Xochipilli

## Application Sheet

Xochipilli was a cream-and-orange male wolf with green eyes. He was born outside of the Domain, but he found his way to Xassa in the midst of the Hive Wars. He vanished from the pack in the aftermath of the Hive Wars, and hasn't been seen since. Xochipilli was created and RP'd by Koilada.

## Personality

* ***Wistful.*** Xochi is a wolf who constantly has his mind in his past; his fondness, his feelings, his regrets, all of it. Melancholy follows him as if it were a scent in his coat, and he spends most of his free time in quiet maudlin, his heart a sickening mix of sentimental and guilt-ridden. He longs for a time and a home that he’s left behind, and the wolves he adored with the happiness they brought.
* ***Sweet.*** Soft smiles and kind gazes are not a facade in this case; Xochipilli is a genuinely sweet wolf who finds some semblance of purpose in helping others, whether it be a shoulder to cry on, a source of reassurance, or simply an errand-runner. Even going out of his way to find gifts, anything he can do to make those he cares about feel good.
* ***Brave.*** Having spent a lot of his life in a war, Xochipilli has lost most non-emotional or interpersonal regards for danger. He will gladly charge into the flames, no matter what the consequence, to achieve what he wills - usually this is helping or fighting for others; if a packmate were to drop their favorite pebble down a ravine, you can bet Xo will be the first wolf braving the descent to retrieve it.
* ***Selfless.*** Xochipilli has so little regard for himself that it’s concerning. He doesn’t much see the value in himself, ever weighed down by his lack of self-worth, so he happily puts everyone and everything before his being, physically, mentally, and emotionally. While this selflessness is usually put to good use towards others, he very willingly does so as a detriment to himself and thus he comes off as very self-sacrificial.
* ***Modest and Easily-Flustered.*** Courteous and decent, Xochi is a wolf with a sense of proprietary that has left him with very little flirtatious experience with the opposite sex. Due to both his morals and lack of experience, he is very easily flustered by advances by interested parties, as well as being praised in general.
* ***Polite.*** You won’t find a wolf with better manners than this whitish wolf. Xochipilli tries his hardest to be courteous and accommodating with everyone he meets, even if they don’t extend the same to him. This is something he learned from someone he adored in the past, so he wishes to uphold her preference for polite mannerisms as best as he can.
* ***Upright and Honorable.*** Shame is what made Xochipilli run, and shame is what informed his honorable attitude today. Typically honest and genuine with everything but his own feelings, it’s a moral he extends outwards to others. He deeply wishes to make up for the past in some way, to use the life he deemed as pathetic for good.
* ***Humble.*** This male isn’t one to seek out praise or renown for his acts and accomplishments, he does what he does because he feels it is right, and nothing more nor less is needed to motivate him, aside from the lingering guilt he carries.
* ***Careful.*** Once a wolf who never looked ahead, Xochipilli is now a very careful wolf who tries to walk on eggshells, terrified of what may break. He is patient and tries his best to keep a cooler head than he used to, basing his mind in reality rather than desire... Whether he succeeds is another matter, but he tries.
* ***Distant.*** Both emotionally and physically, Xochi is a distant wolf. While he’s pleasant, treats everyone kindly, and will happily interact and converse with them, he’s built barriers he no longer wishes to open, feeling as if that breeze has passed, among believing he doesn’t deserve those connections after everything and fearing that getting close to him will wind up bringing their doom. Xo also shies away from being touched, and will only give in if it’s someone he really cares about, or if someone needs it.
* ***Hero-Complex.*** On the extreme end of this wolf’s selflessness is his hero complex. He wishes so dearly to do all he can to aid others and his loved ones that he needs to be in the fray, he feels that needs to save anyone and everyone no matter what; he brought death to Urraca, he took lives in battle, and now he desperately wants to make up for it. A tiny part of this may be to feel better about himself as well as his will to help. One of his most irrational traits, this usually appears when he is emotionally involved somehow, either by connection or empathy. This is one of the few things Xochi gets visibly passionate about.
* ***Vulnerable.*** Xochipilli is a wolf with a bruised heart and as such, it is very easily wounded. Emotional slights, jabs about his regrets, heartbreak via platonic or romantic relationships, all these he tends to be hit heavily by. His mental state is just as fragile and easily brought to turmoil as his emotional one; beyond the fear of his curse, guilt follows him everywhere he goes and he’ll often fall into melancholic phases of depression. However, he always masks a rattled mind and tumultuous heart well with his polite smiles and soft, cheery demeanor, so it may be hard to tell when he’s in such a state unless they either know him well, experience it themselves, or catch him without the mask.
* ***Overprotective.*** If Xochipilli cares about you, there’s a good chance he’ll be internally fretting at the first sign of harm or danger, often leading him to try and force his protection on them without their say in their own agency. He will also butt in to try and prevent potentially harmful situations and generally can fall into overbearing territory. His self-sacrificial nature plays into this very well, happily allowing himself to take hits for others in battle as well as shouldering blame or punishment in such situations to shield those he cares about.

## Pre-Group History

A stampede of sixteen paws sliced through the silence of the morning air just as the Spring sun carved the dawn through the sky; four pups, four friends, escaping the confines of their densite and the adults slumbering within to explore the world of dust and forest they inherited by birth. Not quite Juveniles, they expressed their youthful exuberance as all pups do - they tumbled and chased and nipped, sniffed and pawed; parent-free and a little too rowdy, it was only a matter of time before the ochre-colored male had knocked the night-furred female the slightest bit too hard, sending her careening down the incline they stood upon until she disappeared through the bushes below. She came to stop on the flatness of the flower-filled clearing, unaware of the branch of fate she’d just split. Blinking blearily with a groan, her nose tickled and twitched with a sneeze as the disrupted pollen invaded her nostrils and, unable to hold back, inhaled a mighty gulp of air before sending the gale whipping through the flowers before her.

Her eyes, teared from the effort, came to focus on a small, dark nose.

She blinked.

Rising to her paws, the dark pup caught a full view of white waves splashed with rust, collapsed in such a way that could only be described as “elegant” on a bed of blooms. Oddly, upon the stranger’s ribs perched a green, equally elegant-looking bird.

*What a pretty wolf...*

**“Look what you did, genius!”** She heard her smokey friend grumble from above, breaking her out of her reverie.

**“Aww come on, you know I didn’t mean to, Zozo!”** The voice of the ochre pup responded.

A feminine voice chirped in; **“*Ani!* Friends! Don’t fight now, we need to see if Palli is okay!”**

The dark female chuckled, how typical of them.

**“I’m fine!”** She shouted back, breaking her eyes from the pup, **“But you should all get down here and see this!”**

The gawking, discussing, and bantering that ensued had resulted in the two males darting, one very unenthusiastically, back to the densite of Azul to alert the adults, as well as be the first to receive a chewing-out for leaving in the first place.

The pups were pushed back as their leader and others crowded around the pup, talking in tones their ears were not privy to beyond a few whispers of *“kill him, he’s an outsider,”* and *“but look, the Quetzal perches, fearless, upon him, surely that’s a sign from the Gods?”*

As the discussion turned into an argument, the group of pups were herded away.

Hours later, it seemed like a decision had been made as a crowd formed around the healer’s den to glimpse and gossip over the stranger that had been brought to them. Their leader and elders willingly deciding to bring a stranger into the pack? It was almost unheard of! Especially then, with tensions on a breaking point between them and their longtime rival, Oraza.

*“What if he’s a scout, or a spy?”*

*“Nonsense; he’s only a pup!”*

Such gossip was swiftly chased away from the den mouth by a disgruntled healer.

Dehydrated, starved, and feverish, the pale pup’s awakening was slow. When he did, all questioning was met with answers of “I don’t know;”  it seemed the boy did not remember what happened, where he came from, nor even his own name. All he remembered was that he was running, he fell, then he woke up here.

Empty. Homeless. Without identity.

Who was he?

That den was the stranger’s home for the next moon. Verde was a matronly old healer, the best in the pack apparently, but she was also very, very strict. The newcomer, weak and confused as he was, had been restricted to the cave and forbidden to venture towards the mouth until he was strong enough to do so.

And that was driving the pups mad.

He knew that; he often caught their small faces attempting to observe him from every orifice in the den, and who could blame them for being curious? He was their discovery, after all, and besides that he was the first outsider they’d ever seen! Or at least, that’s what he grasped from their hushed excitement. But every time they peeked in through the opening, Verde would shout at the four and chase them, scurrying, back down the hilly path. However, these pups were stubborn; stubborn and cunning with that willful determination only children possess.

One day, towards the end of the moon, the cream male caught the pups again; this time, however, there were only two of them. They made a loud fuss of darting in and snatching some herbs off a stone, and just as predicted Verde gave a great crabby shout: “You little terrors! Give those back!” before charging after the smoke-coloured one and the clay-furred female in a fury.

Then there was quiet.

Quiet for ten seconds before he caught hushed voices and twitched his ear to the side to listen; he was as curious about them as they were him.

**“Okay Palli, now go and talk to him!”**

**“Huh?! Why me?”**

**“Because you’re a girl, duh! You can charm him!”**

**“What? Why can’t you charm him?!”**

**“*Mati* says I’ll charm all the *girls* when I grow up, not the boys!”**

**“And? What makes you think I can charm him? I don’t know how to be charming!”**

**“I’m telling you! You just gotta… Go in there and be pretty and sweet! You know, like normal!”**

A pause.

**“Ugh, okay okay! Fine!”**

**“Yes! You can do it! I believe in you!”**

The black-pelted female muttered something he couldn’t hear as she walked, eyes downward, into the den. When her gaze finally crept upwards she was close enough that he was hit with the blue of them, and the stranger felt himself freeze as their eyes connected.

Silence again.

The whitish pup remained still, unsure what to do or say, something the dark pup seemed to quickly read as she wiped the astonishment off her face and gave him a soft, warm smile and an equally warm **“Hello! I’m Papalli, but you can call me Palli, if you want.”**

It tickled his heart.

**“Hello…”** he replied quietly, after taking a second to find his voice, **“I… Don’t seem to have a name, so you can call me however you wish.”**

He didn’t know how long they’d been talking, but by the time Verde returned Papalli’s conversation had pulled a smile out of him; it was small, but as soft as her own. He hadn’t realized how… Lonely that moon had been. He was a stranger to loneliness as much as he was to everything else in this place, but now… That ache was clear in his heart, something Verde must’ve noticed when she began lecturing Papalli for yet again pestering her patient; he must’ve had the most miserable look on his face for her to allow the pup to stay with him while she went to speak to the Emperor.

It was that afternoon he was brought below the Sunstone as Azul’s white-furred leader gazed down at him, granting him a home and a name if he so willed it.

And he did, so very much.

He was given an Azulan name; Xochipilli, *“prince of flowers,“* so named after the regal way he was found. The Quetzal was an omen and it wanted him here, the Tlamas had decided, he would play a part in their future and thus they would raise him as a true-blooded Azulan.

Such expectations didn't have time to weigh on his heart, for Papalli happily greeted him with his new name before dragging him off to meet the other pups, who all gave him a hearty welcome and they, too, addressed him with the name.

*His name.*

For the first time in his short memory of himself, Xochipilli grinned.

His friends had become the most important part of his world by the time they were juveniles, each one of them having their own quirks that added perfectly to their little group.

Zozotimani, or Zozo as he’d come to be known, was the oldest of the group. Gruff and rough, his spikey fur fit his personality almost as much as his angled face and ever-frowned brow. Papalli had called him the “big brother” and although Xochi had no reference level for that, he agreed - he knew Zozo cared for them, even if he’d only admit it if it were squeezed out of him.

Papalli was the second-oldest and if Zozo was the big brother, then she was akin to the big sister. Smart, kind, caring, open, welcoming, soft, sweet… Okay, he could go on for quite a while about the night-coloured she-wolf, something Cozauh would pick at him for. Papalli wasn’t just nice, though, she was also sensible, tough yet retained a distinctly ladylike appearance, and displayed tranquil fury like no other wolf he’d seen… Not that he had experience there. She was also, he’d quickly come to find, the granddaughter of their leader, which perfectly informed her refined demeanour.

Cozauh was what Xochi imagined a little brother would be like: a pestering annoyance who delighted in pushing everyone’s buttons for fun. He was doted on by his beloved mother, who he clearly adored - Xochi wondered what that must be like. Despite this, he was older than the pale wolf. Coza also seemed to find teasing Xochi about his relationship with Palli the most amusing thing in the world, though the cream wolf had no idea why. He could do without the short jokes though - no, he does not only like Papalli’s company because she’s “shorter than him,” thank you very much!

And then there was Urraca. Every bit as kind as Papalli, but carried a rebellious edge that played perfectly into her adventurous spirit and impulsive determination. Zozo kept her out of trouble… Most of the time. They seemed to be very close.

As for Xochi? He was the youngest, and somehow he’d found himself in the role of peacekeeper alongside Papalli, though she had more sense than him, he’d wryly thought.

The days passed in bliss with no concern on his part, not on the pack tensions beyond his sight nor the wariness of the warriors and the intensifying of their training regiment. If he was honest, he barely noticed; the little dynamics and adventures shared between the young male and his friends had him slowly filling the emptiness in his chest; if this is what life was meant to be lived for, then he’d gladly do so. These bonds meant more to him than any ambition or desire, and if push came to shove, he’d do anything, absolutely anything for them. Death wasn’t a concept Xochi had thought too deeply about, but nevertheless he knew that he’d die for them without question if they needed it of him. That was a promise.

Unfortunately, that was one he’d never get to keep.

Xochipilli was ten months old when the tensions broke and he was suddenly thrown into the war that he never noticed - or perhaps ignored - building.

Their leader had been found murdered, his body desecrated as a clear declaration, forcing Papalli's father to the pack's helm and by daybreak, Xochipilli was drafted into battle training without even a breath’s time to question it. By his omen, they told him, this war must be his destiny - the timing was far too appropriate.

At least his friends were training by his side, he wouldn’t mind fighting in a war if it were them he was fighting with, and he said as much. Zozo called him crazy for saying so, exclaiming that *nobody* should be okay with this, and even Coza shot him a disappointed look. But in Xochi’s mind, they would work together, overpower the enemy, win the war, and then everything would go back to how it used to be.

Of course, it didn’t turn out that way. Three months in and the war still raged, and while Xochi and his friends still had yet to see the battlefield, it was wearing on all of them, but none more than Urraca. Zozo had become distant, focusing all his attention on training to become the perfect soldier to the point that not only was he practically ignoring them all, but he’d somehow become even more emotionally rigid, locking even Urraca behind a wall.

It was torture for her, Xochi knew that. She looked at him with the same eyes that he often caught himself watching Papalli with, and while he didn’t quite understand what that was or why he did it, he knew it was intense and important. So when she started disappearing for hours on end during training, nobody questioned it - she was probably just trying to spare herself the pain, Palli had theorised.

A moon later, not long before they were due to join the other warriors in combat, Urraca woke Xochi in the night with a proposition: her disappearances? She’d been secretly tracking the enemy’s leader, following his routine and she’d found a perfect opportunity. Every night, he’d bathe alone in the lake outside their territories; if they snuck up on him, they could kill him and win the war! Then everything could go back to normal, like he said.

Xochipilli, naive in the ways of war at the time, jumped at the idea, praising her cunning and declaring that they should bring the others too. Urraca stopped him, reminding him of Zozo’s stubborn dedication and that Papalli would never let them go; if they were going to do this, it had to be only them. Besides, he’s alone, right? No way that feeble old chief could beat them, not two of them at least.

Something tugged at Xochi’s chest, not telling the others, especially not Papalli felt… Wrong, but…

But Xochi was so allured by the idea of ending the war before things could change too much, to get back the life he’d grown to love four moons ago, that he pushed it to the shadows of his mind and nodded.

And so he followed Urraca right into the ambush. She hadn’t known she’d been seen, she hadn’t known they’d planned, and she didn’t know they’d be lying in wait as their leader bathed, ready to strike.

When Xochipilli awoke, it was to his left side in the dirt, a throbbing shoulder and neck, Papalli’s sobbing face, Cozauh’s grim silence, and Zozo’s unreadable gaze, jaw parted slightly as he stood over Urraca’s ravaged body.

That was when the young male finally learned that war was not a game.

Things weren’t the same after that, how could they be? Urraca was gone and Xochi… He’d helped lead her there. He had that feeling, and if he’d only listened and woken the others…

Palli didn’t blame him, he didn’t know why, but he certainly did.

And so did Zozo.

Sullen and silent, he was the only one who never came into the healer’s den to visit, a decision Xochi couldn’t fault him for and one he’d expected Papalli and Cozauh to follow, and the fact that they refused to renounce him… Xochi could see him grit his teeth at the mouth of the cave every time they did, holding back whatever it was he had to say. If he ever did speak his mind, the cream wolf never heard it, as he’d simply trail silently after the other two when they left, not even giving him so much of a glance.

Xochi would’ve preferred that he glared at him, shouted, anything other than that. Maybe he wanted to be punished for his guilt - some part of his conscience called for it - or maybe Zozo knew this was a much greater cruelty. Whichever the case, Xochi knew he deserved it.

It was worse after his neck healed and he was free to leave. Palli and Coza would spend time with him, despite their own sorrow; they had decided they needed to lean on each-other, that they would heal the wounds with time, that it was just a stupid, stupid mistake.

And not long after Zozo’s cold shoulder became too much to bear, Xochi confronted him with this, seeking forgiveness or at the very least acknowledgement. He finally got his reaction when Zozo snarled at him, asking how he could ever forgive him for what he did, how he could even think that he could just apologise and suddenly they’d be friends again, as if Urraca’s death was nothing. The guilt hit Xochi’s heart like a boulder, and he winced, admitting that he knew nothing he’d ever say could bring her back, that he was stupid and should’ve stopped her…

But she wouldn’t have stopped. She’d made her mind up and if he hadn’t gone, she would’ve walked right into it anyway; all she wanted was Zozo back.

That was the wrong thing to say, innocent as he meant it, for Zozo shouldered his own guilt. The large grey wolf gave a great snarl and launched himself at the smaller male, pinning him in an instant and snapping, cursing him and spitting threats of death. He could hear Papalli shouting for him to stop, and then as quickly as he’d been pinned, the weight was slammed off him by an ochre blur. Xochi huffed as he staggered to his paws, Palli resting against his side to help as Cozauh struggled to press Zozo to the ground.

**“Stop this! Do you really want to lose another friend?!”** Papalli had shouted.

Zozo snapped back; **“How can you defend him? Urraca’s *dead* because of him! How can you still call him a friend after that?!”**

**“Zozo, it was a mistak-”**

**“No! The only mistake we made was taking *him* in! If we’d left him to die, she’d still be here!”**

He was right… And the weight of his guilt forced Xochi to the dirt again. He didn’t see what kind of look Palli had given him, but whatever it was, Zozo renounced them for it. If Coza and Papalli were still going to support him, then he would no longer support them; none of them would be his friends.

Their silence told all, and Zozo left, cursing every one of them as he did. The fact that they refused to abandon him even when he insisted they do afterward only made Xochipilli feel all the guiltier.

The war continued for the next year, and Xochi, burdened by his ever-present guilt, gladly fought on the front lines. Barely registering the lives he took, Xochi just wanted to end the suffering of his friends, that’s all, and while he’d once said that he’d gladly die for them, the whitish male now hoped that he would, as if doing so would somehow make amends and fix everything. It would certainly help Zozo find some manner of peace, and then… The stormy wolf could be with the others again, friends like they were before he stumbled into their lives and shattered them.

He, Papalli, and Cozauh had only grown closer throughout the ordeals of war. The fear of loss and protective camaraderie bound them together like glue, as had their shared experience on the battlefield. His relationship with Papalli, in particular, had become notably intense - somehow, they’d become each-other’s comfort and confidant, sharing a den when the nightmares stole their sleep and spoke whispers of the most hidden alcoves of their hearts. Not that they didn’t share comfort with Coza, but this was different; it was strong, pulling and tugging them together as if they were magnets, yet also peaceful, ease and calm would coat the other the moment their pelts touched and Papalli’s sleeping form, curled into his stomach, seemed to be the only thing that gave both wolves dreamless nights after the terrors woke them. It felt warm, and it felt right. It was something he couldn’t put a name to, nor something he had the time to ponder on; it was just *them*, and that’s all he needed it to be.

Xochipilli would die for his friends, but somewhere inside he knew he’d tear the world apart for the night-coloured she-wolf if she so requested.

Skilled a warrior as he was and carrying the blessing of the Quetzal, he was a natural pick to lead the regiment that escorted the Emperor to the battlefield, intent on muddying his paws as much as his soldiers. Upon seeing the worry drowning Papalli’s face as they departed, he’d given her a soft smile and spoke honey-warm words of reassurance; everything will be okay.

That was the second time Xochipilli found his left side in the dirt, the result of an outmaneuvered attack strategy, pinned by two Orazan reavers as they slashed his hind leg open, fighting uselessly to free himself as his leader, the father of the wolf he cared for most, who he’d been tasked to protect, charged into his attackers. The three were sent tumbling down the rocky canyon they’d battled on.

Xochi let out a mighty howl of alert before slowly limping down the cliff path. He was bleeding out and his mind was hazed but the soldier did not care, he needed to get down there, he needed to help his ruler, he…

Was too late.

Xochi watched pathetically as Papalli cried into her father’s fur, longing to go to her, comfort her, but his shoulders were too weighed by failure to move, so Coza had taken his place instead. Zozo’s eyes burned into him from the sidelines as he, sullen-voiced and green gaze to the ground, gave his report of events to the generals and once they left, the towering male raised a voice.

**“Do you regret it yet?”**

Coza raised his head from Papalli’s, grey eyes narrowed, **“Zozo, not now.”**

**“I told you,”** he bit back, **“I told you saving him was a mistake. Look, he’s taken *another* life away from us.”**

Xochi’s teeth clenched as he turned his head away, hot eyes avoiding the stormy male as his broken voice strained: **“Please Zozo, I…. Don’t…”**

**“Blessing of the Quetzal! He’s no blessing-”**

He could hear paws approaching; they sounded like Zozo’s. As his green gaze peeked up from a bowed head, a toothed spire was forced, tearing, through his heart as venom spat:

**“He’s a *curse.*”**

He felt as if his heart were bleeding, pins pricking painfully into the muscle as he felt it beat through his entire body. The words repeated in every beat; *A curse… A curse...*

**“Zozo… Shut up.”** A small voice whisped quietly to their ears.

**“What was that?”**

Suddenly, there was a warmth to Xochi’s chest as a small body pressed its side into him; **“I said *SHUT UP!*”**

Tears still flowed, staining her fur, yet still Xochipilli had never seen Papalli so angry as she sobbed.

**“Don’t you dare say such things! It’s this war that’s the curse! I hate it! With every fibre of my being, *I hate it!*”**

The stinging hotness that had been burning the scarred male’s eyes finally began to fall, obscuring his eyes and mind to the confrontation that followed. Why? Why did he have to hurt them all like this? Papalli meant well with her words but… Deep down, he knew Zozo was right; he was a curse on their lives. He’d helped kill Urraca and brought them pain, driving Zozo away in the process and now… He was too weak to protect their ruler, and now his dear one was suffering for it.

She came to him that night, he wished she didn’t, but she did. All he managed was to cry into her neck, staining her beautiful fur with tears as he blubbered apologies and silently denied himself her forgivenesses.

He was sick of heartache, not for himself, but all the emotional wounds his friends had been saddled with as a result of this war and the curse he’d inflicted on them.

So after Papalli's last remaining family, her uncle, took the throne, Xochi decided he was going to end it.

Not since Urraca had he been this daringly impulsive, but he was so very tired of the war that he no longer cared. He could give one devastating blow, one that may be the turning point for Azul, and one that could very well kill him.

That was the luckiest outcome, he’d decided.

So as his clay-furred friend had once done but without the idealistic naivete, he tracked and watched and plotted, carefully and observantly strategising his plan to take down Oraza’s greatest asset and key to nearly every win they had: their king’s son, the royal tactician.

It was an ambush well deserved, an assasination on the lake that had taken Urraca’s life so many moons ago, and the metallic taste of blood turned to sugar on his tongue for it.

His guards captured him, of course, delivering him to their leader for his ruling. To his dismay, he was not put to death, but instead he was taken prisoner and shoved into a dank, musty cave, sealed in by a boulder so no light may touch his eyes. They tried to wait information out of him, and when that didn’t work, they began applying a motivation that was a little more *physical,* tearing open his old scars when he refused to divulge Azul’s military affairs.

Still he refused. Xochi had decided long ago that he’d die for his friends, and he’d gladly take their secrets to the grave with him.

He didn’t know how many days or moons had passed when the warchief visited him, and one blurry-eyed look at the grizzled wolf was all he needed for recognition.

**“You killed my friend”** was the raspy, croak-voiced reply he gave to the elder male upon his questioning.

The interrogator looked down at the dusty-furred wolf, whose coat was caked in grime and clumps, with dark eyes brimmed with an all too familiar emotion; **“And you killed my brother, so now we’re even.”**

Xochi had never considered the effects of the lives he took during the war, to him they were just a roadblock, an enemy that needed to be cut down and defeated. Not once had he ever thought of them as wolf, that killing them might be taking away someone else’s Urraca, or a Papalli’s father. Stricken by the thought, Xochipilli couldn’t find a response in his throat to the warchief’s words, so as he normally did, he fell into silence as the interrogation continued.

It was then that the chief maimed his vision, slashing and avaging the flesh enough that he tore the young soldier’s eye, stripping it of its sight and plunging his right into eternal darkness.

And so it continued; every time they started to heal, they’d ravage the wounds. The pain was a blur, and Xochi couldn’t find the will to care. He was exhausted, his guilt was a burden he could no longer carry. He just wanted it to be over. Maybe he’d said it in his sleep, Xochi didn’t know, but somehow… Somehow they figured him out, read him well enough to discover the one thing that would motivate him, and his heart sank through the mud when Cozauh was tossed into his cave, beaten and bloody and so very near death, as a bargaining chip.

On the second night, Coza revealed that he wished to rescue him; they were miserable without their friend and loved him too greatly to succumb to the fear that the Orazans had slaughtered him on that eve.

It was too much, he couldn’t let the umber wolf die, he wouldn’t put Papalli through yet another loss. Coza begged him not to, but by what was presumably the fifth day of his capture, the deathly weakness his friend projected solidified his resolve, and so, ignoring his soft pleas, Xochi gave in... On the condition that they free his dear friend. It was a long shot, a dangerous risk, but the dirt-ridden wolf was desperate.

The warchief kept his word, to their surprise, but cruelly rubbed dirt in the wound of Xochipilli’s betrayal by ordering Cozauh to tell Azul what he’d done when he returned.

Satisfied that Coza was safe, Xochi asked the chief if he’d kill him now.

He laughed in his prisoner’s face, the dark baritone pricking his fur on end. Being forced to return to Azul, his most beloved home and adored ones knowing what he did? That would be a worse punishment than death, and it was what he deserved.

The chief removed the boulder from the prison, leading his capture into the sun he’d not seen in so long that it was torture on his remaining eye. He was abandoned at Azul’s border within the eye of the guard, but Xochipilli couldn’t face them, not this time; he was too much of a coward for that. He dared not think of Papalli’s glistening blue eyes as he returned a traitor, the shame was already unbearable and he hadn’t yet set foot in the territory.

So when their gazes met his, he ran.

And as if fate were laughing at him, starved and dehydrated from a near week of running, Xochi found himself fainting from exhaustion on the doorstep of another pack; Xassa.

## Group History

Shortly after his arrival, Xochipilli was witness to the marriage of the Cyrus's brother Anshar and the daughter of a problematic neighboring familial pack, Majavis. Still, he didn't necessarily find himself comfortable amongst the big pack events, and often, when he felt claustrophobic, he would travel to Lake Lagash to swim and cool off in the lake's waters.

He lived a quiet life in Xassa, often isolating himself, but occasionally gaining company (intentionally or not) from other wolves like Vidar. One of the Xassans, however, thoroughly enjoyed his company and often tried to brighten his outlook on things, like the cold and snow of winter - Charlotte. Lottie, as she was known, had enthusiasm enough to help Xochi feel a bit brighter about the changing seasons.

When spring arrived, Xochi volunteered to join Nineveh and a patrol of his packmates (Ajax, Malia, Caldera, Io, and Anshar) to give aid to Riverfell, who had been attacked by the Hive. Unfortunately, the patrol were attacked by a vast group of Hive wolves and had to run for their lives. By some miracle, the patrol reached the mountains and the Hive stopped chasing them...they seemed to be guarding something.

In any case, Xochi and his packmates didn't reach Riverfell. They returned home, unsure of what to do next. He didn't want to fight the Hive, anyway.

Perhaps that's why he was so terrified when Nineveh announced, several weeks later, that their services were needed in Fellfang - to free their allies from where they were trapped on their island home. Shiantara, one of their wolves, had managed to break through and reach Xassa for aid. But Xochipilli was not pleased to hear that the whole pack would be leaving. He'd had his fair share of bloodshed.

He spoke to Lottie, telling her to stick close by his side. He'd make sure she was safe. True to his word, both Xochi and Lottie survived the battle. There wouldn't be much time before they were off to battle again, though. This time, for the last time.

Xochipilli fought with the rest of the Domainians against the Queen's forces in the final battle.

*After the final battle, an exhausted and war-weary Xochi limps through the battlegrounds to find his packmates. For a soldier who has lost so much to war since adolescence, symptoms of blood loss are less important than assuring the safety of the few wolves he's come to care for, and his reckless disregard for his wounds eventually lead him to collapse before he has a chance to see them.*

He wouldn't return to Xassa. Nobody knew what became of him, but instead, he vanished, another soul lost to the war without explanation, or closure. Perhaps he still lives, beyond the Domain, but nobody knows.

## Trivia

* Xochi believes in the Azulan Gods, the Sun Serpent and the Quetzal in particular, and still prays to and engages in rituals for them. He is starting to incorporate Xerxes into his worship, however.
* He often unintentionally slips into Azulan vocabulary, such as calling friends “ani,” applying the affectionate suffix “nitu” to the names of those he adores, and the respectful “otyl” at the end of the names of admirable wolves - those much older or highly outranking him. This is a habit he might not be able to kick, as he’s still deeply grateful and respectful towards the culture he came from, as well as being his last connection to home.
* Due to past trauma, Xochi hates the dark as well as has a fear of small, confined spaces. Because of this claustrophobia and distaste, he refuses to use a den and sleeps under the stars instead. He is also very unwilling to enter the caves.
* Xochi feels like his scarred right side represents all his failures and the guilt he carries.
* He couldn't care less if he dies; in fact, he thinks it might be the best outcome for him. While he doesn't outright *seek* his own death, he won't fight to prevent it should fate lead it to him, unless it's for someone else's sake.

## Quotes

* "Lottie...listen, tomorrow...you should stay close. I'll make sure you'll be safe, but...Lottie, if things take a turn for the worst you need to run." (to Lottie before the battle against the Hive with Fellfang, *If Things Go Wrong*)

## External Links

* Official Application Sheet
* Koilada's deviantART Gallery