Mixcoatl, The Badlands King
Tezcatlipoca's children squabbled. His chosen heir, a son he'd been trying to groom to be his replacement since birth, was hesitant and soft. Fancied himself a poet, a peacekeeper, rather than a king. For his weakness, his sister plotted against him, deciding that she would take the place of her undeserving brother- to her, it was utterly inconceivable that he would not want to play his part in the plan their father had meticulously crafted.
Cubs grew into temperamental teens, who in turn grew into polar opposites as adults. As their aging father snapped and snarled at his kids, he knew well he didn't have much time left. His son needed to cement his place as the rightful king soon.
But death comes for us all in the end.
The Warrior King died as he lived, refusing to let old age claim him in peaceful rest. When the chasms that consumed the land once more sundered the earth of his pridelands, he prepared to take on the role he had done cycle after cycle. Though just as soon as he had revived the Godly Vessel, he sacrificed himself to spare his thankless children a violent death at the hands of the serpent's minions.
Neither of them would take his place. A stranger from the depths of the Badlands road in with the scorching wind only a few months before Tezcatlipoca would meet his end. They made friends with the Uncertain Prince, their quiet and contemplative personality meshing well with his much more hesitant one. As their bond grew closer, he shared his doubts with them, both in regard to his capacity to be king as well as his worry that his sister would only bring more war and death than their father had.
They took his burden. The Prince gave his crown to them willingly, announcing such in the aftermath of the Warrior King's demise. Finally, he would be free of the life that had been thrust upon him. His sister mocked him, screaming at him for his perceived cowardice. Did he truly expect this complete stranger to not only win the favor of the pride, but to best her? She snarled in wretched contempt, throwing her challenge forth.
The Wanderer accepted.
Their duel was set to the rising of the sun. The Usurper's wrath made her wild, her strength her most prominent trait. Through a twist of divine fate, if not direct intervention itself, the Wanderer managed to win. Their stoic face stared down at her enraged, yet tired one, both contestants covered in scarlet blood. Though they could've- and perhaps should've- killed her then and there, they spared her. The crown was theirs, and the defeated former heir was left to writhe in her own loss.
Now, they take hold of the pride as its proper King. Mixcoatl knows well that the road ahead is long and daunting. They must wear the mantle of the Warrior King and continue on from where he'd been felled, going down the path of a destiny they had willingly thrust themself into without any formal training. The former Prince does his best to guide them, content now with the role of an Advisor rather than an heir. Together, they'll make it through.
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>As a new member of the pride, Mixcoatl was often referred to simply as the Wanderer. No one was even sure they were going to stick around
>Neighboring prides had spoken of a Half-Shadowed Envoy, stalking the outskirts of their lands and imparting warnings of inevitable doom. Though the denizens of this pride had never seen this supposed Envoy, some wonder if they were one and the same. The Badlands King offers no insight
>Their shadows were purged in the divine fire of Kinghood
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