Max The Stripe

If you are reading this, then at least one of two things are true. I may well be dead, which should come as no surprise to those that know how I live – or lived. Or, you may be a thief, in which case you should never cease to look over your shoulder. I have spent of my life to this point hunting and finding men and beast alike and I will find you as well. Of course, you may be a thief and I dead at your hands. If this is the case I must offer a begrudging kudos to you as the rigors of my life, so far, have made me difficult to kill.

Introduction

Before I begin this journal, it seems a synopsis of the twenty-six years of my life that proceed this writing is prudent.

Childhood

I have chosen to write this journal because, though my life has contained peril since I first learned my secret some nine years ago, the events in Myrland since the Conflux launch me upon a new phase that can only increase this peril. Though I become more difficult to kill with each encounter I survive, the odds of my demise increase with each new enemy I make. Should this happen, I must leave behind some evidence of my purpose, in faint hopes another may take up my quest until my quarry finds justice.

I am, or rather my name is, Maximilian Cardinal, Max to my friends, “Striped” Max Cardinal by reputation. You may recognize the name as Tindremene and may find my speech and carriage to comply. If you saw my skin, my eyes, even my physique, you would not be surprised to find my blood to be Khurite. It is of some dispute to which belong my manner. I suggest that is determined by my mood and the circumstance.

Twenty-six years before this day a maid of a Tindremene Nobilita couple found an infant child washed upon the northern shore in a blood stained basket. The blood was not that of the child, though he was severely dehydrated and malnourished. She hid the baby in her tiny chambers and nursed it back to health. Upon recovery from my wasted state, I repaid her kindness by wailing, as infants do, and she was found out.

Certainly, a child of such poor blood and found under such suspicious circumstances should never have been allowed within the walls of Tindremene, much less inside the home of a noble family. But, the lord of the house, the great General Aeneas Cardinal, saw a well of emotion in the eyes of his much younger and childless wife, Cerelia. So, he showed great mercy and not only adopted me as his own, but gave the maid only ten lashes for insubordination and misconduct.

By the time I had reached the age of formal schooling, my mother had done what was thought impossible. She had conceived a child of her own, sired by my aging father. My brother was named Juvenal, the younger, which caused no small stir in the city as many thought he, as true blood, should be my father’s sole heir.

Juvi and I grew up so close one might suspect we were tied together. We had not, nor needed, other friends and so did not know that this would not have been possible, at least for me. My family’s position spared me from hearing the thoughts of those that considered my bloodline “barbaric” and my presence in their fair city an abomination. I later found that those thoughts were as common in Tindremene as thieves are on the streets of Meduli.

We were schooled by the best teachers in the city for half the year. Yet, my father, still clinging to his mysterious soft-heartedness in regards to me, took us on pilgrimages to Morin Khur and other Khurite settlements and hired Khurite tutors the other half of the year. I should say there is no one else in all of Nave that knows as much of the steppes with as fair a tone of skin as Juvi. Equally, there is surely no one of swarthy skin that knows the way of the Tindremene, especially that of its military, as do I.

Going Astray

We spent the anniversary of my 15th year in Moh-ki. It was here that my parents found and employed for our trip back to Tindremere the Khurite teacher, Chuluun. He seemed as interested in learning about me as teaching me. When he learned of how I was found, prior to my adoption, he told me a story I found at first difficult to believe.

He claimed I was the blood son of Sukhbataar, the Hero of the Axe, famed Khurite warlord and long time scourge of the Tindremic Empire. I knew the story of the demise of Sukhbataar all too well. In fact, I had always been proud of the story. How Sukhbataar had started to successfully organize the Khurite tribes and was making real headway in terms of carving out some land from the Empire for a united Khurite nation, completely in defiance of the old accords and kindness the Tindremene’s had always bestowed upon them. My heart swelled with pride every time I heard of the brilliant Tindremene feint that cornered Sukhbataar’s force northeast of Kranesh and allowed for the Tindremene army to crush them. The Battle of Kranesh Crescent delivered complete defeat to Sukhbataar’s army at the hands of Aeneas Cardinal.

The version of the story Chuluun told was different. It was one that cast my father, Aeneas, as a butcher and a tyrant who personally slaughtered the wife of Sukhbataar, but was unable to stop her from casting her son adrift on the river, preferring him to die in the wild then at the hands of a Tindremene.

Naturally, I did not believe Chuluun and almost slew him myself. Yet something stayed my hand. I could not help but be intrigued, if incredulous. Chuluun told me more over the next several months until I questioned my own heritage. Finally, fool that I was, I confronted and accused my father. We quarreled and I left his home in a rage.

I travelled Myrland for over a year, wrestling with my own identity. I used my knowledge of both Tindremene and Khurite ways to find work as a scout, tracker and guide, learning some from the cultures of the other peoples of Myrland along the way. But all the while I sought answers.

When my journeys brought me back to Moh-ki, I sought out Chuluun for more information. When I discovered that the scholar Chuluun had been murdered shortly before the time my family had supposedly hired him, I knew something was terribly wrong, but was ashamed to return to the Cardinal home. I did, however, find the courage to write, but received no response for months. Finally, I tried writing Juvi and my mother instead. A few weeks later, a response from Juvi found me as I emerged from the southern swamps to Bakti. He explained that father’s pride would not allow him to respond. Javi implored me to return home and I set out at once.

Tragedy

I arrived at Tindremene at night and was surprised when no servant came to the door. I let myself in and was surprised to find the house apparently deserted. As I ascended to the upper quarters, I entered the bedroom of my parents. I was shocked to see both of my parents prone on the floor, with the man I had known as Chuluun standing over them. I leapt to engage, only to be cut down by an unknown assailant from behind.

I woke in a cell to the sounds of Juvi sobbing on the other side of the bars, asking why I had killed his parents. With even Juvenal Cardinal convinced of my patricide, I was quickly convicted. The only reason my execution date was set ten days away was so I could receive ten public lashings on both my front and back prior to my stoning.

The old prison was a playground of mine as a child and the new prison was built from the same plans. So, my escape was relatively uneventful, other than the fact I was unable to time the escape until the fifth day of incarceration. The lash man was expert and cut the same wounds deeper each day, leaving me with 5 perfect, parallel scars down my back and 5 perfect parallel scars on my chest and face. The denizens of the underworld that would be my home from then on took no time in dubbing me “Striped” Max Cardinal.

My hunt for “Chuluun“ and the assailant from behind was hindered as I myself was continually hunted. I’ve learned only small traces of information in my hunt, most significantly that the imposter that posed as Chuluun was actually Khongord, a lieutenant of Sukhbataar, thought dead at Kranesh Crescent.

My Crusade

It was shortly after this discovery that I discovered the Republic of the Silver Sun, nomads like myself fighting to establish a new empire, with the values of old and the peace between races as before the Conflux. There I sought refuge at first, then gained true belief in their cause, joining the military forces. I have since risen to the rank of sergeant under the direct tutelage of the Minister of War, Kal Morte. Our efforts to establish a land right for our nation in Myrland (oddly reminiscent of the quest of my supposed blood father) will expose me to both my pursuers and those I hunt.

I will help to establish this nation and the principals on which it is founded. I will find Khongord and his ally and both discover the reason for my parent’s murder and avenge it. I will prove my innocence to Juvi. I will do all of these things or end my trail of blood with my own.

The Caravan to the Ruins

I was contacted through messenger by the Order d’Argento to send a military escort guide on a quest to explore some ruins in the desert south east of Meduli. This is a dangerous area where Tod the Red often springs from the southern swamps with his thugs to harass travelers. So, I thought it best I go myself.

I have chosen to bring the scout armor of my blood kin on this quest, rather than heavy plate. As I will be riding my horse, Ignacio, I will bring my ikil and a few quivers of arrows. Of course, I will have my halberd at the ready. As usual, I travel light, with a bedroll and just a few days rations in case weather interferes with a successful hunt. I have always found my whet stone can double to create sparks, saving me the trouble of also bringing flint. I travel nowhere without rope, but will bring only 50 feet as I expect it to have little need, unless I should have to bind someone. The land is very flat and there should be little need to scale any obstacles.

It is the desert, so I take 3 water skins instead of my usual two and a vial of Yage, just in case.

Day One

I meet my travelling companions at the local tavern. We don’t get to speak much on the first day, though I can tell Orien, the expedition leader from the church, is leery of the Sheevra. Most humans are, though. As there appears to be little combat experience in this group, I find myself hoping she is a mage, but suspect she relies more on her races nimble fingers rather than their strong psyche. The rest appear to be Tindremene and look oddly upon the sergeant’s insignia upon the armor of a Khurite. I’ve gotten worse looks and know they will lose their reservations after the first bandit attack.

The others go to their rooms early to prepare for an early departure. I choose to take an hour or so to scout the early portion of our trip.

Day Two

I appear to have been misinformed of our general direction. We are to go much more due south, which is a relief on one front and a concern on another. Relief in that if we stick to the coastline until we get to the hills, we should be able to remain clear of that vagabond Tod’s raiding range. Concern in that we are marching directly into lands that have no peace. The dead walk the earth there and when you find life, it is in the form of the savage jaws of direwolves. If our party runs low on food, it is these we will have to hunt, for there is nothing else. This hunt can cost as many lives as it saves.

Also of some relief is that if our destination is southward, it cannot be terribly far from Meduli. While it may take days and days to find our quarry scanning to and fro in the sands, if we find the need to retreat, we will be no more than a day or two march from returning. Farther south than that and the desert gives way to grasslands and it seems clear that this site is still in the thick of the desert.

The Party seems to be of a good sort, some more carefree, some more somber, but all of a good sort. The one called Varen seems to expect more priviledge than he appears to have earned, but that may be a natural Tindremic reaction to either myself or the Sheeva, Vuux. I keep having to remind myself that I may have been raised a Tindremene Nobilita, but I have the face of a Khurite – and a scared, roguish face at that.

Vuux concerns me, but only to a small degree. I blanche not at her heritage. My own upbringing taught me that one’s character is not tied to race, though the non-human races are a little more difficult to read because of the physical differences in their expressions. No, rather I am concerned because, to the best of my observance, and I my very life has hinged upon my ability to observe for years, she has not spoken a word since the voyage began.

The Paladino, Brother Orien is his name, showed us a stone with some glyphs on it today. It looks like a map to me, but not very descript. The far right seems to show the ridge of hills between the ocean and Mount Solus. However, the remainder looks like nonsense to me. Both the sun and the moon out at the same time may indicate either dusk or dawn. But what of two figures apparently leaping over some sort of pyramid? And is that third figure bound? Perhaps a decent night’s sleep under the stars will improve my thoughts.

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