Post by Yves on Jan 29, 2009 21:55:28 GMT -5
Name: Maximillian Tristonette
Gender: Male
Age: 21 (Honestly, I don't know how animals age in Redwall. Since rats typically live 2-4 years, this is obviously unreasonable if the books follow that model, and I'm more than glad to change it. However, I don't want a 1 year old if Mr. Jacques slowed the aging process xP)
Species: Black Rat
Occupation: At the moment, wanderer. The instant he comes into contact with a suitable and cooperative PC villain, however, he will be a loyal henchman.
Physical Appearance:
Maximillian is out of place among his fellow rats. He looks more like a mouse, and an unusually cleanly one at that. His fur is mostly white, excepting a two slight black spots on the outer sides of his hind legs. The coat is soft, but silky, like that of a Dibbun which has just grown its mature coat. His whiskers are long, and unusually thick and white, so that they gleam, star-like, in the slightest light. As to his face, there are probably baby moles with more scars. It is thin, unimposing, almost delicate. Delicate is just the word for Maximillian. His whole body exudes humble civility. Even his tail, that hideous badge of rats everywhere, is a healthy pink, like his paws. A very fine layer of velvety hair cover both the paws and the tail.
Where clothes are concerned, Maximillian is dreadfully normal, or at least he would be, if he lived in some remote city, instead of among vile camps of vicious vermin. For the most part, he wears a sleeveless red-brown leather vest, which ties together at the middle, and falls to about his hip. Under this, a pine-green shirt shows at the chest, pokes under his vest, and extends to his wrists. Around his neck, he ties a black cloth, which is something between a short, wide cape, and a long shawl. This covers a burlap sack, which he carries on his back. Maximillian, like most rodents, has no foot-wear.
Apart from his almost pretentious lack of vermin-affects, Maximillian has very few unique features. Unlike so many of his kindred, he has no scars, no brands or missing eyes, save his left ear, which is slashed very thinly through the middle, running from the hole of the ear-canal to the tip of the ear. The cut is so thin, that a superficial, almost transparent layer of scar tissue has grown up between the two halves. Because of this, the ear usually looks perfectly normal, a slight stiffness notwithstanding. The scar is only visible when a bright light silhouettes the rat, in which case the tissue covering the cut is so transparent, that it looks as though there's no separation at all.
Possessions
Maximillian is a good boy scout. In his various sacks and bags, most of which are under his shawl, he usually has a huge variety of items, including a store of emergency rations, enough cloth for a splint or several bandages, a variety of sedatives and poisons, and some herbal concoctions for desalinizing sea-water and sanitizing (“purifying,” as the monks put it) river-water.
In terms of weapons, Maximillian prefers his sabre. It fits into a simple, unpretentious gray-brown scabbard. The sword itself is beautifully well-kept, and very rich, especially for someone of Maximillian's dust-and-dirt taste. The hilt is made of silver, except for the edges, which are decorated with a thin, golden design. The actual blade is, of course, made of steel, but it is so well-made and polished, that it gleams with all the magnificence of silver, which is complimented by the swirling pattern of lines and spiral dots throughout the lower portion. The sabre is short and thick, made to be strong. It is single-bladed, and ends in a curve on the bladed side, although the blunt end is straight, in the style of a Napoleonic dragoon's sword.
Maximillian received this weapon early in his life, while he lived in a small village among mice who he still, even in the latter days of his evil, considers with some affection. As his most valuable piece of propety, and his only relic from that happy time, this sword is Maximillian's most treasured possession, and he goes to great lengths to protect it. He rarely takes it out of the scabbard, except when he intends to kill or deeply impress. For most other fights, he uses either a simple dagger, or short sword, which he keeps in “hilt pockets” on the under-side of his vest.
Personality:
Among his friends, Maximillian pretends to be something less than a gentleman, but something infinitely more than vermin. He is polite, but shy, extremely well spoken, (although occasionally verbose), but usually quiet. There is no remarkable dialect to his canter, and he speaks with admirable precision and poise. The frown, rather than the smile, is the exception with Max. Being resourceful and helpful, even brilliant when he can be, seem to be his chief ends. He tries to be the good lieutenant.
However, the real Maximillian is much more of a rat than anyone would guess. At heart, he is a sadist. He revels in killing, enjoys no sound more than a whimper, and has no pleasure like a game of cat and mouse. He steals what he does not want, murders those who do not threaten him, kidnaps children whose parents have no ransom to pay. He is childishly gleeful at the prospect of torture. In effect, he is truly the stereotypical villain, a single trait notwithstanding—egotism. Maximillian, despite all his faults, is humble. He does not seek power through underhanded plots, or, indeed, at all. Money, comfort, and pleasure are all mere trinkets in his eyes.
No, Maximillian does not seek respect or fear from the masses, love from women, authority over governments, or any of the desires so often associated with tyrants. All the emotional comfort he desires is esteem from “the boss.” His goal is more to find some chieftain, or warlord, someone in charge with just the visions he himself so notably lacks, and to serve that lord. He finds a niche where he can kill, be an active, foot-soldier villain, all while impressing that one master, and coming to be his (or her) right-hand rat.
Strengths:
~Swordsman: Maximillian is not the greatest blade-user to ever grace the Earth. He prefers flight to fight, and subtle manipulation to brute force. On the other hand, he is hardly a fool with the blade, and he can handle himself well enough. His style is very defensive. It is not fancy, or beautiful, but with most people, it gets the job done, given a long enough fight. All that said, Maximillian truly shines in knowing how to use the blade against those incompetent to stop it, or against those who have been so wounded that they can no longer defend. He is a master at bladed torture, at inflicting pain, at knowing where to hit when to achieve maximum, sadistic effect.
~Superb Actor: Maximillian possesses an unusual level of self-control, and a keen mind for affects. This, combined with an unnerving insightfulness to the feelings and thoughts of those around him, renders the rat an effective liar.
~Survivalist: Maxmillian is not a great alchemist. He cannot bring the dead to life, or cure cancer. He does, however, have a basic understanding of what accounts for medicine during the Redwall Medieval period. He knows how to treat various wounds, and he has the supplies to do so. He understands sedatives, poisons, and, to a certain degree, “purifiers,” (herbal mixtures used for the sanitation of wounds, water, and so forth).
~Malleability: It is not difficult to satisfy Maximillian. Give him a master, a harvest of victims, and the basic tools of survival, and he will be happy. As such, he is not bound to any given area, any given life style, or even to people in general. Masters are easy to come by, and anyone and everyone can be a victim. This, combined with his ability to survive almost anywhere in the wilderness, makes it easy enough for him to retreat from conflicts that get too messy for him. It also facilitates effective guerrilla warfare.
~Shrewd Sadist: Maximillian is very good at causing pain, emotional, mental, and physical. He understands how to use the blade in just the right way to cause the most pain, without actually killing the victim. He understands the heart and the brain, and how to break them.
Weaknesses:
~Outcast: Maximillian is not a normal rat, and his failure to behave as vermin behave alienates him from the more straight-forward of his race. As such, it can be difficult for him to integrate himself into a given horde. Even if the master accepts him for his talent, he is rarely popular among the army, and this can be a liability for him if he does not watch his back, and keep himself from depending on anyone in the army.
~Known-Liar: Although Maximillian can be charming at first glance, everyone who gets to know him eventually reaches the same conclusion: There is not one creature on this Earth more putrid than this lump of refuse stuffed into a gentleman's costume. Once this reputation gets around, Maximillian immediately becomes the rat no one can trust. This being the case, he operates best among strangers, enemies who haven't yet come to recognize him. Since he usually works under a single warlord for long periods of time, this can be a serious disadvantage, especially since so many of his strategies rely on deceit.
~Mediocre Combatant: Swordsmanship may be among Maximillian's strengths, but if he is ever without sword, or even if he meets anyone with unusual skill, he is an impotent fighter. He is small, untalented, and unimaginative. Even with his sword, he fights a defensive game by the book, which, to the skilled fighter, is easy enough to penetrate.
~Trusting Servant: If our rat is Hell's slime to the rest of the world, he is Heaven's soap for his master. He is loyal, unquestioning, and trusting. He is not prone to suspecting ill from his vile lords. If any one of these creatures ever decided that it was time for Maximillian to die, he might not even try to stop it, even if he was fortunate enough to find out. Considering the people he works for, this is a very dangerous trait indeed.
~Risk-taker: Maximillian usually lives a very conservative life-style, but when he gets into his environment, when he has Dibbuns to behead, he can often lose sight of everything but that one all-important job. This can blind him to obvious dangers, and tempt him into risks he would not ordinarily take.
~Allergic to peanuts, walnuts, and oats: Maximillian is severely allergic to the major staples of non-carnivorous animals. This forces him to search much harder for food if he wants to forage, and to hunt if he cannot do that. Also, this provides a convenient and easily accessible poison to anyone wishing to do the rat harm.
History:
When Maximillian was born, all he knew was his white mother, and the twelve siblings who shared her with him. From the beginning, he was behind the other rats. He was not a runt; the runts died very early on. He was simply not as motivated as the others. To the immense distress of his mother, he was often distracted, distant as infants should not be. While the others fed ravenously from her side, he picked at the milk, drinking his fill, but slowly, even pausing occasionally to stare at something in the distance. As a result, he was always small.
This pattern continued, as Maximillian grew into the bright years of childhood. He was unusually gentle for a rat. He accepted his role as bottom of the family's hierarchy without more than a single fight, which he lost in a matter of seconds. He was always quick to submit, never violent, never risky. This alarmed his mother, but it infuriated his father. To cure this fault, the father chose this son to accompany him on a pirating voyage, while the mother and the other children remained on the coast.
When Maximillian boarded the ship, he was a mere pup, a twelve-year old. The crew treated him like free labor is usually treated. He was abused, slighted, and all to his never-ending submission. The more his father demanded that he fight back or suffer more, the more he suffered. He was a veritable martyr for those few months.
Then, on the return voyage, the rats lost a sea-battle. The ship was sunk, and the victors, mice from a coastal village, slaughtered most of the crew, including our rat's father. Because of his youth, they spared Maximillian and took him prisoner. However, after scrutinizing their catch, the mice decided that this rat was capable enough as far as intelligence and skill went, but his personality rendered him absolutely harmless. They took him into their society, reared him, taught him everything that would eventually make him such a capable henchman. He learned to heal with herbs, how to treat broken bones and fevers, how to travel without detection, and above all, how to handle a sabre. While he lived with the mice, he was peaceful, well-fed, well-taught, and even generally liked.
However, the day came when it was obvious that this rat was no mouse, and had no place in this society. He was the first to recognize it. He missed his mother, and he missed the lands he had grown up in. Although the mice told him not to go, that if he did he would almost certainly be killed, their pleas were half-hearted at best. He was so obviously a rat at this point, that they feared his once cordial personality might mature into that of a true rat, and turn on them.
So, with the village sabre as a parting gift, Maximillian made his way back into the badlands he grew up in. He quickly found a sedate community of rats, and settled down. Despite his quirks, he found a wife, and built himself a small den. Life was difficult, but he enjoyed the simplicity of it, and for a time, he was happy.
Then, the infamous General Charonne, the female rat of a vermin-lord, marched through the town. Her army was already massive, and her name well-known. Everyone knew that she had come for recruits, willing or unwilling, and that their options were to flee immediately, join her army, or die very painfully. Maximillian, ever submissive, did not take long in joining. His wife, a more natural rat, looked forward to the blood-shed.
For the first time in his life, Maximillian was forced into combat. Although he had trained extensively under the mice, he had virtually no actual experience, and the psychological horror of battle terrified him. He could hardly force himself to watch, much less fight. Charonne did not ignore this. Maximillian was beaten severely for insubordination, even to the point of fainting. No matter the consequences, however, he could never force himself to go to battle. He perceived that his options were to flee, or to die.
So, one night, he rose from his make-shift barracks, snuck beyond the perimeter of his camp, and very nearly escaped. However, he did not go alone. He made the mistake of waking his wife, and once she realized what they were doing, she stopped, drew her axe, and told him that she at least was loyal to the great Charonne, and that if he wanted to leave, he would have to deal with her. This was the breaking point for Maximillian. It was him or her. She was not skilled with her weapon, and a clever trick with the sabre, and her axe was out of hand. Another flick, and her throat was open.
No one knows how long Maximillian stayed outside that night, but he was still at camp, in his bunk even, the next day. He had not hidden the corpse, and his white fur was covered with the blood. He was quiet, distant, not sad, not angry, but simply removed from the group. He admit to the crime, calmly, and with his usual poise. Outrage was the immediate result among the army. Although Charonne's army was a miserable, heartless band of marauders, they, like every vile horde, mafia, and band that had preceded them, intuitively recognized the importance of internal trust, the idea that they could at least depend on each other. They wanted him dead. Charonne disagreed. She, correctly, saw this as a sign of improvement. She ordered him to see her.
During their audience, Maximillian was quite as submissive and polite as he had ever been. He simply explained that he had attempted desertion, that his wife had tried to stop him, and so he killed her. Then, for reasons he wouldn't or couldn't explain, he went back to his bunk.
Charonne listened intently throughout the interview, just as calm and polite as he. She was uncharacteristically gentle. When it was over, however, she ordered his execution. She allowed him to retain his leather vest for protection, and returned his sabre, confiscated for herself long ago for its beauty. She then ordered that a single weasel of a sergeant, the loudest mouth calling for Maximillian's head, cut him down.
This time, Maximillian wasted no time with disarming tricks, or quick jabs to the throat. He went straight for the leg, and had the incompetent lower-officer on his back before they had even crossed blades. From there, Maximillian began the killing that would start him on a long and infamous career as Charonne's chief expert on torture, and executioner. He started with small slashes at the hands and feet, then suddenly went for the eyes, blinding the now writhing rodent. From there, he mocked the weasel, laughing, spitting, jabbing, always with the air of his usual pleasant, cheerful self. He stabbed randomly, broke bones, tore at older wounds, until the rodent had hardly any life left to struggle with. At that point, Maximillian finished with a precise, and nauseatingly graphic evisceration that forever cemented his reputation in the horde.
Charonne immediately promoted the conscript to the dead sergeant's rank, and he rose up from there, until he was the general's closest lieutenant. He worked as a spy, an advisor, an executioner, anything he wanted. He was trusted, rewarded, even admired by his commander, and he quickly came to appreciate that. After his wife's death, he had held no affection for anything or anyone, save his own sadistic pleasure and memories. Now, he had Charonne, a living, breathing idol and master to attend to.
This life continued for Maximillian, until a fateful siege of a small city-state in the north. The resident rodents were small enough, and their castle was simple enough, that Charonne decided to simply lay waste to the walls, rather than wait for their victims to starve. She led the charge, scaling the wall fearlessly like the goddess she fancied herself. Before she had even gotten off her ladder, a sword was in her chest, and she was dead. The rest of the army continued the siege, and even eventually came to victory, but the losses were so substantial, that after plundering, the once great horde disbanded, and each went on to their own fates.
For Maximillian, that fate was lonely, and painful. He wept over Charonne, a singular breach in his characteristic stoicism. He wandered aimlessly, alone, for weeks afterward, surviving off these roots, and those mice, but even the latter killings brought him little pleasure. He was forced to conclude that he could no longer be happy unless he was serving some vile vermin-lord, and after he had reflected for long enough to clear his paralyzing sloth of a depression, he set about finding a new army.
For years, he has done this, roaming from army to army, but even to this day, he has not found the glory and the excitement he enjoyed under Charonne. He is loyal enough to his various masters, but he has always grown bored, and left. Today, he continues to seek out some new niche for him to fill.
~Excerpt from Fieuline's autobiographical journal, date unknown~
“When I met Maximillian, all my previously concieved ideas of vermin were shattered. Here was someone entirely different from my society. Here was someone who had lived his own life, had fought his own battles, and who was, on the whole, utterly likable. He was courteous, kind, eccentric but not condescending. I was captivated, and in that sudden interest, I lost all remembrance of my former crusade against my society. This rat was my new topic. I devoted my writing to detailing his life, to documenting his history and to keeping the people informed on his day-to-day activities. This kept the people pleased, for they are always hungry for gossip on some strange new person, and it kept the Powers at bay, for they wanted society to accept this rat.
“Thus, I lived as a perfectly ordinary private-interest journalist while Maximillian stayed peacefully in our city. Nevertheless, the day came when he was sent out, when he left on his journey northward. I had wanted to accompany him, but the Elders did not allow it, and when I tried to go despite this, they physically restrained me.
“Well, that did excite the old bitterness. Once again I was on the war-path, and this time, I wouldn't win. Although I carried my campaign out for a good couple of years, the people of the town had begun to suspect my word, no doubt due to the campaigning of the Elders in their own little newspapers. In the end, they found some excuse to punish me. They banished me for some trifling cause I can't even remember at this point, for no more than three days. Idiots. They never had quite understood the concept of banishment. Apparently, they believed that living outside the life-giving bonds of organized society was enough torture to rectify any behavioral problem.
“Well, to make a long story short, the first thing I managed to do was to end up in the hands of a band of vermin, of all things. They might have killed me, mistaking me for an ordinary, much abusive woodlander, but, lo and behold, Maximillian was the chief servant of the warlord—the now infamous Charonne. He immediately recognized me, and although I never quite understood why or how, my life was spared. From that day forward, I acted as a companion to Maximillian, and a light to the party of vermin. During that time, I learned the lessons I still hold as true today on the nature of woodlanders and vermin. Although I lost my home, my friends, such as they were, and my... well, I suppose you could call that group a family, the experience grew me into the mouse I am today, and for that, I am always grateful to Max.”
~End of Entry~
The reality of the situation was thus: Maximillian had recognized Fieuline as a citizen of Jetsuy, and once he heard about her proposed banishment, he saw opportunity. Fieuline was obviously no friend to her town, and Charonne intended to conquer that town. Having the gates opened for them, with all the advantages of surprise, would render that conquest only too easy. So, with manipulation and feigned friendship, he and Charonne convinced the little mouse-maid that in the end, the best service she could do to her town was to end it, to blot out the hell-hole forever.
And she did it. The night after she was accepted into the town, she opened the gates, and, after the fight was over and what survivors there were had been captured, she displayed a passion for revenge and a willingness to kill that impressed even Maximillian. That is why he held the maid under his wing for the entirely of the horde's time, and it is why, when Charonne met her death, he went on to serve her. Under her direction, for the supposed benefit of “all living beings everywhere,” he commit more and bloodier murders than even he was used to. Yes, these were strategic targets, her philosophical opponents, and the “tyrants of woodlandome,” but that didn't slow her down. She killed more idealistically than Charonne, but she was more private, more secretive, more manipulative and subtle, and that made her all the more dangerous. To this day, besides Max and her, few know anything about how many she has ordered dead.
Relationships:
Although Max eventually did leave her for a greater horde, largely because she had decided to settle down as a journalist for Salamandastron, (reasoning that this bastion would be brought down by words, and not by blades), they have always maintained a certain servant-servant relationship.
Gender: Male
Age: 21 (Honestly, I don't know how animals age in Redwall. Since rats typically live 2-4 years, this is obviously unreasonable if the books follow that model, and I'm more than glad to change it. However, I don't want a 1 year old if Mr. Jacques slowed the aging process xP)
Species: Black Rat
Occupation: At the moment, wanderer. The instant he comes into contact with a suitable and cooperative PC villain, however, he will be a loyal henchman.
Physical Appearance:
Maximillian is out of place among his fellow rats. He looks more like a mouse, and an unusually cleanly one at that. His fur is mostly white, excepting a two slight black spots on the outer sides of his hind legs. The coat is soft, but silky, like that of a Dibbun which has just grown its mature coat. His whiskers are long, and unusually thick and white, so that they gleam, star-like, in the slightest light. As to his face, there are probably baby moles with more scars. It is thin, unimposing, almost delicate. Delicate is just the word for Maximillian. His whole body exudes humble civility. Even his tail, that hideous badge of rats everywhere, is a healthy pink, like his paws. A very fine layer of velvety hair cover both the paws and the tail.
Where clothes are concerned, Maximillian is dreadfully normal, or at least he would be, if he lived in some remote city, instead of among vile camps of vicious vermin. For the most part, he wears a sleeveless red-brown leather vest, which ties together at the middle, and falls to about his hip. Under this, a pine-green shirt shows at the chest, pokes under his vest, and extends to his wrists. Around his neck, he ties a black cloth, which is something between a short, wide cape, and a long shawl. This covers a burlap sack, which he carries on his back. Maximillian, like most rodents, has no foot-wear.
Apart from his almost pretentious lack of vermin-affects, Maximillian has very few unique features. Unlike so many of his kindred, he has no scars, no brands or missing eyes, save his left ear, which is slashed very thinly through the middle, running from the hole of the ear-canal to the tip of the ear. The cut is so thin, that a superficial, almost transparent layer of scar tissue has grown up between the two halves. Because of this, the ear usually looks perfectly normal, a slight stiffness notwithstanding. The scar is only visible when a bright light silhouettes the rat, in which case the tissue covering the cut is so transparent, that it looks as though there's no separation at all.
Possessions
Maximillian is a good boy scout. In his various sacks and bags, most of which are under his shawl, he usually has a huge variety of items, including a store of emergency rations, enough cloth for a splint or several bandages, a variety of sedatives and poisons, and some herbal concoctions for desalinizing sea-water and sanitizing (“purifying,” as the monks put it) river-water.
In terms of weapons, Maximillian prefers his sabre. It fits into a simple, unpretentious gray-brown scabbard. The sword itself is beautifully well-kept, and very rich, especially for someone of Maximillian's dust-and-dirt taste. The hilt is made of silver, except for the edges, which are decorated with a thin, golden design. The actual blade is, of course, made of steel, but it is so well-made and polished, that it gleams with all the magnificence of silver, which is complimented by the swirling pattern of lines and spiral dots throughout the lower portion. The sabre is short and thick, made to be strong. It is single-bladed, and ends in a curve on the bladed side, although the blunt end is straight, in the style of a Napoleonic dragoon's sword.
Maximillian received this weapon early in his life, while he lived in a small village among mice who he still, even in the latter days of his evil, considers with some affection. As his most valuable piece of propety, and his only relic from that happy time, this sword is Maximillian's most treasured possession, and he goes to great lengths to protect it. He rarely takes it out of the scabbard, except when he intends to kill or deeply impress. For most other fights, he uses either a simple dagger, or short sword, which he keeps in “hilt pockets” on the under-side of his vest.
Personality:
Among his friends, Maximillian pretends to be something less than a gentleman, but something infinitely more than vermin. He is polite, but shy, extremely well spoken, (although occasionally verbose), but usually quiet. There is no remarkable dialect to his canter, and he speaks with admirable precision and poise. The frown, rather than the smile, is the exception with Max. Being resourceful and helpful, even brilliant when he can be, seem to be his chief ends. He tries to be the good lieutenant.
However, the real Maximillian is much more of a rat than anyone would guess. At heart, he is a sadist. He revels in killing, enjoys no sound more than a whimper, and has no pleasure like a game of cat and mouse. He steals what he does not want, murders those who do not threaten him, kidnaps children whose parents have no ransom to pay. He is childishly gleeful at the prospect of torture. In effect, he is truly the stereotypical villain, a single trait notwithstanding—egotism. Maximillian, despite all his faults, is humble. He does not seek power through underhanded plots, or, indeed, at all. Money, comfort, and pleasure are all mere trinkets in his eyes.
No, Maximillian does not seek respect or fear from the masses, love from women, authority over governments, or any of the desires so often associated with tyrants. All the emotional comfort he desires is esteem from “the boss.” His goal is more to find some chieftain, or warlord, someone in charge with just the visions he himself so notably lacks, and to serve that lord. He finds a niche where he can kill, be an active, foot-soldier villain, all while impressing that one master, and coming to be his (or her) right-hand rat.
Strengths:
~Swordsman: Maximillian is not the greatest blade-user to ever grace the Earth. He prefers flight to fight, and subtle manipulation to brute force. On the other hand, he is hardly a fool with the blade, and he can handle himself well enough. His style is very defensive. It is not fancy, or beautiful, but with most people, it gets the job done, given a long enough fight. All that said, Maximillian truly shines in knowing how to use the blade against those incompetent to stop it, or against those who have been so wounded that they can no longer defend. He is a master at bladed torture, at inflicting pain, at knowing where to hit when to achieve maximum, sadistic effect.
~Superb Actor: Maximillian possesses an unusual level of self-control, and a keen mind for affects. This, combined with an unnerving insightfulness to the feelings and thoughts of those around him, renders the rat an effective liar.
~Survivalist: Maxmillian is not a great alchemist. He cannot bring the dead to life, or cure cancer. He does, however, have a basic understanding of what accounts for medicine during the Redwall Medieval period. He knows how to treat various wounds, and he has the supplies to do so. He understands sedatives, poisons, and, to a certain degree, “purifiers,” (herbal mixtures used for the sanitation of wounds, water, and so forth).
~Malleability: It is not difficult to satisfy Maximillian. Give him a master, a harvest of victims, and the basic tools of survival, and he will be happy. As such, he is not bound to any given area, any given life style, or even to people in general. Masters are easy to come by, and anyone and everyone can be a victim. This, combined with his ability to survive almost anywhere in the wilderness, makes it easy enough for him to retreat from conflicts that get too messy for him. It also facilitates effective guerrilla warfare.
~Shrewd Sadist: Maximillian is very good at causing pain, emotional, mental, and physical. He understands how to use the blade in just the right way to cause the most pain, without actually killing the victim. He understands the heart and the brain, and how to break them.
Weaknesses:
~Outcast: Maximillian is not a normal rat, and his failure to behave as vermin behave alienates him from the more straight-forward of his race. As such, it can be difficult for him to integrate himself into a given horde. Even if the master accepts him for his talent, he is rarely popular among the army, and this can be a liability for him if he does not watch his back, and keep himself from depending on anyone in the army.
~Known-Liar: Although Maximillian can be charming at first glance, everyone who gets to know him eventually reaches the same conclusion: There is not one creature on this Earth more putrid than this lump of refuse stuffed into a gentleman's costume. Once this reputation gets around, Maximillian immediately becomes the rat no one can trust. This being the case, he operates best among strangers, enemies who haven't yet come to recognize him. Since he usually works under a single warlord for long periods of time, this can be a serious disadvantage, especially since so many of his strategies rely on deceit.
~Mediocre Combatant: Swordsmanship may be among Maximillian's strengths, but if he is ever without sword, or even if he meets anyone with unusual skill, he is an impotent fighter. He is small, untalented, and unimaginative. Even with his sword, he fights a defensive game by the book, which, to the skilled fighter, is easy enough to penetrate.
~Trusting Servant: If our rat is Hell's slime to the rest of the world, he is Heaven's soap for his master. He is loyal, unquestioning, and trusting. He is not prone to suspecting ill from his vile lords. If any one of these creatures ever decided that it was time for Maximillian to die, he might not even try to stop it, even if he was fortunate enough to find out. Considering the people he works for, this is a very dangerous trait indeed.
~Risk-taker: Maximillian usually lives a very conservative life-style, but when he gets into his environment, when he has Dibbuns to behead, he can often lose sight of everything but that one all-important job. This can blind him to obvious dangers, and tempt him into risks he would not ordinarily take.
~Allergic to peanuts, walnuts, and oats: Maximillian is severely allergic to the major staples of non-carnivorous animals. This forces him to search much harder for food if he wants to forage, and to hunt if he cannot do that. Also, this provides a convenient and easily accessible poison to anyone wishing to do the rat harm.
History:
When Maximillian was born, all he knew was his white mother, and the twelve siblings who shared her with him. From the beginning, he was behind the other rats. He was not a runt; the runts died very early on. He was simply not as motivated as the others. To the immense distress of his mother, he was often distracted, distant as infants should not be. While the others fed ravenously from her side, he picked at the milk, drinking his fill, but slowly, even pausing occasionally to stare at something in the distance. As a result, he was always small.
This pattern continued, as Maximillian grew into the bright years of childhood. He was unusually gentle for a rat. He accepted his role as bottom of the family's hierarchy without more than a single fight, which he lost in a matter of seconds. He was always quick to submit, never violent, never risky. This alarmed his mother, but it infuriated his father. To cure this fault, the father chose this son to accompany him on a pirating voyage, while the mother and the other children remained on the coast.
When Maximillian boarded the ship, he was a mere pup, a twelve-year old. The crew treated him like free labor is usually treated. He was abused, slighted, and all to his never-ending submission. The more his father demanded that he fight back or suffer more, the more he suffered. He was a veritable martyr for those few months.
Then, on the return voyage, the rats lost a sea-battle. The ship was sunk, and the victors, mice from a coastal village, slaughtered most of the crew, including our rat's father. Because of his youth, they spared Maximillian and took him prisoner. However, after scrutinizing their catch, the mice decided that this rat was capable enough as far as intelligence and skill went, but his personality rendered him absolutely harmless. They took him into their society, reared him, taught him everything that would eventually make him such a capable henchman. He learned to heal with herbs, how to treat broken bones and fevers, how to travel without detection, and above all, how to handle a sabre. While he lived with the mice, he was peaceful, well-fed, well-taught, and even generally liked.
However, the day came when it was obvious that this rat was no mouse, and had no place in this society. He was the first to recognize it. He missed his mother, and he missed the lands he had grown up in. Although the mice told him not to go, that if he did he would almost certainly be killed, their pleas were half-hearted at best. He was so obviously a rat at this point, that they feared his once cordial personality might mature into that of a true rat, and turn on them.
So, with the village sabre as a parting gift, Maximillian made his way back into the badlands he grew up in. He quickly found a sedate community of rats, and settled down. Despite his quirks, he found a wife, and built himself a small den. Life was difficult, but he enjoyed the simplicity of it, and for a time, he was happy.
Then, the infamous General Charonne, the female rat of a vermin-lord, marched through the town. Her army was already massive, and her name well-known. Everyone knew that she had come for recruits, willing or unwilling, and that their options were to flee immediately, join her army, or die very painfully. Maximillian, ever submissive, did not take long in joining. His wife, a more natural rat, looked forward to the blood-shed.
For the first time in his life, Maximillian was forced into combat. Although he had trained extensively under the mice, he had virtually no actual experience, and the psychological horror of battle terrified him. He could hardly force himself to watch, much less fight. Charonne did not ignore this. Maximillian was beaten severely for insubordination, even to the point of fainting. No matter the consequences, however, he could never force himself to go to battle. He perceived that his options were to flee, or to die.
So, one night, he rose from his make-shift barracks, snuck beyond the perimeter of his camp, and very nearly escaped. However, he did not go alone. He made the mistake of waking his wife, and once she realized what they were doing, she stopped, drew her axe, and told him that she at least was loyal to the great Charonne, and that if he wanted to leave, he would have to deal with her. This was the breaking point for Maximillian. It was him or her. She was not skilled with her weapon, and a clever trick with the sabre, and her axe was out of hand. Another flick, and her throat was open.
No one knows how long Maximillian stayed outside that night, but he was still at camp, in his bunk even, the next day. He had not hidden the corpse, and his white fur was covered with the blood. He was quiet, distant, not sad, not angry, but simply removed from the group. He admit to the crime, calmly, and with his usual poise. Outrage was the immediate result among the army. Although Charonne's army was a miserable, heartless band of marauders, they, like every vile horde, mafia, and band that had preceded them, intuitively recognized the importance of internal trust, the idea that they could at least depend on each other. They wanted him dead. Charonne disagreed. She, correctly, saw this as a sign of improvement. She ordered him to see her.
During their audience, Maximillian was quite as submissive and polite as he had ever been. He simply explained that he had attempted desertion, that his wife had tried to stop him, and so he killed her. Then, for reasons he wouldn't or couldn't explain, he went back to his bunk.
Charonne listened intently throughout the interview, just as calm and polite as he. She was uncharacteristically gentle. When it was over, however, she ordered his execution. She allowed him to retain his leather vest for protection, and returned his sabre, confiscated for herself long ago for its beauty. She then ordered that a single weasel of a sergeant, the loudest mouth calling for Maximillian's head, cut him down.
This time, Maximillian wasted no time with disarming tricks, or quick jabs to the throat. He went straight for the leg, and had the incompetent lower-officer on his back before they had even crossed blades. From there, Maximillian began the killing that would start him on a long and infamous career as Charonne's chief expert on torture, and executioner. He started with small slashes at the hands and feet, then suddenly went for the eyes, blinding the now writhing rodent. From there, he mocked the weasel, laughing, spitting, jabbing, always with the air of his usual pleasant, cheerful self. He stabbed randomly, broke bones, tore at older wounds, until the rodent had hardly any life left to struggle with. At that point, Maximillian finished with a precise, and nauseatingly graphic evisceration that forever cemented his reputation in the horde.
Charonne immediately promoted the conscript to the dead sergeant's rank, and he rose up from there, until he was the general's closest lieutenant. He worked as a spy, an advisor, an executioner, anything he wanted. He was trusted, rewarded, even admired by his commander, and he quickly came to appreciate that. After his wife's death, he had held no affection for anything or anyone, save his own sadistic pleasure and memories. Now, he had Charonne, a living, breathing idol and master to attend to.
This life continued for Maximillian, until a fateful siege of a small city-state in the north. The resident rodents were small enough, and their castle was simple enough, that Charonne decided to simply lay waste to the walls, rather than wait for their victims to starve. She led the charge, scaling the wall fearlessly like the goddess she fancied herself. Before she had even gotten off her ladder, a sword was in her chest, and she was dead. The rest of the army continued the siege, and even eventually came to victory, but the losses were so substantial, that after plundering, the once great horde disbanded, and each went on to their own fates.
For Maximillian, that fate was lonely, and painful. He wept over Charonne, a singular breach in his characteristic stoicism. He wandered aimlessly, alone, for weeks afterward, surviving off these roots, and those mice, but even the latter killings brought him little pleasure. He was forced to conclude that he could no longer be happy unless he was serving some vile vermin-lord, and after he had reflected for long enough to clear his paralyzing sloth of a depression, he set about finding a new army.
For years, he has done this, roaming from army to army, but even to this day, he has not found the glory and the excitement he enjoyed under Charonne. He is loyal enough to his various masters, but he has always grown bored, and left. Today, he continues to seek out some new niche for him to fill.
~Excerpt from Fieuline's autobiographical journal, date unknown~
“When I met Maximillian, all my previously concieved ideas of vermin were shattered. Here was someone entirely different from my society. Here was someone who had lived his own life, had fought his own battles, and who was, on the whole, utterly likable. He was courteous, kind, eccentric but not condescending. I was captivated, and in that sudden interest, I lost all remembrance of my former crusade against my society. This rat was my new topic. I devoted my writing to detailing his life, to documenting his history and to keeping the people informed on his day-to-day activities. This kept the people pleased, for they are always hungry for gossip on some strange new person, and it kept the Powers at bay, for they wanted society to accept this rat.
“Thus, I lived as a perfectly ordinary private-interest journalist while Maximillian stayed peacefully in our city. Nevertheless, the day came when he was sent out, when he left on his journey northward. I had wanted to accompany him, but the Elders did not allow it, and when I tried to go despite this, they physically restrained me.
“Well, that did excite the old bitterness. Once again I was on the war-path, and this time, I wouldn't win. Although I carried my campaign out for a good couple of years, the people of the town had begun to suspect my word, no doubt due to the campaigning of the Elders in their own little newspapers. In the end, they found some excuse to punish me. They banished me for some trifling cause I can't even remember at this point, for no more than three days. Idiots. They never had quite understood the concept of banishment. Apparently, they believed that living outside the life-giving bonds of organized society was enough torture to rectify any behavioral problem.
“Well, to make a long story short, the first thing I managed to do was to end up in the hands of a band of vermin, of all things. They might have killed me, mistaking me for an ordinary, much abusive woodlander, but, lo and behold, Maximillian was the chief servant of the warlord—the now infamous Charonne. He immediately recognized me, and although I never quite understood why or how, my life was spared. From that day forward, I acted as a companion to Maximillian, and a light to the party of vermin. During that time, I learned the lessons I still hold as true today on the nature of woodlanders and vermin. Although I lost my home, my friends, such as they were, and my... well, I suppose you could call that group a family, the experience grew me into the mouse I am today, and for that, I am always grateful to Max.”
~End of Entry~
The reality of the situation was thus: Maximillian had recognized Fieuline as a citizen of Jetsuy, and once he heard about her proposed banishment, he saw opportunity. Fieuline was obviously no friend to her town, and Charonne intended to conquer that town. Having the gates opened for them, with all the advantages of surprise, would render that conquest only too easy. So, with manipulation and feigned friendship, he and Charonne convinced the little mouse-maid that in the end, the best service she could do to her town was to end it, to blot out the hell-hole forever.
And she did it. The night after she was accepted into the town, she opened the gates, and, after the fight was over and what survivors there were had been captured, she displayed a passion for revenge and a willingness to kill that impressed even Maximillian. That is why he held the maid under his wing for the entirely of the horde's time, and it is why, when Charonne met her death, he went on to serve her. Under her direction, for the supposed benefit of “all living beings everywhere,” he commit more and bloodier murders than even he was used to. Yes, these were strategic targets, her philosophical opponents, and the “tyrants of woodlandome,” but that didn't slow her down. She killed more idealistically than Charonne, but she was more private, more secretive, more manipulative and subtle, and that made her all the more dangerous. To this day, besides Max and her, few know anything about how many she has ordered dead.
Relationships:
Although Max eventually did leave her for a greater horde, largely because she had decided to settle down as a journalist for Salamandastron, (reasoning that this bastion would be brought down by words, and not by blades), they have always maintained a certain servant-servant relationship.
