Ulysses
03-04-10, 03:35 PM
Closed.
It was the sort of warm spring day that only comes once a year. It wasn’t too hot, or too chilly, and the sky was cloudless and a clear blue. Young couples strolled down the streets holding hands and laughing; celebrating the vanquishing of winter and the return of warm weather, as if this didn’t happen every year but was a rare occurrence to be savored. Ulysses absentmindedly walked down the streets of the City of Scara Brae, enjoying the warmth and the sunshine. He was reminded of a day like this that had come years ago, before he’d begun his life as an adventurer. He’d spent the day with a girl…not a beautiful girl, but one who was special in his memory nonetheless.
He didn’t sigh, but a cloudy sort of melancholy came over him. He found himself whistling a brief tune. He pursed his lips and blew out a few notes, one after another, in a happy little melody. Whistling was his only real musical skill—there hadn’t been much opportunity for music in his life as a fisherman or an adventurer. And that reminded him, there was something he was supposed to do today…
The bar he was looking for was called the Fool’s Bell, and it was in the middle of the entertainment district of town. The people who frequented it were mostly actors and actresses, singers, musicians, and thespians and performers in general. Ulysses walked in expecting to stand out, but he was one of the more conspicuously dressed people in the place. Men and women alike wore egregious costumes of purples and greens, feathered headdresses and costumes of every description. The air was a scented mix of perfumes, colognes, and exotic fragrances. It was a cacophony of noise—he wondered how anyone could hear the people they were trying to have conversations with. He tried to make his way to the center of the bar, and on his way he bumped into a pirate (who menaced him with a fake cutlass), a woman carrying a tiny harp, and a man (woman? man? he couldn’t decide) in an enormous white dress.
Eventually he made it to the bar itself and crawled up onto a bright green barstool. The bartender—a tall, serious looking man in a red waistcoat—walked over to him and looked down a slender nose at him in disdain.
“Would you like something to drink…sir?” the bartender said, in a high-class accent that made Ulysses feel like scum off the streetcorner.
“No, no thanks,” Ulysses said, remembering the last time he’d tried to drink alcohol. He hadn’t been able to get the slightest bit drunk. “I, uh, don’t drink. I’m looking for information, actually.”
The bartender looked bored. “Really,” he said. “There might be a price for that.”
“I understand,” Ulysses said. “I’m looking for the Tantalum.”
It couldn’t be said that a hush came over the bar, but certainly…something happened. It was like a large wedge had been inserted into the conversation, and all the words and sentences were filling in around it, without anyone really paying attention to what was coming out. No one at all looked at Ulysses or the bartender, but everyone’s body seemed to (purely coincidentally) turn a few degrees towards that direction. Ulysses began to swear nervously. Somehow this complete lack of attention was more unnerving than if every eye in the place had simultaneously turned on him.
A slender man sitting a stool or two down the bar from Ulysses slipped off it and walked out of the bar in a rush.
The bartender continued his expression of disinterest, but something in his eyes was sharp and alert now. “Sir, I will offer you a piece of advice, gratis.” He paused, and placed both hands on the bar. “I would suggest that you do one thing if you plan to look for the Tantalum.”
“What’s that?” Ulysses asked, eyes wide. The people around him made an even stronger point of carrying on their conversations absolutely normally and paying no mind to the strange swordsman who had entered their territory.
“Don’t.” And with that the bartender turned his back and began to pour drinks for a small group that had just walked in the door. Ulysses shoved through the crowd and made his way to the exit, disappointed. That had been his best lead to the Tantalum—and through the Tantalum, to a teacher. He had to learn a musical instrument, and learning from one of the legendary roguish street performers had seemed like a good way to do it…but perhaps that idea was too romantic. There were a number of good, reputable tutors in the city, after all. If only he had money…
Why did the Spirit want him to learn an instrument, anyway? The Spirit of Cydonia—a spirit of heroic virtue and accomplishment—had appeared to him only a few years ago. It had stolen his name and given him a new one, then imbued him with the spirits of long-dead warriors. What did learning to play a musical instrument have to do with being Cydonia’s ideal hero? The Spirit hadn’t explained; it had simply come to him in a dream and told him that was what he was meant to do. Supposedly learning an instrument would make him a better conduit for a new heroic spirit Cydonia wished to channel through his body. It all just seemed very odd to Ulysses.
He slumped against a bench outside the bar, and stared into the sunny sky with glazed eyes. Questioning orders from the spirit was worse than useless, though. He’d tried to do that in the past, and it had only turned out worse for him in the end. Like it or not, the spirit Cydonia was his god, and disobeying it would only lead to tragedy. Maybe it wouldn’t always be that way, though…someday, perhaps, he would be free.
That was far in the distance, though. For now he was confronted with a simpler, but seemingly as unsolvable problem. How to find the Tantalum? Perhaps he should just heed the bartender’s advice and give up the search.
He sighed. At least it was a nice day outside.
It was the sort of warm spring day that only comes once a year. It wasn’t too hot, or too chilly, and the sky was cloudless and a clear blue. Young couples strolled down the streets holding hands and laughing; celebrating the vanquishing of winter and the return of warm weather, as if this didn’t happen every year but was a rare occurrence to be savored. Ulysses absentmindedly walked down the streets of the City of Scara Brae, enjoying the warmth and the sunshine. He was reminded of a day like this that had come years ago, before he’d begun his life as an adventurer. He’d spent the day with a girl…not a beautiful girl, but one who was special in his memory nonetheless.
He didn’t sigh, but a cloudy sort of melancholy came over him. He found himself whistling a brief tune. He pursed his lips and blew out a few notes, one after another, in a happy little melody. Whistling was his only real musical skill—there hadn’t been much opportunity for music in his life as a fisherman or an adventurer. And that reminded him, there was something he was supposed to do today…
The bar he was looking for was called the Fool’s Bell, and it was in the middle of the entertainment district of town. The people who frequented it were mostly actors and actresses, singers, musicians, and thespians and performers in general. Ulysses walked in expecting to stand out, but he was one of the more conspicuously dressed people in the place. Men and women alike wore egregious costumes of purples and greens, feathered headdresses and costumes of every description. The air was a scented mix of perfumes, colognes, and exotic fragrances. It was a cacophony of noise—he wondered how anyone could hear the people they were trying to have conversations with. He tried to make his way to the center of the bar, and on his way he bumped into a pirate (who menaced him with a fake cutlass), a woman carrying a tiny harp, and a man (woman? man? he couldn’t decide) in an enormous white dress.
Eventually he made it to the bar itself and crawled up onto a bright green barstool. The bartender—a tall, serious looking man in a red waistcoat—walked over to him and looked down a slender nose at him in disdain.
“Would you like something to drink…sir?” the bartender said, in a high-class accent that made Ulysses feel like scum off the streetcorner.
“No, no thanks,” Ulysses said, remembering the last time he’d tried to drink alcohol. He hadn’t been able to get the slightest bit drunk. “I, uh, don’t drink. I’m looking for information, actually.”
The bartender looked bored. “Really,” he said. “There might be a price for that.”
“I understand,” Ulysses said. “I’m looking for the Tantalum.”
It couldn’t be said that a hush came over the bar, but certainly…something happened. It was like a large wedge had been inserted into the conversation, and all the words and sentences were filling in around it, without anyone really paying attention to what was coming out. No one at all looked at Ulysses or the bartender, but everyone’s body seemed to (purely coincidentally) turn a few degrees towards that direction. Ulysses began to swear nervously. Somehow this complete lack of attention was more unnerving than if every eye in the place had simultaneously turned on him.
A slender man sitting a stool or two down the bar from Ulysses slipped off it and walked out of the bar in a rush.
The bartender continued his expression of disinterest, but something in his eyes was sharp and alert now. “Sir, I will offer you a piece of advice, gratis.” He paused, and placed both hands on the bar. “I would suggest that you do one thing if you plan to look for the Tantalum.”
“What’s that?” Ulysses asked, eyes wide. The people around him made an even stronger point of carrying on their conversations absolutely normally and paying no mind to the strange swordsman who had entered their territory.
“Don’t.” And with that the bartender turned his back and began to pour drinks for a small group that had just walked in the door. Ulysses shoved through the crowd and made his way to the exit, disappointed. That had been his best lead to the Tantalum—and through the Tantalum, to a teacher. He had to learn a musical instrument, and learning from one of the legendary roguish street performers had seemed like a good way to do it…but perhaps that idea was too romantic. There were a number of good, reputable tutors in the city, after all. If only he had money…
Why did the Spirit want him to learn an instrument, anyway? The Spirit of Cydonia—a spirit of heroic virtue and accomplishment—had appeared to him only a few years ago. It had stolen his name and given him a new one, then imbued him with the spirits of long-dead warriors. What did learning to play a musical instrument have to do with being Cydonia’s ideal hero? The Spirit hadn’t explained; it had simply come to him in a dream and told him that was what he was meant to do. Supposedly learning an instrument would make him a better conduit for a new heroic spirit Cydonia wished to channel through his body. It all just seemed very odd to Ulysses.
He slumped against a bench outside the bar, and stared into the sunny sky with glazed eyes. Questioning orders from the spirit was worse than useless, though. He’d tried to do that in the past, and it had only turned out worse for him in the end. Like it or not, the spirit Cydonia was his god, and disobeying it would only lead to tragedy. Maybe it wouldn’t always be that way, though…someday, perhaps, he would be free.
That was far in the distance, though. For now he was confronted with a simpler, but seemingly as unsolvable problem. How to find the Tantalum? Perhaps he should just heed the bartender’s advice and give up the search.
He sighed. At least it was a nice day outside.