Information

Tlamacazqui
Legacy Name: Tlamacazqui

The Hydrus Telenine
Owner: Diadem

Age: 15 years, 10 months, 2 weeks

Born: July 1st, 2008

Adopted: 10 years, 5 months, 3 weeks ago

Adopted: November 27th, 2013

Statistics

• Level: 6
   
• Strength: 11
   
• Defense: 12
   
• Speed: 10
   
• Health: 11
   
• HP: 11/11
   
• Intelligence: 7
   
• Books Read: 7
• Food Eaten: 0
• Job: Candy Clerk

In the temple of Tlamacazqui stands a statue. It is ruined and old, but regal: a lithe young man reaching heavenward, captured in the deathly embrace of a giant wave. Though many are astounded by its beauty, few notice the chip in the leg of the young man. Those who do notice it dismiss it as an err on the sculptor's part or fault of weather and erosion. It is none of these things: the chip was intentional.

The sculptor, in fact, was one of the select few who knew the real history of Tlamacazqui. It is a closely guarded secret that he was not born divine. He is often considered a bastard, a kind of abomination, by the other gods. In the dark halls the gods confer and discuss Tlamacazqui: this discourse is a kind of godly gossip that mortals seem to be familiar with. Above all, though, Tlamacazqui's divine brothers and sisters cannot help but admire the deed that won him his immortality.

If you listen closely, mortal, you can sometimes hear the whispers of the gods floating through dimly lit golden hallways and filtering down through the atmosphere.

If you listen closely, mortal, you can sometimes hear in the roaring of the angry ocean waves the sorrowful roar of the humble boy who became king of the storms.

He was born into a large, broken family. His four older brothers saw him as a disgrace and a curse. Because his mother had died in childbirth, they held a grudge just beneath their familiar surfaces. The day he opened his eyes was the day the stakes were raised against him.

His brothers were bitter for the death of their mother, a strong, warm, weathered woman who had taught them the art of crafting wood into the perfect shape for fishermen's boats.

His father, meanwhile, spited him for not picking up the fishing trade as quickly as his strong older brothers. He would look disgustedly at his son's deft, feminine hands, too fluid and nowhere near hardy enough to handle a fishing pole, and shake his head.

He was lanky and thin, streamlined like the ocean waves on a calm day. He discovered that swimming was a way to use his body to his advantage and cope with all the hatred that eminated from his family. So he swam and grew familiar and very fond of the feeling of gliding through cool water, letting the current carry him where it may; closer to the shore or farther - it did not matter.

He was swimming when the storm hit. He felt the change in the water like a shiver: a sudden drop in temperature, a misdirection of the current. He looked skyward to darkening clouds, saltwater trailing down his jaw line and leaving his eyes burning pleasantly. The sea began to writhe around him like some kind of massive beast.

He was wary of the sea. He respected her as a power far greater than he. Nonetheless, the storm inspired no fear in his steadfast mind. He was empowered by the ocean; he knew she accepted him and he was one with her. She had enveloped him, adopted him like a mother and with her he felt no fear. He turned a blind eye to the storm clouds above and continued to swim, broad strokes leaving fluid trails on the surface of the water.

Later, he would look back on the day and wonder if he'd had a death wish. Maybe he did.

But then, in that precise moment, he felt nothing inside or out but the cool, smooth kiss of waves on his skin. He heard the anger of the ocean, felt her roil all around him, but knew it was not directed toward him. So he continued to swim and get lost in the waves, drifting further from shore. He was deep in the recesses of his own mind when he heard a guttural scream rip through the angry air.

He stopped, treading water, and looked toward the direction of the scream, droplets of water falling from his nose into the water.

He felt a pain in his chest when he saw the familiar figure hunched in the well-crafted boat. He looked at the shoulders that were like his own but broader, the face that mimicked his severely.

Brother, he thought sadly, you must know better than to fish in the eye of the great storm.

He didn't pause to think about the wrongs his brothers had done to him and the hatred they'd shown him since his mother's death. He didn't stop to think about their sense of superiority and entitlement and their scorn for him. Instead he swam towards his brother because he knew he could save him.

Or at least try to.

He reached the side of the boat quickly and called to his brother. "You must not be out in the storm," he said.

His brother was afraid; he could see it in the way his body was tensed and his eyebrows knit together. His eyes were pleading.

"Come in the water," he said. "You'll be safe with me."

Thunder boomed overhead and a funnel cloud began to form. His hair was whipping into his eyes, spraying tiny droplets of water on his moist skin.

“The gods are angry,” his brother whispered. “But I cannot leave the boat and the catch. I have to bring it back to father.”

He reached his hand out. "Come in the water. You must trust me. Put your fears aside, brother."

His brother hesitated, then slipped into the water.

“We have to swim now,” he urged.

So they swam, he lithely and his brother not without struggle. They had not gotten far when they heard thunder boom again overhead and lightning hit the disturbed water like an exhibition of rage. They looked behind them to the boat they had left and watched the lightning strike again, charring the boat and the fish inside of it. The debris flew in all directions. A piece of wood landed next to them as the dead fish littered the angry water.

A choking noise came from his brother's throat.

"We have to keep swimming," he said gently. "It will be alright."

His brother shook his head, breathing heavily. "No. I cannot swim any longer. Not like you."

He looked at the piece of wood floating near them. "Here," he said, grabbing it. "Get on."

And so he pushed his brother who had wronged him and hurt him through miles of water without a malicious thought. He did not complain.

His arms began to ache dully and his calves seemed to scream but he pushed his brother on through the debris of dead fish floating around them.

He looked up into the eye of the storm, and as he did so, he felt something bump his foot.

Alongside him, a large scythe-like triangle broke the surface of the water and the fish began to disappear. He froze.

He had seen sharks before. They were regal, he thought, the lions of the sea, and he had the utmost respect for them. But he had never seen one this big and he had never stood between one and its food.

So he kept as still as he could, treading water. His brother began to shiver.

It bumped his leg again. The fish at the surface of the water were gone.

He had already made up his mind to give himself to the shark. Here, looking into the gaping maw of death, he was not afraid. He felt in fact a kind of pride at the opportunity to die a death as honorable as this.

To his brother he said, “Go. Swim to the shore. The shark is not for you.”

His brother shook his head, teeth chattering. “I cannot leave you.”

He pushed the piece of the boat and his brother on it away from him. “Go,” he said, finality in his voice.

He dove into the water and met the shark face to face.

It seemed to be grinning, revealing row upon row of endless razors for teeth. It was twice as wide as him and three times as long. He was not afraid.

In his hand he brandished a sharpened piece of wood he had taken from the boat.

It lunged at him and he bumped it on the nose with his fist.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he thought. It writhed disoriented and aggravated.

It lunged again and he spun over it, grabbed its dorsal fin, and wrapped his legs around it.

It thrashed around and his lungs began to scream for air as he fought it. It bucked, trying to throw him off of its back. It succeeded and he came up for air, gulping it in in large breaths.

He was not surprised when he felt its teeth sink into his leg. He was ready.

Pain was nothing to him. It was a separate, shameful thing and he stowed it away in the back of his mind. It was unimportant.

He dove back under, fist curled tight around the makeshift spear, and thrust it true into the shark’s heart. It thrashed again angrily, blood staining the water.

The last things he saw before he began to sink were the vague shapes of more sharks swimming towards the smell of the blood seeping out of his leg.


He woke sopping wet and confused in a golden hall.

Standing above him and discussing something in harsh whispers were two men and one woman.

The men were polar opposites, one grave-looking and garbed in a black cloak, and the other almost blinding in his brightness and beauty.

They held the woman between them, struggling and writhing like a shark. She was angry, her fluid hair dancing down her back and her blue eyes narrowed with rage. Her teeth were bared and pointed, razor-sharp, and water was dripping down her green-blue skirt.

“Silence, Chalchiuhtlicue,” the man with the bright eyes and golden robe commanded. “You have wronged us and you have wronged this man.”

“Get up, Tlamacazqui,” the golden man commanded.

He looked at the strange, powerful people. “That is not the name I was born to,” he said.

The golden man smiled. “But it is the name you shall take now. I am Tonatiuh, god of -”

“ - The sun,” Tlamacazqui finished. “I worship you often.”

Tonatiuh nodded. “Then you must know that this is Mictlantecuhtli, he who rules the underworld. We have witnessed your actions in the sea and together we have chosen to bestow upon you a gift of immortality. You may choose to take it, or you may choose to leave it.”

They wrestled to keep the thrashing woman between them still as she spat, “You wouldn’t dare invoke the wrath of Chalchiuhtlicue. The ocean, the storms, they are mine. You shall not have them. I know you, boy,” she said, mouth twisted, “I fought you beneath the sea. And I won.”

The golden man shook her angrily. “Not another word, Chalchiuhtlicue. You have done wrong to these people. All of the storms you have sent them, all of the death you have caused - and for what reason? Because you were angry that they did not worship you enough? You selfish child.”

She screamed, “I am not a child. I am the goddess of the sea and you cannot do this to me.”

Tlamacazqui stood. “It is you that caused all of the storms? So many of my people have died - you may have cost my brother his life -”

“He never loved you anyway,” she spat. “Don’t be foolish.”

“I am not like you,” he said. “I would not punish people for their wrongs when they may redeem themselves.”

Her body tensed and he saw the crest of an angry wave reflected in her eyes.

She broke free from the men and began to chant. Her eyes began to glow and the golden room began to shake. On the far side of the room, a giant wave was forming.

Tonatiuh held between his hands a golden orb of light. “Do not do this, Chalchiuhtlicue. You cannot come back from this.”

The wave rose more and began to move towards them slowly and menacingly.

Tonatiuh looked towards Tlamacazqui in the split second before the wave enveloped them both. He closed his eyes, felt the water fill his nostrils and surround him, cool on his skin like it used to be when he swam.

He found that he could breathe.

His eyes opened and he gasped, hands clenching into fists. His body tensed and he felt the water pulling towards him and away from her. He gathered it to him until it surrounded him like a giant fortress. And then he harnessed it, felt that it was his and his only, and shot it towards her. She was knocked off of her feet and into the back wall. He imprisoned her in an orb of water.

He was tired, and he slumped to the floor, beads of water dripping down his temples. Beside him, Tonatiuh was staring with bright eyes.

“You must accept the gift of immortality. You are the god of the ocean, of the storms. You are the one who will protect the people.”

Tlamacazqui nodded breathlessly. “I accept it.”

Credits:Coding by Forest.Story by User not found: khan.

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