The acolyte awoke to the sudden sensation of a sharp pain in his ribs.
Groaning, he opened one eye to find his face pressed against a stone floor.
"WELL!?!" an angry voice demanded.
Looking up, he saw the voice's owner which might have been the Tlatoani.
It was hard to tell - his head was pounding.
Three consectutive festivals to Quetzalcoatl, and the planners of each strove to outdo the last.
What was that drink at dinner anyway?
The man above him did not look happy.
He did look wavy.
Very wavy - and blurry.
The acolyte wasn't aware of the Tlatoani having a twin brother but there appeared to be an identical man standing right next to him.
One of them - he couldn't tell if it was the wavy angry man or his blurry twin - kicked him in the ribs again.
The voice in his head said "Yes, my wise and fearless leader, I am here to serve you and deliver the report of this afternoon's activities," but whoever was in control of his mouth ponounced the words more akin to "Yalanrgahumna…."
Some other men grabbed his arms and hauled him to his feet, which was good because he would not have been able to stand on his own.
The acolyte lost all sense of time amid the blows, and couldn't even tell who was hitting him half the time, but somehow, eventually, he reported all the activites of Atzlan's people that afternoon.
Perhaps they'll let me go now, he thought just bfore passing out, or at least give me another drink.