The text on the tablet is a family tree of Arabic nobility, with notes about tomb locations and who would be eligible heirs, specifically for jewelry.
Silas looks at her in astonishment as she recounts his supposed feats and accomplishments. Itâs thing he dreamt of doing during his apprenticeship sure, but how could he have forgotten about it all? Someone must have tampered with his mind somehow.
âYears prior⌠All these achievements⌠Just how much have I forgotten? What year is it?â
Argentius looks carefully at the tablet, brow furrowing slightly. Then he smiles briefly before continuing looking through the lab for other notes or writings to show whose lab this really is.
Zarkut thinks for a moment. Throngs worship Ra and Isis? I'm not even sure who that is, but doesn't sound Divine... interesting...
Seeing more foreigners gathering, the only people who look different from everone else here, he sits on the balcony rail, swinging over the top of it to drop to the ground outside, and walks over to the group.
A young man approaches, wearing a linen robe, pale-skinned, with thick black hair and bright blue eyes. He smiles at the others. "Hello. My name is Zarkut. I couldn't help but notice that you stand out the way I do. Do any of you know why I'm here?"
"I'm not sure any of us know why we're here, no." says Aetherius.
The half naked woman shrugs "I don't know. We clearly are not in Greece, so it isn't the year I remember, so sometime after 1260."
Argentius finds lab texts on the desk which are written in his handwriting and with his shorthand.
*note: there is no "everybody else here" in terms of appearance- there seem to be three distinct hroups of people judging by skin tone and dress, one group looks mediteranean- French or Itallian perhaps, the second group looks like what you would associate with egyptian or the levant, the third group are clearly Moors. plus of course the automatons... which come in metal wood and stone.
Argentius holds up a lab text, studying it for a long moment, a finger tracing along the handwriting and the shorthand. He sets it back as if replacing a sacred text and turns back to look again about the room.
"This just can't beâŚ"
The Verditius walks over to the massive map of the known regions of Africa. He studies it, first locating where he understands Libya to be and then letting his finger trace out from there, seeking any notes or markings, something that would trace his journey from his gauntlet in the Thebes Tribunal to this refuge.
Silas put his heads in his hands.
âThatâs at least 73 years I canât remember anything from⌠What in the world happened?â
Looking up at the woman, he feels a twig of guilt over not even having asked for her name yet.
âI am sorry, but I donât remember you name. When I first entered you said something about unpacking my artwork. Was there something special I was supposed to do today?â
Nothing indicates what Argentius' path was, but his notes indicate where the rings traveled, at least according to the research he has done, had done, would have done? It appears that the Spanish muslims raided corsica in the early ninth century, and while the invasion failed you apparently concluded they had taken the rings to spain, and from there to Morrocco. From there you have a lot of maybes including that they may have been split up, some or all of them may have gone to Alexandria or cairo, they may have been captured or taken when fleeing during one of the governmental revolutions in Morrocco...
by the time you have traced all of this from your notes it is mid-day (long after the current conversation outside)
The half naked woman gives another shrug, "I don't know what you had planned today, but I did find your artwork packed away in here." she leads you to another room where a large crate holds 50 pieces of wooden artwork ranging from woodcuts to wooden sculptures.
Argentius appears to fall right into a familiar pattern of study in his lab, the light touch of his fingers on the map turning into deeper study, gathering materials to take notes, seeking out Nicole for a drink of water or watered wine, before returning to his note taking and studying.
(OOC: Let me know when you're ready for me to leave the Lab.)
Silas inspects the crate and a few of the art pieces within. After some time he follows the womanâs example and shrugs.
âThis is all very mysterious, but at least I know more now. Thank you. However, I am afraid I will leave unpacking these until I know even more. I suppose there must be a purpose to me storing them like this. Since this appears to be my laboratory this must be a covenant and then there should be a few other magi around. I am sure they will be able to clear thing up for me.â
Silas tries his best to sound convinced, though he isnât so sure. Isnât it very possible that one of his sodales is behind his current affliction? Couldnât this be explained by some powerful Perdo Mentem effect? He will have to trust his own judgment. Surely he wouldnât have been foolish enough to settle at a covenant with potential enemies?
The half naked woman was talking to Silas, and nowhere near Zarkut.
The topless muse nods "Of course, I suppose I should get dressed then."
"I expect people would gather outside," Plasmatoris agrees. The artist-Jerbiton shoulders his newly-packed satchel and heads to glance out the window briefly, then he pushes open the door and steps out into the courtyard - and the tiny little world of indoors opens up into a beauteous bounty of scenery and chaos outside. People and creatures milling about, confusion and conversation.
"Oh, that is lovely," Plasmatoris says, perhaps a bit too loudly, in his native Venetian language. His ardent gaze swings out to take in the people about the courtyard. "I wish I had a spell to fix this image in my mind for the future," he says with a sigh, this time speaking Latin. Then he turns, leaving the doorway to the studio open, and he quickly grabs an easel and something to draw upon, setting it up just outside the door to begin making preliminary sketches of the outdoor scene before him; A strange landscape, a chaos of words and everyone seeming just as confused as he is - well, as he should be, he'll be confused again later once he gets this sketched out. For now he has forgotten the little pixie Mimi.
Once heâs done with Okeannitis and Aetherius, Lares tries to find someone in the yard who can translate between Latin and whatever language everyone speaks here. Then he goes back to the woman in his sanctum and tries to talk to her via translator.
Silas looks down on her chest thoughtfully. Before catching himself and answering.
âYea I suppose that would be for the best, I should probably change into something more respectable as well. I must have some robes somewhere, probably the chest in the bedroom.â
Lares finds some of the older people in the yard who know some Latin, but have differing native tongues- Franco-provencal, arabic, and berber are all present.
Silas finds clothes in the chest- simple white robes, and makes it outside as Lares is starting to head in.
"Tastheus," he says in both Latin and French, "My name is Tastheus of House Tytalus. I am very confused how I got here."
Silas has to shade his eyes as he leaves the building and enters the harsh sun. The scene is rather striking, even with the forewarning form the window. The new landscape is so different from what he had grown used to. The mix of people, strange animals and artificial life all walking around among the white painted buildings. In the middle of it all the erupting geyser. It's a lot to take in. Silas collects himself, but quickly realize that he isnât sure how to proceed. Should he shout out? Wouldnât that just cause embarrassment? Itâs not like he knows whom to ask for or where to be taken. Silas just stands by the door looking around as he contemplates what to do next.
âI would ask a small favor of you. I have met a new friend, but I do not speak her language, nor do I know what language that is. If you could follow me and see if you can understand her, that would be most helpful.â
Lares leads all of the various Latin-speakers to the hallway outside his bedroom, and sees if one of them understands the woman, then asks that person to translate.