Tlaloc

Do you hear the thunder as a promise of life, or as the sound of the mountain breaking under the weight of his anger? He demands the tears of children before he will release a single drop of rain, for in his cold, grotto-palace, sorrow is the only currency that matters. He is the Lord of the Four Quarters, ruling the lightning that strikes without warning and the floods that wash away the labor of years. "Tears are the seeds of the harvest," whisper the ancients as they offer their most precious to the deep. He is the patron of the farmer and the drowning victim, a god who proves that fertility is often a byproduct of suffering. To him, the earth is a thirsty mouth that must be fed before it will feed you back.