appearances of Xoco and Tecolotl.

Not that Xoco, for one, seems to be noticing either.  There's a definite feeling of "Let's get this praying stuff over with and get to the fun part" emanating from her.  She's barely refraining from tapping her foot as the others fuss around with this little bit of feather here and that little bit of jewelry there.  Gods!  How long does it take to dress?  She was done in five minutes!  Why can't they just get it done?  She sighs and leans on a wall, arms crossed over her chest. "Azteca," she is heard to mutter.

Tecolotl can't refrain from sighing heavily, wondering just how they got into that situation and remembering he should have a nice long talk with Xoco about "politeness" with the priestess.  Glancing back and forth to look at the others only serves to make him look a little more awkward as the headdress doesn't fit properly with his mask and they don't always turn at the same angle...  He notices that while he's looking at Chipotle, his headdress is looking the other way at Centehua Matlalihuitl.  Moving his head around doesn't seem to improve the situation, on the contrary, so he resigns himself and uses his hands to replace the headdress, again, trying to keep his calm, but growling like a wounded bear rather than an owl.  Muttering a prayer to the Lord Night Wind, he hopes for a quick ending...

Nochehuatl turns to Centehua and kneels, bowing his head so that his perhaps inappropriate grin does not show.  "We wait to be instructed, Priestess."

Once everyone has been properly attired (more or less) the High Priestess instructs the young Yaoquizque in the rudiments of the ritual.  It involves an hour or so of dancing in a swaying motion resembling trees blowing in the wind, while chanting or playing a musical instrument.  The tune is fairly simple and repetitive (as is the case for most chant music) and the Spirit Warriors pick it up easily enough (some more than others).  At the climax of the ceremony, one individual recites a prayer, while the others chant/play instruments as an accompaniment.

O Lord, our Lord, O Provider, O Lord of Stealth
Lord of the Night Wind, Lord of Circles, Lord of Darkness!
The gods, our Lords, the Huitznahua
Have given (me/us) to you as a gift to honor an ancient pact!

O Lord, our Lord, O Provider, O Lord of Stealth
Lord of Darkness, Lord of the Night Wind, Lord of Circles!
(I/We) call upon you, hear (me/us)!
(I/We) offer (myself/ourselves) in your honor!

O Lord, our Lord, O Provider, O Lord of Stealth
Lord of Circles, Lord of Darkness, Lord of the Night Wind!
Turn your gaze upon (me/us)
Give (me/us) strength to serve you, and only you!
 

As the High Priestess teaches, it is certainly possible for even a single individual to perform the ceremony, though having more people is generally better.

The various Spirit Warriors show themselves to vary considerably in their strengths and weaknesses off the battlefield as well as on.

Xoco shakes a rattle during the ceremony in an uninspired manner, and manages to get the steps to the dance right and not mess up the rhythm of the chanting, but clearly finds the effort both uninteresting and somewhat tedious.  Yaotlquauhtli manages to carry himself off well all things considered - he dances well, though his flute playing leaves something to be desired.  Tecolotl's dancing is also somewhat less than totally inspiring, but his chanting is both skillful and powerful.  Chipotle's dancing is mediocre, but his chanting comes through with great clarity and sincerity.  Centehua's skill in sacred dance suffers somewhat under the gaze of the High Priestess, but her voice is true, and rings clear and bright above the others.  Nochehuatl, for all his newly found regal bearing, manages to trip up one or more of the dancers on several occasions during the lesson.  He beats on a drum with a certain degree of skill and plenty of enthusiasm.

In the end, when the ceremony reaches its climax, the High Priestess indicates that Centehua Matlalihuitl should offer up the final prayer to Yoali Ehecatl.  And so it is.

The High Priestess looks at the Yaoquizque - now somewhat breathless and sweaty.  "Your craft awaits at the landing field.  Do not shame yourselves or Lord Night Wind."  She bows to the young warriors and indicates that they may depart.

Bowing to Centehua the Jaguar Warrior says, "Thank you, High Priestess.  I look forward to our first mission, and hope that we can prove ourselves worthy to be Lord Night Wind's servants."  He then looks to Nochehuatl expectantly. 'Leader by default' - how humiliating it must be for him...

As soon as they are out of the High Priestess's sight, Xoco draws a long, deep breath and takes the headdress off, stuffing it under one arm.  She runs her other arm across her forehead to wipe the sweat off.  "I thought it would never end!" she mutters, tired.  Curiously, the glare she spares for the sacred implements and the remnants of the ceremony is not so much impatient as bitter.  She turns to Nochehuatl.  "Well, I'm ready to go," she announces, somewhat more cheerfully.  She glances expectantly at the others. Surely they're not going to 'waste' any more time?

Yaotlquauhtli glances stealthily at Xoco and the beautiful headdress she has jammed unceremoniously under one arm, with his best look of pained disapproval.  How much of an idiot was this woman, and how much trouble did she really want to get into?
 

On A Butterfly's Wings

The Yaoquizque take their leave of the High Priestess and make their way out of the House of Darts towards the nearby airfield.  Here again there are signs of considerable devastation, with the remains of shattered Warrior Skins of various City States strewn about the area.  It is clear from the wreckage that the Storm Warriors managed to catch a considerable portion of the Jaguar's ships, and many of their Warrior Skins, by surprise while they were powered down, for wrecked Warrior Skins of Chantico - mostly Pumas, Slashing Claws, and Stone Motions, but with the occasional Ocelot or Smoking Mirror - lay giant shattered clay dolls around the area.  Smaller numbers of Chichimecá Windstorms and Death Messenger Doom Bringers show that the Jaguar's erstwhile allies also suffered from the suddenness of the Storm Warrior's counterattack.

Here and there, moving about in the wreckage, are several Skeletal Warriors - light Warrior Skins from Tepeyolohtli.  Groups of priests of Mictlantecutli are examining some of the wrecked Warrior Skins, and directing the Warrior Skins in the salvage of certain choice portions.  These are carried to a large transport ship for return to Tepeyolohtli.  A mixed force of powersuits and Warrior Skins from the Hummingbirds and Storm Warriors stands watch over their activities.

As they pass through the wreckage, Nochehuatl considers it with mixed emotions.  He feels some sense of pride in what the Storm Warriors had done... but should he?  He is not a warrior of Tlaloc any more; Tlaloc has chosen him for the Night Wind.  Here the Storm has caught the Jaguar unaware, but now he has a Jaguar, or former Jaguar, on his team.  He shakes his head, trying to clear the confusion.  Life was supposed to have been simpler than this, he'd thought.

At one end of the field sits a "Butterfly" class shuttle, painted in midnight blue and adorned with the symbol of Lord Night Wind.  This is apparently to be the party's transportation.

Nochehuatl examines the shuttle.  There is no sign of a pilot.  Hopefully, someone in the group can fly it.  He pauses, trying to put together how to ask, when Xoco speaks up.  The Chichimec gives the shuttle an appraising look.  "Nice flying target," she comments wryly.  "Well, I can fly that thing if we need a pilot," she adds.  "Or I can nurse the equipment. Can anyone act as gunner?"  She saunters towards the craft, eager to get on board and away on their first mission.

Nochehuatl blinks as the initiative is taken from him.  "Mmm... I can fire the guns, if need be, so we're minimally covered at least, but I'd be happier knowing we have some depth.  Can anyone else pilot or gun?"

Tecolotl folds his arms and looks back to Nochehuatl.  "I am sorry to say that I cannot be of help here."

Yaotlquauhtli nods slightly to Nochehuatl.  "I have some small skill in firing the weaponry.  Enough to get by in an emergency."

"Humm..." Centehua says, as she examines the Avalanche.  "I can handle this."  She looks about the shuttle.  "Though I hope we don't have to use it.  I would rather be firing from a mecha than this ship if we are in a fight!"   She looks about the ship as best she can, trying to determine where the weakest points are.

Chipotle nods, "I can pilot or gun, take your pick...."

As no one else makes a move, Xoco continues on, climbs inside and drops in the pilot's seat.

Nochehuatl considers the situation.  Two pilots, four gunners.  His own skill is limited, so one of the others would be better.  Best not to put a potential pilot on the gun, so that leaves Yaotlquauhtli and Centehua.  He isn't sure which one of them is better yet... well, he'd learn.  As for the pilot...  Xoco is already heading for the controls.  "Xoco, you pilot....  Yaotlquauhtli, be ready to take the gun," he says hurriedly, trying not to be outpaced by events.  He heads for the passenger compartment.

Yaotlquauhtli nods absently, his mind on the coming festival.  He tries to recall specifics, dances, procedures and so forth, but is finally forced to admit to himself that all he has are vague suppositions.  He enters the ship and seats himself, then subtly checks his headdress and cape one last time to be sure that the movement hasn't unseated them.  As an afterthought he removes and stows his war club.  If he needs to gun, it will interfere with movement in the cramped cabin.

With Xoco at the controls the Butterfly rises off its landing pad much like its namesake rising from a flower.  Turning roughly south the Chichimec climbs to 60,000 feet and begins the cross continental journey from Quetzaltepec to Tepeyolohtli.
 

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