Deux-un a regardé Alexander glousser sa boisson, admirant la façon dont le corps humain sait, apparemment par instinct, comment fermer un tube et ouvrir un autre pour permettre aux liquides de passer à travers elle. Le Myr a décidé que son opinion sur la question était qu'il était assez remarquable pour quelque chose apparemment pris pour acquis, et l'a ajouté à son nombre croissant de choses mentales sur lesquelles il avait une opinion. Pensant à cela distrait un peu deux-un, et il a retourné son attention à Alexander, attraper l'extrémité arrière de quelque chose sur les troubles de rat.
"Des problèmes de vitesse? Deux-un est un héros. En quelque sorte. Je peux aider avec cela, regarde," il s'est ridiculisé, libérant un bras de la boucle qui tenait son sac à dos de fortune sur son dos et, après avoir lutté avec la chose pendant un moment, l'a tiré autour et l'a placé sur le bar. Deux-un s'est emparé du contenu, mettant en scène des débris de métal, des pierres de forme étrange, des morceaux de poterie cassée et divers autres morceaux de ferraille jusqu'à ce que, finalement, il se débarrasse d'une épée courte. Il ressemblait en quelque sorte à une épée, bien que la lame fût piquée et terne, la ruche était faite en enveloppant un peu de tissu autour du fond de la lame, et la croix-garde n'était qu'un petit morceau de bois attaché avec une corde à l'épée de fortune. En ce qui concerne les armes, c'était plutôt pathétique, mais deux-un s'est épanoui avec fierté.
"J'ai une épée. Deux-un s'occupera de ton problème de rat! Les héros le font parce qu'il est juste de le faire. Mais l'argent est bon aussi. Deux-un a besoin d'acheter des choses. Des choses à faire de nouveau Myr."
Deux-un tenait l'"épée" à l'éloft, le tournant légèrement de sorte que, si c'était une bonne épée, il pourrait attraper la lumière. Tout ce qu'il a fait, c'était jeter un flocon de rouille ou deux. Comme geste d'inspiration, il laissait beaucoup à désirer. Deux-un regardait admirablement l'épée qu'il avait faite, puis le plaçait sur le bar, à côté du sac à dos.
"Travailler alors des histoires. J'aime les histoires. Je peux vous dire des actes héroïques contre les rats. Puis nous entendons l'histoire de l'équitation wurms d'Aspasie et les histoires de la maison de Pax et deux-un aura le mal du pays et puis nous aurons un désaccord et puis le Père racontera une histoire et il sera moins triste et je n'ai pas considéré quels événements après cela rendrait la soirée plus mémorable."
Deux-un n'a pas toujours cru à la ponctuation, surtout quand il s'agissait de penser à ce qu'il voulait faire.
Name: Two-One. Fully, "219E18".
Alias: The Lost
Age: Four.
Gender: N/A. Refers to himself as male.
Race: Myr.
Class: Artificer
Appearance: Underneath the layers of ragged looking robes, Two-One is an Alloy Myr; a short, mechanical creature that stands at a little under four feet tall. Much like the robes, Two-one has seen better days - his metal carapace is covered with scratches and dents, and any shine has long since dulled. Two of the lights, the green and the white, have cracked and glow far more dimly than the others.
Magical Speciality: Artifact creation.
Primary Color: Colourless.
Preferred Creatures: More Myr, with other occasional constructs.
Favourite Mechanic / Keyword: Affinity.
Home Plane: Mirrodin / New Phyrexia.
History: Since the first disagreement amongst the Myr, many went on to pursue their own goals - some looked within themselves to find a purpose, while others looked to others for ideas. A few, quite possibly the most reckless and generally disagreeable of the Myr, considered that one of the goals of their previous Master - to become a Planeswalker - was very much the right thing to do. Rather than go down the "failed" route that their Master had taken, they looked over what information they had available and hatched their own scheme.
Planeswalking, they figured, seemed most likely to come about through exposure to extremely dangerous situations, as if whatever thing inside a would-be planeswalker rose up to defend itself. While there seemed to be no way of knowing what creature would carry such a thing, the group of Myr agreed that if they were to create enough Myr, and put them into dangerous situations, one of their creations would eventually reveal itself to be a planeswalker. The continued battles of the Mirran Resistance would provide the dangerous situations, and the group of Myr would provide the creatures to - potentially - be awoken.
The plan worked. Eventually. Myr 219E18, based on the Alloy Myr model, awoke during a particularly diastrous battle. The early attempts to cause a planeswalker to awaken had failed, and - following a heated debate - it was understood that the use of exceedingly capable combat-focused Myr models wouldn't result in the sort of dangerous, high-stress situation required. So, as the experiments continued, different types of Myr were deployed in different combinations. So it was that this particular Alloy Myr, in the final stages of a hopeless battle, turned and fled like so many others. Unlike the others, 219E18 was observed to simply disappear. The spark had awoken in the face of terror and devestation. Now all these Myr had to do was to try it again, and again, and again, to create another planeswalker that could go out and find the one they'd created.
219E18 spent his time trying to work out how to get home, and struggling with the question of whether or not he should even want to return. There were an infinite number of planes to explore, and (hopefully) Mirrodin would one day be a safe enough place to return to. "Two-One," as he began referring to himself, happily travelled through the planes, learning through trial and error (mostly error) what it was that he wanted to do with himself. "Home" could wait. He wanted to explore. He wanted to help people. He wanted to not get chewed on by giant wurms. He'd make more Myr as he went, leaving a trail for whoever else escaped Mirrodin to follow. He wanted to watch new suns dance across unknown skies.
And so he wandered. It was only a matter of time before he wound up on the plane of Ravnica, and the name of one particular tavern called out. If Two-One believed in fate, or signs, or anything of that sort, the Mourning Mirrodin Tavern would be one.
Groups / Factions:
Patron of the Mourning Mirrodin Establishment
Creator of various (rather poorly made...) Myr scattered throughout the Multiverse.
Trinkets & Inventory:
Robes, from various planes, in varying states. Mostly tattered. Some have clearly been stitched together from multiple bits of clothing.
A backpack, containing various pieces of scrap metal, interesting looking stones, bundled up spare clothes, a small sword that has lost it's edge, and other assorted bits of useless stuff picked up over the years.