Zeddar stood in the music shop in Occlo. He had always enjoyed Occlo. It seemed like a safe city, warm and inviting. Zeddar had never lived there, but he had somehow always been drawn to it. He liked the stone buildings the smooth cobbled streets. They seemed to speak of a quiet, dignified age. Someone cleared their throat, and Zeddar jumped a bit. He turned to look at the woman, and she smiled warmly at him. In a glance, she took in his ragged clothes, filthy face, and mangled hair and beard. Her head tilted slightly to the side, but her warm expression never changed. "You know how to play?" She asked after a moment, flicking her chin at the lutes hanging against the wall behind Zeddar's left shoulder. "I did once," Zeddar replied, "A lifetime ago. Several, in fact." The woman frowned, but she reached up to pull one of the medium-sized, five stringed lutes down. She tested the weight, nodded, and handed the instrument to Zeddar. He took it carefully, looking at the neck and body to inspect the wood. He couldn't help smiling at how familiar the instrument felt in his hands, though he knew he'd never held it before. He couldn't have. He had been in that cavern longer than this kind woman had been alive. Zeddar lifted the lute to his face, and inhaled deeply through his nose. He smiled, "I've missed that smell." The woman started to say something, but Zeddar beat her to it, "You know, I remember my first life clearly. One of the clearest of them all, actually. I was a farmer, if you can believe it. I used to walk through my fields in bare feet, feeling the soil beneath my toes. I still do that sometimes, you know... walk out in a field and take off my boots and just feel the dirt. It's amazing the thigns that stick with you over time." Zeddar smiled, and plucked each string once, letting the tone ring out and slowly fade away naturally. He listened to the full length of each natural note, felt the way the wood of the lute vibrated with the strings. He breathed a deep, heavy sigh. "I remember autumns the most, when the shadows from the late afternoon sun grow long and dark. The warmth of summer is still there, but it fades faster and faster each night. I love that time of year most of all. The air fills with all these new colors and smells.... Spring is all greens and yellows, and crisp and fresh. But autumn...that's all about golden and brown and a good dry warmth that lets you know the harvest is ready to come in." Zeddar tried plucking a few notes, his fingers moving slowly and awkwardly at first. As he kept plucking the strings, though, he began to gain confidence. He spoke as he played, "I used to climb up on a fresh bale of golden hay, light my pipe, and play the lute through the sunset and into the night. The whippoorwills and the owls would start in about the time the moon came up, and I would just smile." Zeddar's song now began to roll, up and down the octave range, like gentle hills. Toward the end of one run, his fingers stumbled, and he stopped, stretching them. The woman applauded, and grinned. "That was impressive," She said, "Though I don't recognize it, and I know all of the master composers. What is it called?" Zeddar chuckled and handed the lute back to the woman, "You know," He replied with a small shrug, "I never did get around to naming it. I can't remember if I even wrote it down back then... that was so long ago." The woman's eyes widened, and then she frowned again, "How long has been since you played?" Zeddar shook his head, "I don't know. What year is it?" The woman frowned at him for a moment, then chuckled as if he'd told a good joke. Zeddar was confused, but the woman seemed to have made some sort of decision. She nodded, hung the lute back up on the wall, and put her hand on Zeddar's shoulder. "I don't know what trouble you've found," She said, "Or what trouble found you, but you can stay here at the Bard's Hall for a time. We could always use someone to work the Inns and Taverns in the area, and with a little practice I think you could draw quite a crowd," And after a brief pause, "For a song, or a story." The woman ushered Zeddar to the front door of the hall, and poured a few coins into his hand. Zeddar moved to give them back to the woman, shaking his head, "I don't want charity," He told her firmly. "Fool man," The woman grumbled, "It isn't charity, it's a job. And these are special marked coins for a handful of the shopkeepers around. The tailor, and what not. We have good arrangements with the business, and they help us out when we need it. You play beautifully, if a little stiffly, but you look like a dung heap. We need to get you cleaned up and presentable." Zeddar looked at the coins in his hand, and they were different from others he'd seen. There was no seal on them, simply a lute and a harp on one side, a tambourine and a flute on the other. Still, the coins were heavy, and obviously gold. Still, since he'd walked through the doors of the hall, the constant pull he'd felt in his heart and in his mind since he'd left the Island of Deceit had vanished. That feeling had brought him here, and then it was simply gone. Whatever was supposed to happen, whatever had been strong enough to call him out of his solitude, it would be found here. As Zeddar stepped out into the sunlight, he smiled. He had liked being a farmer very much. It seemed it was the intensity of his overal emotional experience that dictated how well he remembered his past lives. The length of time that had passed seemed to play almost no role at all, and some of his most recent incarnations were the dimmest to his recollection. They were vague, half-remembered impressions more than memories. And some past lives he remembered with glaring detail, whether he wanted to or not. Overall, though, he wouldn't trade the good memories to spare himself the painful ones. He'd always managed to stay on the right side of that balance, and he was thankful for that. Fate had smiled on him once, at least. As Zeddar made his way to the Tailor, he sniffed under one arm. Yes, dung heap had definitely been a bit harsh....but perhaps only a bit....
Jupiter handed the tavern hostess the coins and asserted "now you must insist no less than thrice or he will not accept it" he paused "and if necessary insist with insult." Jupiter was quite sorry he could not personally greet Zeddar upon arrival, but his training, once initiated had to be maintained. He had so much he longed to share; more importantly he wanted to see for himself if Zeddar could still be counted as friend our foe. He held out hope for the friend he had known. If he could at least get a lute or small lap harp in his hands perhaps it would be enough awaken and keep aglow the light of his virtuous soul... clasping the coins in the woman's hand Jupiter looked her in the eye one last time. "swear to me you will tend to him well when he arrives. insist he play you a tune and you will know for certain he is no devil. For only one who bears an eternal soul could play the melody of the spirit's missive." he then turned and followed the figure who effortlessly opened a blue portal upon the grass outside
