Deux-un s'était rapidement emparé d'un système pour naviguer dans les rues animées. Certaines personnes semblaient glisser à travers les marchés bondés et les avenues animées, faisant avec statut ce que les autres auraient à faire avec beaucoup de poussées. La signification des symboles que ces gens avaient tendance à porter était perdue sur deux-un, mais leur valeur était évidente. Quand l'un des porteurs de symboles a fait son chemin vers la taverne, deux-un a glissé tranquillement dans le sillage qu'il a laissé derrière lui. Un petit paquet de robes tachées, sous l'avertissement de la plupart, suivant silencieusement derrière l'homme avec le soleil sur son manteau, qui le conduirait directement dans le Mourning Mirrodin.
Maintenant en toute sécurité à l'intérieur, la petite construction - sa nature cachée, pour la plupart, par les couches de robes qu'il a drapées sur son cadre - s'arrêta pour regarder vers le bas au brouillard qui s'écoulait pour remplir l'espace sculpté par Lanestol. Fog était, dans son expérience, un truc de plein air. Ça a quelque chose à voir avec les nuages et les grandes masses d'eau. Deux-un s'accroupit légèrement pour obtenir un meilleur regard sur le brouillard, qui n'a pas révélé grand-chose sur la façon dont le brouillard est venu d'être là, ni le genre de but qu'il a servi. Ce serait un mystère à résoudre plus tard, comme l'homme qu'il avait suivi avait déjà fait son chemin vers le bar et, si deux-un allait se fondre dans, debout près de l'entrée pour regarder le brouillard n'allait pas aider.
Donc deux-un a soigneusement fait son chemin vers la barre, de plus en plus en confiance à chaque étape qu'il n'allait pas marcher dans une sorte de piège obscurci par le brouillard. Heureusement, personne d'autre n'avait décidé de s'asseoir à côté de Lanestol au bar. Deux-un s'est jeté sur l'un de ces tabourets inoccupés et, après s'être perché sur le siège proprement dit, il a regardé. Sous les couches de robes, il ne voyait pas grand-chose, sauf pour ce qui était en dessous de lui. Le brouillard tournoyait ominablement autour des pieds du tabouret.
Deux-un s'est serré un peu sur le tabouret, éloignant son attention du brouillard, et a fait ce qu'il avait fait chaque fois qu'il s'était trouvé dans une taverne inconnue dans un endroit qu'il ne comprenait pas. Comme voyager dans le sillage laissé par d'autres, il semblait travailler dans la plupart des endroits.
"J'aurai," sa voix, et les bruits de clics qui s'accompagnaient avec chaque mot, étaient plutôt étouffés par les robes, "ce qu'il a!"
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.