Deux-Un a écouté avec joie Alexandre s'adresser à l'homme volé, même si la façon dont le brouillard tournait autour du sol continuait à lui harceler. L'homme volé était un Père - qui pouvait être un titre religieux, ou qu'il avait des descendants, ou les deux. Il y avait des Thrulls, des choses bizarres faites de chair morte, par ici. C'était quelque chose à surveiller. Ils ont servi de la nourriture ici. Il y a quelque chose qui s'appelle un Orzhov. Ils font des contrats. Il était difficile de se faire une opinion sur toutes ces choses, mais deux-un s'enorgueillit d'avoir une opinion, surtout de sorte qu'un jour il pourrait être en désaccord avec quelqu'un d'autre sur les choses sur lesquelles il avait des opinions.
Il était au milieu d'essayer de comprendre quelle était sa position sur un Orzhov quand le barman tourna son attention vers lui, interrompant son train de pensée. La demande de ne pas avoir un capot semblait assez raisonnable, son explication des circonstances semblait crédible, et quant à la promesse d'accepter toutes sortes d'êtres? Ce serait mauvais pour les entreprises de détourner leurs clients, donc d'un point de vue commercial, c'était raisonnable. Il jeta un coup d'oeil rapide et final vers la porte, traçant ce qui pourrait être sa meilleure voie d'évasion si nécessaire, puis atteint pour tirer son capot.
L'Alloy Myr avait vu de meilleurs jours. Une légère patine de rouille commençait à se former autour de la pointe de sa tête de bec. Deux des lumières étaient fissurées, et resplendissaient beaucoup plus faiblement que les autres. Deux-un a tourné la tête d'un côté, à blanc à propos d'Alexandre. Il y avait des émotions qui se passaient à l'intérieur de sa tête dentelée et terne, mais deux-un avait peu de façons de les exprimer non verbalement.
"Je peux expliquer," a-t-il commencé, en gardant les mains levées, "J'ai vu le nom, je pense que c'est appelé mal du pays, th-"
Son explication a été assez courte par l'arrivée d'Aspasia. Sat ici, avec le capot tiré en arrière, Two-One s'est d'abord senti assez exposé, mais il est vite devenu très évident que la dame était occupée à courir sur quelque chose impliquant loups, belettes et wurms. Des Wurms. Deux-un a eu une opinion sur les wurms. Il avait déjà été mâché par eux.
"-Je n'aime pas les wurms. Ils ont trop de dents et trop peu de membres."
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.