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Handle: Myth

Description Edit

Age: Older than dirt, by the Light! And on cold mornings, I feel every day of it. (in his late 50's or early 60's, he's not sure)
Place of Origin: A twinkle in my daddy's eye and a giggle from my mother, most likely. If you're asking where I call home, nearly everywhere at some time or another.
Appearance: Well, you can see for yourself that I'm bald as an egg, about belly high to a tall horse, and nearly skinny enough to see through. But, I guess if you're too busy to take a good look, I'd say I'm on the wrong side of 5 feet high, and near enough to 80 pounds. I've got a pick axe for a nose, and I've been cultivating this here handlebar mustache for most of my life.
Rank: Don't know much about ranks, to tell the truth. I'm no soldier, leastwise not with a sword, or the like.
Weapon of choice: My mind, my boy. Most assuredly, my mind, for what it passes for any way.
Secondary weapon: Never had much use for any other weapon. I've used my fists a time or two in scuffles and what not, back in my younger days, and I've kicked a mean dog here and there. I got no call for cats, though. Don't care for 'em.
Division: Well, most likely you'll have to ask whoever's in charge where I can best help out, see. I'm a thinker of sorts, I suppose, and I'm handy with gadgets like catapults and such. I build things, don't you know, and I've read a book here and there. So where ever you think I can help out, well, get on with it.

History Edit

Hu pulled his wagon to a halt as he approached the hustle and bustle of what he had been told was called the "Citadel." Obviously, the folks working on the place still had a chore in front of 'em to get 'er done, though.

"Spit in the milk bucket!" Hu cursed softly to himself, looking down at the vista before him. "Hu, old boy, what have you gotten yourself into?" then, gently clucking to his wagon team to get the mules re-started, Hu lost himself in re-collection as the warm sun beamed down.

It didn't seem that many years ago when he had skipped out on his own to find his place in the world. As a matter of fact, though, it had been many, many years ago. Working as a horse herder got him from a nameless village in the outer regions of Tear into the City, despite his youth. He was good with his hands and he picked things up quickly, and soon he was assisting in the running of one Tairen High Lord or another's horse breeding program. This gave him plenty of time to read and see strange folks from all over the place, and soon his mind began to hunger for those distant worlds.

Before he knew it, he'd caught a ride on a merchant boat headed for Ebou Dar as a deckhand, with barely any money, and not a care in the world other than to see what was out there. Seven years later, he was the first mate of a first-rate crew, but had a new hunger. The Sea Folk ships were an itch in his brain that he couldn't scratch, so he managed to get aboard one as a teacher, and two years later had managed to squirrel away in his mind the notion that nothing couldn't be made better. The Sea Folk ships' innovations made the other vessels on the ocean look like floating stones, and while he didn't ferret out all of their secrets, he did develop a taste for "fiddlin' with stuff."

He'd eventually gotten kicked off the boat for trying to look at some kind of measuring device they had, luckily they were in port at the time, and got a job as a scribe to pay the bills. He didn't much care for staying inside all day, so he got out of Falme within the week, taking a job as a wagon driver for a merchant caravan. He made it as far as Caemlyn before the itch took him again. Caemlyn's library was like food for a starving man. During the day he worked as a blacksmith's apprentice to keep a roof over his head. At night, he pored over the endless rows of journals, history books, whatever. His was an unquenchable thirst, and he drove the librarians crazy. Not to mention the blacksmith he worked for. He was constantly getting distracted by trying to make something in a new way, or with a new design, or completely new all together. Eventually it cost him his job, but not before the librarians had steered him toward Cairhein. There was a great library there, they told him, and off he went.

In Cairhein, he met a couple of people, who like him, pursued a world of thought. Idrien was a brilliant woman with an amazing idea about a catapult-like contraption to hurl arrows long distances. Simply brilliant! Working with her was like a dream come true, but sadly too much wine and cross words ended their time together.

Herid was an amazing man, with a knack for seeing to the heart of things. And he was an excellent fisherman. His was more a world of books than hands-on experiments, though, and when Idrien threw him out, Herid was left behind as well.

After that, it was off to the Borderlands, where he studied their ways of making armor and weapons. And learned a bit about the tendencies of Trollocs and other Shadow-wrought creatures.

When that grew tiresome, he had made his way back to Tear, where he made a living designing toys for children, and sometimes bigger toys for the nobles, until this mess about the Last Battle crept into his life. He had seen what the Shadow did to people during his time in the Borderlands, and he made his mind up to do anything he could to help fight against that horror. And, hearing about the Band of the Red Hand, well let's just say it made sense. If these soldiers turned out to be anything like the legendary Band from the histories, spending time with them might be the most exciting thing he'd ever done.

Shaking himself from his daydream, Hu pulled up at the gate, took off his hat and wiped his bald pate and face with a kerchief before replacing his hat, and waited for someone to address him. "Say there," he announced to no one in particular, "Where do I go to sign up? And I need to water my mules."

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