Legion World Forums LEGION OUTPOST Bits o' Legionnaire Business The "He Who Wanders" Challenge

So - after years of wondering what the poster, He Who Wanders' real story was - I saw that he posted this tantalizing nugget:





That got me thinking... wouldn't it be fun if some of our resident fic writers took a stab at postulating a series of possible origins for Huey... the way they did for the Phantom Stranger back in the 80's Secret Origin series?

So, here's the challenge... let's see if we can spin up a few different possibilites. Limiting yourself to just one post, tease us with a bit of story of what could be Huey's beginnings. It doesn't even have to be a full story. Maybe just something like... this:

*********************************

"Open this door, you witch! Open it, or - I swear to God - I'll smash it in!"

Lars Grant slammed his fist again against the door of the Jezibaba's wagon - even now feeling his wrath overwhelmed by his pain. How... how had it come to this? All he wanted was to feel the love of the beautiful Solveig, and now... now...

"I said... OPEN!"

His fist shattered through the wooden door of the wagon, as the Jezibaba spun around.

"How dare you, lion-tamer?" she spat.

"How dare I?" Lars seethed, reaching through the hole he had made and swinging the door of the wagon open. "How dare you, witch! How dare you sit locked away here, feigning innocence, while the rest of the circus searches for her killer? You know exactly how she died and, by damn, I'm going to hear you say it!"

Lars lunged toward the old gypsy woman, as she quickly brought her knotted hand toward her mouth and blew a gust of air. A fine cloud of grey powder caught Lars right in the face, sending him reeling backward.

"Wha... cough, cough... what was...?" Even before the words escaped, however, he felt his body tightening and his mind beginning to cloud. "Wha... what have you... d...?" He fell to the floor with a heavy thud, unconscious.

The Jezibaba looked down at Lars with a look of disgust and stood slowly, adjusting her headscarf.

"Hmph... that's right, lion-tamer... sleep. And may your dreams be haunted by the knowledge that whatever befell your precious trapeze artist was merely the next step in the series of events begun when you first approached me. A love potion? Feh... you have no idea the forces you invoke when you ask for the deep magics to be used for your selfish gains. Involve me in your misfortune? I think not, little man. It is time for the Jezibaba to take her leave of this place, but - for your insolence - I will leave you with one final offering...

Mortar and pestle... hardwood and stone...
Seed from the husk and spirit from bone...
Over the tongue and over the tooth...
When next you speak, it shall be the truth."

*********************************

Lars awoke with a heavy head in the middle of the woods. He squinted his eyes against the early morning dawn, realizing that he was in the same clearing where the Jezibaba's wagon had stood. He stood up, fractically scanning the area, but... nothing. No indentation in the grass, no broken twigs where a horse might have trod... it was as though she had never been there at all.

Lars grimaced, narrowing his eyes. Clearing his throat and seething against the emptiness, he said, "Run if you like, witch... you will pay for what you've done. Even if I have to wander this earth from now until the end of time... I will find you."

*********************************

"No... no, just stop, Ex. A gypsy curse? Really?"

Ex smiled at his fellow LMBers. "Well... that's what I heard..."

"Bleh... could you possibly get more cliched?"

"Well... fine. Maybe that's not how it happened. Why? What did you hear?"

FAAAANTASTIC GAME!

And, in the best Phantom Stranger tradition, the four best entries will get . . . something. Collected into a Secret Origins special? My undying gratitude? A martini? Someone will decide!

This story would seem to apply. It is not original with me. It is an old Russian fairytale, which I first heard from my Dedushka, my mother’s father, when I was just a little boy. I have since seen it retold in many places, among them in Jim Henson’s The Storyteller. I rather imagined that my Dedushka was the Old Soldier in the story. He was born in Russia in 1865, and died in Fresno in 1962. I was just sixteen when he passed away.

THE SOLDIER AND DEATH

A Soldier served his country and the Tsar for twenty-five years, and earned three dry biscuits for his trouble. As he set off on his way home he thought to himself “All these years I have served the Tsar and had good clothes on my back and my belly full of food and drink, and now I am both hungry and cold. Already I've nothing left but three dry biscuits.”

Just then he met an old beggar, who stood in the road and crossed himself and asked alms for the love of God.

The Soldier had not a copper piece to his name, but he gave the beggar one of his three dry biscuits.

He had not gone very far along the road when he met a second beggar, who leaned on a stick and begged an alms for the love or God.

The Soldier gave him the second of his three dry biscuits.

Then at a bend in the road, he met a third old beggar, with long white hair and a beard and filthy rags, who also asked an alms for the love of God.

"If I give him my last dry biscuit I shall have nothing left for myself," thought the Soldier. So he gave the old beggar half of the third dry biscuit. Then the thought came into him perhaps this old beggar would meet the other two, and would learn that they had been given whole biscuits while he had only been given a half. "He will be hurt and insulted," thought the Soldier. So he gave the old beggar the other half also of the third of his three dry biscuits. “I will get along some-how," thought the Soldier, and was setting again on his way, when the old beggar put out his hand and stopped him.

"Brother," says the old beggar, "are you in want of anything?"

"God bless you," says the Soldier, "I want nothing from you. You're a poor man yourself."

"Never mind my poverty," says the old beggar. "Just tell me what you would like to have, so that I will be able to reward you for your kind heart."

"I don't want anything," says the Soldier, "but, if you do happen to have such a thing as a pack of cards about you, I'd keep them in memory of you, and they'd be a pleasure to have with me on the long road."

The old beggar thrust his hand into his bosom among his rags, and pulled out a pack of cards.

“Take these,” says he, “and when you play with them you'll always win who-ever you may be playing with. And here's a flour sack for you as well. If you meet anything and want to catch it, just open the sack and tell beasts or birds or whatever else to get into it, and they'll do just that, and you can close the sack and do with them what you will.”

“Thank you kindly,” says the Soldier, and throwing the sack over his shoulder, puts the pack of cards in his pocket, and trudges off down the road singing an song.

He went on and on till he came to a lake, where he drank a little water to ease his thirst, and smoked his pipe to ease his hunger. Resting by the shore of the lake he saw three wild geese swimming. Remembering the sack the old beggar had given him. He opened it and cried:“You there, wild geese, fly into my sack !”

The three wild geese splashed up out of the water, and flew to the bank and right into the old flour sack one right after the other.

The Soldier tied up the mouth of the sack, flung it over his shoulder and went on his way.

He came to a town, found a tavern, choosing the best he could see, and went in and asked for the Landlord.

“Here are three wild geese”, he offered. “I want one of them roasted for my dinner. The secone I'll give you in exchange for your trouble, and the third for a bottle of vodka.”

The Landlord readily agreed, and presently the Soldier was seated at a good table next to a window, with a whole bottle of the best
vokda, and a fine roast goose fresh from the kitchen.

When he had made an end of the goose, the Soldier laid down his knife and fork, tipped the last drops of the vodka down his throat, and set the bottle upside down upon the table. Then he lit his pipe, sat back on the bench and took a look out of the window to see what was doing in the town.

There on the other side of the road was a fine palace, well carved and painted. A year's work had gone to the carving of each doorpost and window-frame. But in all the place there was not one whole pane of glass.

“Landlord,” says the Soldier, “tell me, why is a fine palace like that standing empty with broken windows?”

“The Tsar built the palace for himself,” says the Landlord, “but there's no living in it because of the devils.”

“Devils?” says the Soldier.

“Every night they crowd into the place,” says the Landlord, “And what with their shouting and yelling and screaming and playing cards, and all the other devilries that come into their heads, there's no living in the palace for decent folk.”

“Why does nobody clear them out?” asks the Soldier.

“Easier says than done,” says the Landlord.

Well, with that the Soldier wishes good health to the Landlord, and sets off to see the Tsar. He comes walking into the Tsar's house
and gives him a salute.

“Your Majesty,” says he, “will you give me leave to spend one night in your empty palace?”

“You don't know what you are asking,” says the Tsar. “Foolhardy folk enough have tried to spend a night in that palace. They went in merry and boasting, but not one of them came walking out alive in the morning."

“Water won't drown a Russian Soldier, and fire won't burn him,” says the Soldier “I have served Tsar and Country for twenty- five years and still am not dead. A single night in that palace won't be end of me.”

“But I tell you:a man walks in there alive in the evening, and in the morning the servants have to search the floor for the little bits of his bones.”

“None the less,” says the Soldier, “if you will give me leave, I will stay there one night.”

“Get along with you then,” says the Tsar. “Go spend the night there if you've set your heart on it.”

So the Soldier went up to the palace and stepped in, singing through the empty rooms. He made himself comfortable in the biggest room of all, laid his knapsack out in a corner and hung his sword on a nail, sat down at a table, took out his bag of tobacco, filled his pipe, and sat there smoking, ready for what might come.

Twelve o'clock sharp and there was a yelling, and a shouting, and a blowing of horns, and a scraping of fiddles and every other kind of instrument, and a noise of dancing, and of running, and of stamping, and the palace crammed full of devils making themselves at home as if the place belonged to them.

“And you, Soldier?” cried the devils. “What are you sitting there so glum for, smoking your pipe? There's smoke enough where we have been. Put your pipe in your pocket and play a round of cards with us.”

“Right you are,” says the Soldier, “but only if we play with my cards.”

“Deal them out,” shouted the devils, and the Soldier put his pipe in his pocket and dealt out the cards, while the devils crowded round the table fighting for room on the benches.

They played a game and the Soldier won. They played another and he won again. The devils were cunning enough, but not all their cunning could win a single game. The Soldier was raking in the money, and soon the devils had not a penny between them, and the Soldier was for putting his cards in one pocket and lighting his pipe again, his other pockets bulging with money.

“Stop a minute, Soldier,” says the devils, “we've still got sixty bushels of silver and forty bushels of gold. We'll play for them if you'll give us time to send for them.”

“Lets see the silver,” says the Soldier, and puts the cards back on the table.

Well, they sent a little devil to fetch the silver. Sixty times he ran out of the room and sixty times he came staggering back with a bushel of silver on his shoulders.

The Soldier pulled out his cards, and they played on, but it was all the same. The devils cheated in every kind of way, but could not win a game.

“Go and fetch the gold,” says the oldest devil.

“Aye, aye, grandfather,” says the little devil, and goes scuttling out of the room. Forty times he ran out, and forty times he came staggering back with a bushel of gold on his shoulders.

They played on. The Soldier won every game and all the gold, asked if they had any more money to lose, put his cards in his pocket and lit his pipe.

The devils looked at all the money they had lost. It seemed a pity to lose all that good silver and gold.

“Tear him to pieces, brothers,” they cried, “eat him up and have done with him!”

The Soldier tapped his little pipe on the table.

“First make sure,” says he, “who eats whom.” And with that he whips out his sack, says to the devils, who were all gnash-
ing their teeth and ready to fall on him, “What do you call this?”

“It's a sack,” say the devils.

“Is it?” says the Soldier. “Then, by the get into it !”

And the next minute all the devils were tumbling over each other and getting into the sack, squeezing in over one another and one on the top of another until the last one had got inside. Then the Soldier tied up the sack with a good double knot, hung it on a nail, and lay down to sleep.

In the morning the Tsar sent his servants.

“Go, and see what has happened to the Soldier who spent the night in the empty palace,” says the Tsar, “Sweep up his bones and make the place all clean again.”

The servants came, all ready to lament for the brave Soldier done to death by the devils, and there was the Soldier walking cheerfully from one room to another, smoking his little pipe.

“Well done, Soldier! We never thought to see you alive. And how did you spend the night? How did you manage against the devils?”

“Devils?” says the Soldier. “I wish all men I have played cards against had paid their debts so honestly. Have a look at the silver and gold I won from them. Look at the heaps of money lying on the floor.”

The servants looked at the silver and gold and touched it to see if it was real. But there was no doubt about that. I wish I had more in my pocket of that sort.

“Now, brothers,” says the Soldier, “off with you as quick as you can, go and fetch two blacksmiths here. Let them bring with them an iron anvil and the two heaviest hammers in the forge.”

The servants asked no questions, but hurried to the blacksmith’s, and the two blacksmiths came running, with anvil and hammers. Giants they were, the strongest men in all the town.

“Now,” says the Soldier, “take that sack from the nail and lay it on the anvil and let me see how the blacksmiths of this town can set about their work.”

The blacksmiths took the sack from the nail, and little voices screamed out of the sack:“We are good folk. We are your own people.”

“Are you?” says the blacksmiths; and they laid the sack on the anvil and swung the great hammers, up and down, up and down, as if they were beating out a lump of iron.

The devils fared badly in there, then worse and worse. The hammers came down as if they were going through devils, anvil, Earth, and all. It was more than even devils could bear.

“Have mercy!” they screamed. “Have mercy, Soldier! Let us out again into the world, and we'll never forget you world without end; and as for this palace., no devil shall put the nail of the toe of his foot in it. We'll tell them all. Not one shall come within a hundred miles of it."

The Soldier let the blacksmiths give a few more blows, just for luck. Then he stopped them, and untied the mouth of the sack. The moment he opened it, the devils shot out, and fled away back to Hell without looking right or left in their hurry.

But the Soldier grabbed one old devil by the leg. And as the devil hung gibbering, trying to get away, the Soldier cut the devil's hairy wrist to the bone, so that the blood flowed, and took a pen, dipped it in the blood, and gave it to the devil. But he never let go of his leg.

“Write,” says he, “that you will be my faithful servant.”

The old devil screamed and wriggled, but the Soldier gripped him tight. There was nothing to be done. He wrote and signed in his own blood a promise to serve the Soldier faithfully wherever and whenever there should be need. Then the Soldier let him go, and he went hopping and screaming after the others, and had disappeared in a moment.

So the devils went rushing down to Hell, aching in every bone of their hairy bodies. And they called all the other devils, and demons, and all the unclean spirits, old and young, big and little, and told what had happened to them. And they set sentinels all round Hell, and guards at every gate, and ordered them to watch well, and, whatever they did, not on any account to let in any Soldier with a flour sack.

Then the Soldier went to the Tsar and told him how he had dealt with the devils, and how henceforth no devil would set foot within a hundred miles of the palace.

“Well, if that's so,” says the Tsar, “we'll move at once, and go and live there, and you shall live with me and be honored as my own brother."

And with that there was a great to do, shifting the bedding and tables and benches and all else from the old palace to the new, and the Soldier set up house with the Tsar, living with him as his own brother, and wearing fine clothes with gold embroidery, and eating the same food as the Tsar, and as much of it as he liked. Money to spend he had, for he had won from the devils enough to last even a spending man a thousand years. And he had nothing to spend it on. Hens don't eat gold. No more do mice. And there the money lay in a corner till the Soldier was tired of looking at it.

So the Soldier thought he would marry. And he took a wife, and in a year's time they had a son, and he had nothing more to wish for except to see the son grow up and turn into a general.

But it so happened that the little boy fell ill, and what was the matter with him no one knew. He grew worse and worse from day to day, and the Tsar sent for every doctor in the country, but not one of them did him a half- penny-worth of good. The doctors grew richer and the boy grew no better but worse, as is often the way.

The Soldier had almost given up hope of saving his son when he remembered the old devil who had signed a promise written in his own blood to serve the Soldier faithfully wherever and whenever there should be need. He remembered this, and says to himself:“Where the devil has my old devil hidden himself all this time?”

And he had scarcely says this when suddenly there was the little old devil standing in front of him, dressed like a peasant in a little shirt and breeches, and trembling with fright and asking:“How can I serve your Excellency?”

“See here,” says the Soldier. “My son is ill. Do you happen to know how to cure him?"

The little old devil took a glass from his pocket and filled it with cold water and set it on the sick child's forehead.

“Come here, your Excellency,” says he, “and look into the glass of water.”

The Soldier came and looked in the glass.

“And what does your Excellency see?” asked the little old devil, who was so much afraid of the Soldier that he trembled and could hardly speak.

“I see Death, like a little old woman, standing at my son's feet.”

“Rest easy,” says the little old devil, " for if Death is standing at your son's feet, he will be well again. But if Death were standing at his head then nothing could save him.”

And with that the little old devil lifted the glass and splashed the cold water over the sick child, and the next minute there was the little boy crawling about and laughing and crowing as if he had never been sick in his life.

“Give me that glass,” says the Soldier, “and your service to me is ended.”

The little old devil gave him the glass, and the Soldier gave back the promise which the devil had signed in his own blood. As soon as the little old devil had that promise in his hand, he gave one look at the Soldier and fled away, as if the blacksmiths had only that minute stopped beating him on the anvil.

Now after that, the Soldier after that set himself up as a wise man, and put all the doctors out of business, curing the royals and generals. He would just look in his glass, and if Death stood at a sick man's feet, he threw the water over him and cured him. If Death stood at the sick man's head, he says: “Well, it's all up with you,” and the sick man died as sure as fate.

All went well until the Tsar himself fell ill, and sent for the Soldier to cure him.

The Soldier went in, and the Tsar greeted him as his own brother, and prayed him to be quick, as he felt the sickness growing upon him as he lay. The Soldier poured cold water in the glass, and set it on the Tsar's forehead, and looked and looked again, and saw Death, as an old woman, standing at the Tsar's head.

“O Tsar,” says the Soldier, “it's all up with you. Death is waiting by your head, and you have but a few minutes left to live.”

“What?” cries the Tsar, “you cure my courtiers and my generals and you will not cure me, who am Tsar, and have treated you as my own born brother? If I've only a few minutes to live I've time enough to give orders for you to be beheaded.”

Well, the Soldier thought and thought, and he begged Death:" O Death, give my life to the Tsar and kill me instead. Better to die so than to end by being shamefully beheaded!”

He looked once more in the glass, and saw that the little old woman Death had shifted from the Tsar's head and was now standing at his feet. He picked up the glass and splashed the water over the Tsar, and there was the Tsar as well and healthy as ever he had been.

“You are my own true brother after all,” says the Tsar. “Let us go and feast together.”

But the Soldier shook in all his limbs and could hardly stand, and he knew that his time was come. He prayed Death: “O Death, give me just one hour to say good-bye to my wife and my little son.”

“Hurry it up!” says Death.

The Soldier hurried to his room in the palace, said good-bye to his wife. He told his son to grow up and be a general, lay down on his bed and grew sicker every minute. He looked up, and there was Death, a little old woman, standing by his bedside.

“Well, Soldier,” says Death, “you still have two minutes left to live!”

The Soldier groaned, and, turning in bed, pulled the flour sack from under his pillow and opened it.

“Do you know what this is?” says he to Death.

“A sack,” says Death.

“Well, if it is a sack, then get into it !” says the Soldier.

Death was into the sack in a moment, and the Soldier leapt from his bed well and strong, and tied up the sack with two double knots, flung it over his shoulder and set out for the deep forest, where it was thickest. He came to the forest and made his way into the middle of it, hung the sack from the topmost branches of a high tree, and left it there and came home singing songs at the top of his voice and full of all kinds of merriment.

From that time on there was no dying in the world. There were births every day, and plenty of them, but nobody died. It was a poor time for doctors. And so it was for many years. Death had come to an end, and it was as if all men would live for ever. And all the time the little old woman, Death, tied up in a sack, unable to get about her business, was hanging from the top of a tall tree away in the forest.

One day, the Soldier was walking out to take the air, and he met an ancient old woman, so old and so ancient that she was like to fall whichever way the wind blew. She tottered along, blown this way and that, like a blade of withered grass.

The Soldier says to himself. “It was time for her to die a many years ago.” But he said it aloud as well.

“Yes,” says the old woman, with her toothless gums mumbling and grumbling over her words. “Long ago it was time for me to die.
When you shut up Death in the sack I had only an hour left to live. I had done with the world, and the world had done with me, and
I would have been glad to be at peace. Long ago my place in heaven was made ready, and it is empty to this day for I cannot die. You, Soldier, have sinned before God and before man. You have sinned a sin that God will not forgive. I am not the only soul in the world who is tortured as I am. Mine is not the only place that is growing dusty in heaven. Hundreds and thousands of us who should have died drag on in misery about the world. And but for you we should now be resting in peace."

The Soldier began to think. And he thought of all the other old men and women he had kept from the rest that God had made ready for them. “There is no doubt about it,” thinks he; “I had better let Death loose again. No matter if I am the first of whom she makes an end. I have sinned many sins, not counting this one. Better go to the other world now and bear my punishment while I am strong, for when I am very old it will come worse to me to be tortured."

So he set off to the forest, to the deepest and thickest part, and he found the tree, and saw the sack hanging from the topmost branches, swinging this way and that as wind blew.

“Well, Death, are you still alive up there?” the Soldier shouted against the wind.

And a little voice, hardly to be heard, answered from the sack: “Alive? No, never alive; but still here, little father!”

So the Soldier climbed up the tree, took down the sack, and carried it home over his shoulder. He says good-bye to his wife again, and to his son, who was now a fine young lad. Then he goes into his own room, opens the flower sack, lays down upon the bed, and begs Death to make an end of him.

Now Death comes out of the sack, this time in the form of a fair young girl, and she says to the soldier, “You played a fine trick, putting me into that sack, and I had a fine rest, hanging up in the topmost branches of that tree. But you have put me behind in my business, and I may never catch it back up, and I cannot spend any more time on you. Let the devils can make an end of you if they like, but you won't catch me taking a hand in it.”

The Soldier sat up on the bed and knew that he was alive and well. Troubled he was as to what to do next. Thinks he: “I'd better get straight along to Hell, and let the devils throw me into the boiling pitch, and stew me until all my sins are stewed out of me.”

So he says good-bye to everybody, once again, and takes his sack in his hands and sets off to Hell by the best road he could find.

Well, he walks on and on, over hill and valley and through the deep forest, until he comes at last to the kingdom of Devil. There were the walls of Hell and the gates of Hell, and as he looked he saw that there were sentinels standing at every gate. As soon as he comes near a gate the devil doing sentry duty calls out: “Who goes there?”

“A sinful soul coming to you to be stewed in the boiling pitch."

“And what is that you've got in your hand?”

“A sack..”

And the devil yelled out at the top of his voice and gave the alarm. From all sides the devils rushed up and began closing every gate and window in Hell with strong bolts and bars. Then the Soldier walks round Hell outside the walls, but is unable to get in.

He cries out to the Prince of Hell: “Let me into Hell, I beg you. I have come to you to be tormented, because I have sinned before God and before man.”

“No,” shouts the Prince of Hell, “I won't let you in. Go away. Go away, I tell you. Go away, anywhere you like. There's no place for
you here.”

The Soldier is more troubled than ever.

“Well,” says he, “if you won't let me in, you won't. I'll go away if you will give me two hundred sinful souls. I will take them to God, and perhaps, when he sees them, he will forgive me and let me into heaven.”

“I'll throw in another fifty,” says the Prince of Hell, “if only you'll get away from here.” And he told the lesser devils to count out two hundred and fifty sinful souls and to let them out quickly at one of the back doors of Hell, while he held the Soldier in talk, so that the Soldier should not slip in while the sinful souls were going out.

It was done, and the Soldier set off for heaven with two hundred and fifty sinful souls behind him, marching in column and rank, as the Soldier made them for the sake of order and decency.

Well, they marched on and on, and in the end they came to heaven, and stopped before the very gates of Heaven.

The holy apostles, standing in the gateway of Heaven, ask: “Who are you?”

“I am the Soldier who hung Death in a sack, and I have brought two hundred and fifty sinful souls from Hell in hope that God will pardon my sins and let me into Heaven.”

The apostles went to the Lord, and told him that the Soldier had come, and brought with him two hundred and fifty sinful souls.

And God said: “Let in the sinful souls, but do not let in the Soldier.”

The apostles went back to the gateway, and opened the gates and told the souls they might come in. But when the Soldier tried to march in at the head of his company they stopped him, and said: “Not so, Soldier! There's no place for you here."

So the Soldier took one of the sinful souls aside and gave that soul his sack, and told him: “As soon as you are through the gates of
Heaven, open the sack and shout out “Into the sack, Soldier!” You will do this because I brought you here from Hell."

And the sinful soul promised to do this for the Soldier.

But when that sinful souls went through the gates into Heaven, for very joy every though of Hell and Earth was forgotten, and the old flour sack was thrown away somewhere in Heaven, where it may be lying to this day.

So the Soldier, after waiting a long time, went slowly back to Earth. He had been gone so long that his wife was long dead, and his son, and the old Tsar, and all the friends he had known.
So Death would not take him, and Hell would not take him, and Heaven would not take him, and there was no one left on Earth that would take him in.

So he wanders the Earth still, trying to find some place for himself. And he has lost the flour sack, and the glass the old devil had given him.

But when he needs a little money, he takes out the playing cards.

Wow! Wonderful story, Klar. Thanks for sharing.

This is a somewhat similar theme to Klar Ken's story. It's something I always wanted to explore. I think He Who will appreciate the effort.
------------------------


“In the beginning was the Word...”

He reflected on those words, so old and so mysterious. He had reflected on them so many times over the centuries. He had seen so much and known so many. And many knew him. Or at least they thought they did.

His name was very simple. It was considered one of the simplest in the Western World, but all is not as it seems. Indeed, he had not used that name for himself in a very long time.

That name is recited by young children. It's the fourth in the list. Soaring high as the eagle, they are told. He is honored by some in grand edifices. He is honored by others by holding up cards referring to one sentence he wrote.

His fame requires the world to think he is dead, but he never died. It all started when the Master called him. He wandered along with the Master and became the one he cared for the most. Until the tragic day...

But then it all changed. Still, the Master was gone.

He cared for his Master's Mother. He said he would. His Brothers were all killed—indeed, his actual brother was the first of them to be killed—but he was not. He did some writing. He wrote the story of his Master. He wrote a few letters. He wrote of a strange and disturbing vision.

That was when the wandering truly began. He saw change such as he never thought he would see. He wandered Earth and, when the opportunity came over 2000 years later, he wandered space.

But he never forgot his Master. It was the Master on whose merit his fame rests.

“And the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us...”

And he never forgot what his Master said the last time they were all together:

“If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee? Follow thou me.”

Then went this saying abroad among the brethren, that that disciple should not die...

Finally, he found a new set of Brothers—and Sisters—all very different from his first band, but certainly dedicated to the same ideals, if not the exact same beliefs. They knew nothing of where he had come from. When they asked his name, he simply said “He Who Wanders”.

Awesome story, Rocky!