It is an odd feeling for a mind to wake, as if waking from sleep, to find that the body has been acting of its own volition.  There is a surprise, a wonder when one knows they are alive and standing, and perhaps had just a moment ago had been doing many other things but there is no memory, not even a trace of one, as to how they got there.

The first thing Judoc remembers is the shape of his own face.  It is looking at him first with an expression of vague attentiveness, of scholarly wonder.  But slowly, that confidence fades into lines of confusion, the corners of his mouth turning down with disapproval.

It does not come to Judoc all at once that he is making those expressions...  that he is in fact looking at himself in a mirror.  It comes to him just a moment later that he is holding a conversation, or at least he is listening to another man, one who is standing at his shoulder just behind him talking in a rhythm that suggests that while Judoc was just now starting to hear his words, the man had been talking for some time longer.

"...  The sand for the glass must be purified, then melted down and purified again.  The slightest impurity, such as a single grain of dust, can distort the image.  The plate on the back is a sheet of mixed silver as fine as paper.  My assistants are quite adept at their work, and they have learned that I will not accept even a single flaw."

Judoc takes the moment of silence to look back at his reflection.  Indeed, the mirror's surface is more clear than any he had ever seen before.  His reflection is a perfect likeness.  The frame too is wrapped in a braided silver with just a trace of black tarnish on the deepest recesses of the texture.  It is immaculate.

Judoc looks around him to the left and right, and he finds himself taking in many wonders.  He appears to be in some sort of a shop, with items for sale that immediately pique Judoc's curiosity.  To his right, is a small table with an inlaid astrolabe.  At its center the sun is set in bronze with the orbits and planets delicately set in, Judoc even thinks from the distance he can see a small moon moving, orbiting Yrth in the slowest of circles.

To the left, by the window, there is a brass bird, a nightingale, and now that he is looking there Judoc realizes that the decoration is open mouthed as if turned into metal in the very act of singing.  Even as he is watching it, Judoc can hear a faint whistle of the wind vibrate through the brass, a whisper of a song and Judoc has the sudden impression that the metal craftwork desires nothing more than to turn into flesh and feather, to sing with lung and breath.

Just to the side, a foot high clock that seems to be running from the drips of water that pour over a wheel on its front.

At the back of the shop, two mechanical dolls bow to each other in turn, their gears in clear view, though no strings seem to hold them up in place.  The dolls remind Judoc of something else, though it seems his memory is foggy and unfocused.

Judoc shakes his head, astounded.  Unsure where he is, or why it is here where his mind suddenly decided to return.

Perhaps taking Judoc's gesture for disbelief, the man behind him gazes across the room, the trace of a modest smile playing upon his lips.  "Yes, we are quite proud of our achievements.  My wares are crafted with an eye towards the sciences...  Astronomy, geomancy, mathematics, medicine, and alchemy, I am glad that you find them so pleasing to behold."

OOC:  Welcome back to the game Judoc!  You are not sure of the date.  Your can remember everything up to your last post in the game, however you are strangely blank after that point.  You cannot remember anything, and it feels as if you have suddenly popped into being in the middle of the shop.  You do have all your adventuring gear with you, though you do not seem to have your horse (did you sell your horse?), nor is Aiah around.  Feel free to ask administrative questions OOC and things pertinent to the thread IC.

It is said that the greatest mystery known to a man is himself. So much time is spent in study, work, activity, doing, and so little done in reflecting, thinking, being. But right now, staring at this mirror, all that busyness seems to flee from Judoc. He knows who he is, but he feels disorientated, as if just waking up from a coma. He knows who he is, and he knows where he has been and what he has done. Wasn’t he heading back to Azer? He was supposed to travel by Gate magic, but he cannot remember ever doing so.

He slowly looks around him, taking in the curiosities around him, but where the devil is he? The shop owner or master craftsman is speaking about the mirror, and Judoc takes the opportunity to examine it more closely, but his mind whirls with questions. The last thing he remembers is meeting Archibald – is Judoc still in Craine? He must be. But where is the other young student, and how the devil is Judoc here in this shop? And Viscount Tenesworth must be wondering where Judoc is.

”I’m sorry…” Judoc says in bewilderment, turning back to the man speaking to him. Who is this man? Where the hell is Judoc? Aiah! He sends a message to his faithful familiar. ~Aiah, I’m not sure what just happened, but I seem to have lost the last…~ The last few minutes? Hours? How long has he been in this shop? How did he get here? ~Aiah? Can you hear me?~

He feels his backpack on his back. He has his leathers on, though not his helm. “Excuse me a moment, sir,” he says, and shifts his backpack off his shoulders, sets it down on the floor of the shop, and quickly checks through its contents. No tent or sleeping fur, but everything else seems to be there, including his helm. Shaking his head as if to clear out his confusion, Judoc closes his pack, slings it back on his shoulder, and takes stock of his situation.

Perhaps if he waits a moment, his memory will come back to him. “Your work reminds me of a collector I once knew.” The face comes before the name, but Judoc remembers stabbing a blade of fire through Haj Umr ibn-Hussein’s chest. “He would have appreciated your work.” Or, perhaps, ibn-Hussein had purchased his automatons from this very shop.

“How long have you worked at your craft? And how long have you had your shop?” Surely he is still in Craine. The problem is that Judoc simply cannot remember.

OOC: It feels great to be back! Prior to meeting up with Archibald, Judoc had sold his horse and tack and his bulkier items (his sleeping fur and tent).

Judoc throws his mind out towards his familiar, explaining, or questioning perhaps, his own absence... though he is still not sure how long that absence has been.  Though his pleas are met with only silence inside his mind...  He cannot feel her presence, though he cannot remember any harm befalling her...

The Merchant does not question as Judoc throws off his pack and rummages through the contents.  Instead, the man simply continues looking at his own silver mirror as if silently appreciating his own work.

When Judoc does get to his own feet, and makes an off hand comment about the merchandise, the old man merely nods his head, an odd smile playing at his lips.

"I like to think that my work here is unique, though I can appreciate there is very little that is truly new in this world.  Allah guides all of us, not just I, and gifts many with his insight."  The old man pauses, taking in Judoc's face for a moment.  "Though I suppose the front room is not where our greatest creations are kept...  Perhaps though, you would appreciate something a little deeper."

Still shaking the cobwebs from his mind, Judoc is taken aback as the merchant turns, and walks towards a door in the side wall, beckoning Judoc on with him.

"Oh, we have been here for nearly a year.  I have owned a shop in Shaniyabad for many years, though now I have left it to my son.  Though it is not home, there is much to say for Craine, and sales her have been good...  I am Basharat."  The merchant adds, not as an introduction, but a mere statement, or a reminder.

"There it is."    Basharat smiles, approaching a pedestal on which sits a thick hoop, some two hands across, made of a curious metal.  Its color is midnight black, but the surface is polished to such a sheen that if it had been any other color, Judoc is sure he could see his own reflection in it.

In the center of the ring, Judoc can see nothing...  though after a moment, and after his eyes attune with his power, Judoc can sense the deep threads of magic that ripple across the gap.

"Yes, I am quite proud of this."  Basharat exclaims, watching Judoc's curious expression.

Where could Aiah be? It was not like her to wander so far away. Judoc feels a burst of irritation and concern at the absence of his familiar.  The concern adds to his feelings of disorientation. Perhaps he had gone through the gate, and Aiah somehow had not? And he might need Aiah's presence. Judoc is beginning to feel exposed and very much alone.

Allah. Of course. This man is a Muslim. Where the devil is Judoc, then? Has he somehow crossed the border once more and found himself in Muslim lands? Stranger and stranger.

Almost automatically, Judoc follows the man as he walks toward the side wall. Craine? Judoc feels a bit of relief start to seep in. He still does not know how he found himself in this shop, but at least he is still in the same city. "And I am Judoc," the young mage answers, though he cannot remember if he had introduced himself before.

"What is this? It's beautiful." Judoc cannot help but be impressed, and he gazes at the hoop in wonder. He feels the magic from the ring. "Are you a mage, then?" he asks. An enchanter, perhaps. A quite skillful one, too, to be able to make these wonders.

"Yes."  Basharat answers to Judoc's introduction.  Again, it does not seem like a greeting, but simply a reassertion of Judoc's identity.  Judoc cannot help but have the feeling that perhaps he had already introduced himself, maybe when he entered the shop, but he simply cannot remember it.

"This,"  Basharat continues once they stand next to the black hoop.  "Is a gate.  You see, the mana of this world is inherently unstable.  It flows chaotically, and unpredictably.  At times it gathers of its own accord and produces gates naturally for brief periods of time.  Some call them Banestorms.  But in truth they are simply areas where the mana is so dense that it bends the very nature of space and time.  There are those who say gates can cast whole cities across worlds and I don't doubt it...  Though translating through dimensional space is nearly impossible to reliably recreate without paired objects.  Far easier instead to use mana to translate through time.  Observe."

Basharat approaches the hoop and places his arm through the left opening of the gate, where the appendage seems to disappear entirely, cut off in mid space.  Basharat wriggles the arm up and down, though the whole thing remains disappeared up to his bicep.  After a few moments, Basharat retrieves his arm from the gate, whole and unblemished and shows it to Judoc.

But that is only the beginning of the surprise.

Only a few moments after Judoc has witnessed the amazing feat of magic, from the right side of the gate a disembodied arm appears, waves up and down with exaggerated motions, then disappears back into the gate, leaving no trace of whence it came.

Basharat smiles at Judoc's expression and hastens to explain.  "You see, the gate itself is not exactly magic, nor am I exactly what you would call a mage.  Though I understand how natural mana works, how it flows, and how it can be bent to serve my purposes.  The gate is made of meteoric iron, which repels mana, the shape focuses the surrounding mana to the center of the hoop, making it so dense that it can hurl an object forward or backwards several moments in time."

Perhaps Judoc has short-term amnesia. Had he been hit on the back of the head and knocked out? Or could he have slipped on something and fallen backwards? But his head does not feel sore, and Basharat does not seem to be treating him any differently than a client in a shop would normally be treated.

As Basharat continues speaking, Judoc listens, fascinated. None of his classes had included Gate magic. He knows almost nothing of Gate magic, other than it can be incredibly unstable. And of course he knows of the banestorms. the horrendous results of what must have been the most powerful spell ever cast on Yrth.

This hoop seems different than that chaos and must be similar to what Viscount Tenesworth had access to. A gate that can cast a whole city across the world? The military applications of this magic would seem limitless. Though Judoc cannot remember seeing it, the Viscount's gate is capable of transporting at least one person at a time. With a large enough gate, armies could cross the continent instantly. Judoc wonders how moveable they are and if one end of a gate could be smuggled into an enemy city, allowing an army to breach the city's walls much like the legendary Trojan Horse.

His thoughts are interrupted when Basharat mentions time. Curiously, Judoc watches as Basharat inserts his arm through the hoop. Impressed, the young mage raises an eyebrow as the man's arm vanishes. Judoc knows that much is possible through magic, and he wonders where the rest of Basharat's arm has gone. Some kind of invisibility field? A chameleon spell?

And then, after a few seconds, the arm appears from the other side of the gate! Very impressive! "This is the first time I've ever seen something like this," Judoc says, intrigued. "How large can these be constructed? And can the object be transported only a few seconds ahead in time? . Now, if it could send a person ahead to learn of the future - that potentially could be very useful. Even better to go back to the past and give warning of some impending catastrophe.

"Excellent question."  Basharat smiles.

The old man seems to be invigorated with the discussion, his pride swelling with Judoc's obvious interest and with the opportunity to explain his work to someone who actually understands some of the concepts he is enumerating.

"You see, the size of the gate has everything to do with how much time is displaced.  The larger the construction, the denser the materials, the bigger the hoop, the more mana that is thrust into the center, and the more displacement that occurs between the two sides.  It is not about forwards or backwards, but change.  Observe."

And Judoc focuses his attention on the hoop again, expecting Basharat to approach the gate and perform some further trick.  However, before the man has even begun to walk over again, another, dismembered arm appears from the left side of the gate, waving at Judoc!  Judoc stares at Basharat, his body whole and unblemished, the replica appearing to have come from no where!  However, when the arm retreats again within the gate, and Basharat approaches the gate, Judoc begins to comprehend exactly what has happened.

The old man thrusts his arm into the right side of the gate, disappearing for a moment as Basharat smiles and waves the half-disappeared arm up and down before retrieving it again, entirely whole.  Judoc surmises that the gate works both ways, both forward and backward in time, with each side of the gate split...  The left side a few seconds earlier and the right side a few seconds later in time.

"This is a gate of a few moments."  Basharat begins to explain again.  "But in the back I have a gate of some six months.  In my shop in Shaniyabad, my son watches over a gate of thirty years in the first shop I ever owned.  It is quite something to see the future, to see Allah's will, and then to return, to take the steps necessary to carry it out."

Basharat smiles again, his kind look disarming Judoc of the notion of all the things the merchant could have done with unlimited access to the past, or indeed, the future.

"You see, you need not think of time as a moving point upon a line, but as a river that flows always in the same direction, though the water is traveling over the whole length constantly and unceasingly.  Now is not December 14th, but instead that is now for you and for me as we float along ever forward to the sea."

OOC:  I snuck it in there since you haven't asked yet IC, but now just happens to be 1500 on December 14th, 2005.  It is almost exactly six months since your last memory.  Of note, Basharat has a gate of six months in another room of his shop.  I'm sure you are connecting the dots that I have hastily scrawled in crayon for this thread.  Feel free to continue role playing though.  Extra information is always helpful so don't feel like you need to rush back in time.

Judoc still has no clue as to how he got in this shop and expunged a large chunk of his memory. However, Basharat's fascinating display of the gates is almost enough to take the young mage's mind off his current predicament. He nods his head at the artisan's explanation of how meteoric iron is able to distort mana. The theory seems plausible enough. Change. Of course. Change is at the heart of magic.

He watches attentively as Basharat conducts another demonstration. This time, Judoc raises an eyebrow as another arm appears before Basharat has even approached the gate. So the gate affects time in both directions. Fascinating.

Judoc continues to listen to Basharat's explanation. Six months? Thirty years? Judoc gapes. The applications of such devices is astounding. To be able to see the future, or go back in time to observe some action as it happened - astonishing! And then return, to take the steps necessary to carry it out... With such gates, a man could be master of Yrth!

As Basharat describes time as a river, Judoc cannot help but smile. Grobbik would like that metaphor. Then, Basharat delivers another surprise. December 14th. The date dazes Judoc. He was to have left on Azer on June 13th. How could he have lost six entire months? Unless...

"You'll forgive me, Basharat, but this is all so much to take in! I cannot remember, but I might have told you that I have been studying magic. I know something of Knowledge magic and Divination, but Gate magic is entirely new to me!"

He pauses for a moment. Can he trust Basharat? The man seems so kind. Appearances can be deceiving, but still -

"The past six months are a complete blank to me," he says at length. "I wonder if somehow I went through your other gate. Are there any side effects to using it? A sense of amnesia, perhaps?" And why the devil did I decide to go through the gate?, he wonders.

Six months. Thirty years. He could go back to before he was born. He was too late to stop Elliot from immolating Mariana unless Judoc wanted to wait nearly three decades, but think of the tragedies that could be prevented, the mysteries that could be solved! What would a man such as Baron Graves do with gates like these? Or the demon Agares? How many of these gates existed in the world?

"When you say 'the steps necessary', what precisely do you mean by that? What happens when you meet yourself in the future or past?" Could these gates be used to multiply oneself indefinitely? Or could one continue to go further and further back in the past or forward in time? What would happen if the gate were destroyed in the future? Could someone travel back to before the gate was created? A nearly infinite number of paradoxes seem possible.

Basharat smiles at Judoc's astonishment, but he does not offer further explanation in a magical sense.  "I'm afraid,"  Basharat offers, "That I am woefully ignorant in the ways of Magical Colleges."  He glances back at Judoc to ensure that his terminology is correct.  "And perhaps what I am doing is not magic at all.  For what I excel at is not channeling mana as you would, but guiding it.  Giving the mana a purpose that can be funneled by the meteoric iron..."

Basharat pauses as Judoc explains further, his amnesia, his confusion.  And a deep rooted suspicion that the gate may be behind it.

"I'm afraid,"  Basharat offers with his smile playing back upon his lips.  "That I have never had a complaint from anyone else who has used my gates.  No amnesia, or forgetfulness.  Rather, those that use my gates are usually quite overcome with the sense of a more complete knowledge of their present and their futures!"  The old man smiles, his eyes searching Judoc's face for the resolution he hopes to find.

Judoc's next question however, wipes the smile from Basharat's face and his eyebrows wrinkle with concern.

"Perhaps,"  Basharat starts the next statement slowly, as if trying them on before being entirely convinced he wishes to say them.  "Perhaps my words have left a wrong impression, and I wish to make myself entirely clear.  Do not think of this gate as a method to change your future, or your past!  Instead, think of your life as a grand mansion and my gate as a secret passage leading to a distant room.  It does not change what lies ahead, for the room is no different for your presence or your absence.  Instead, it is a way to see the room a little before you would have by going the normal way.  We cannot change Allah's will, for it is his, and it is greater than all of us.  But perhaps we can know his will.  And perhaps that knowledge will allow us to see his will carried out in our own actions, which is a very great gift indeed."

Basharat's smile returns somewhat, his eyes again searching Judoc's face, though after a moment, it appears he has not found what he was looking for, and he continues.

"Perhaps a story would set the matter straight?"  Basharat offers, and he clears his throat, searches his memory for a moment and begins.  "This is the tale of the man who stole from himself..."

There was once a young weaver named Ajib who made a modest living as a weaver of rugs,
but yearned to taste the luxuries enjoyed by the wealthy.  Ajib stepped through the Gate of Years to seek out his older self, who, he was sure, would be rich and as generous.

Upon arriving he proceeded to the wealthy quarter of the city and asked people for the residence of Ajib ibn Taher. He was prepared, if he met someone who knew the man and remarked on the similarity of
their features, to identify himself as Ajib's son, newly arrived. But he
never had the chance to offer this story, because no one he asked recognized the name.

Eventually he decided to return to his old neighborhood, and see if anyone there
knew where he had moved.  When he got to his old street, he stopped a boy and asked
him if he knew where to find a man named Ajib. The boy directed him to Ajib's old house.
 "That is where he used to live," Ajib said. "Where does he live now?"
 "If he has moved since yesterday, I do not know where," said the boy.
 Ajib was incredulous. Could his older self still live in the same house, twenty years
later? That would mean he had never become wealthy, and his older self would have no
advice to give him, or at least none Ajib would profit by following.  In hopes that the boy was
mistaken, Ajib waited outside the house, and watched.

Eventually he saw a man leave the house, and with a sinking heart recognized it as
his older self. The older Ajib was followed by a woman that he presumed was his wife, but
he scarcely noticed her, for all he could see was his own failure to have bettered himself.
He stared with dismay at the plain clothes the older couple wore until they walked out of
sight.

Driven by the curiosity that impels men to look at the heads of the executed, Ajib
went to the door of his house. His own key still fit the lock, so he entered. The furnishings
had changed, but were simple and worn, and Ajib was mortified to see them. After twenty
years, could he not even afford better pillows?
 On an impulse, he went to the wooden chest where he normally kept his savings, and
unlocked it. He lifted the lid, and saw the chest was filled with gold dinars.
 Ajib was astonished. His older self had a chest of gold, and yet he wore such plain
clothes and lived in the same small house for twenty years! What a stingy, joyless man his
older self must be, thought Ajib, to have wealth and not enjoy it. Ajib had long known that
one could not take one's possessions to the grave. Could that be something that he would
forget as he aged?
 Ajib decided that such riches should belong to someone who appreciated them, and
that was himself. To take his older self's wealth would not be stealing, he reasoned,
because it was he himself who would receive it. He heaved the chest onto his shoulder,
and with much effort was able to bring it back through the Gate of Years to the Cairo he
knew.

He deposited some of his new found wealth with a banker, but always carried a purse
heavy with gold. He dressed in a Damascene robe and Cordovan slippers and a Khurasani
turban bearing a jewel. He rented a house in the wealthy quarter, furnished it with the
finest rugs and couches, and hired a cook to prepare him sumptuous meals.
 He then sought out the brother of a woman he had long desired from afar, a woman
named Taahira. Her brother was an apothecary, and Taahira assisted him in his shop.
Ajib would occasionally purchase a remedy so that he might speak to her. Once he had
seen her veil slip, and her eyes were as dark and beautiful as a gazelle's. Taahira's brother
would not have consented to her marrying a weaver, but now Ajib could present himself
as a favorable match.

Taahira's brother approved, and Taahira herself readily consented, for she had
desired Ajib, too. Ajib spared no expense for their wedding. He hired one of the pleasure
barges that floated in the canal south of the city and held a feast with musicians and
dancers, at which he presented her with a magnificent pearl necklace. The celebration
was the subject of gossip throughout the quarter.
 Ajib reveled in the joy that money brought him and Taahira, and for a week the two
of them lived the most delightful of lives. Then one day Ajib came home to find the door
to his house broken open and the interior ransacked of all silver and gold items. The
terrified cook emerged from hiding and told him that robbers had taken Taahira.
 Ajib prayed to Allah until, exhausted with worry, he fell asleep. The next morning he
was awoken by a knocking at his door. There was a stranger there. "I have a message for
you," the man said.
 "What message?" asked Ajib.
 "Your wife is safe."
 Ajib felt fear and rage churn in his stomach like black bile. "What ransom would you
have?" he asked.
 "Ten thousand dinars."
 "That is more than all I possess!" Ajib exclaimed.
 "Do not haggle with me," said the robber. "I have seen you spend money like others
pour water."
 Ajib dropped to his knees. "I have been wasteful. I swear by the name of the Prophet
that I do not have that much," he said.
 The robber looked at him closely. "Gather all the money you have," he said, "and
have it here tomorrow at this same hour. If I believe you are holding back, your wife will
die. If I believe you to be honest, my men will return her to you."

Ajib could see no other choice. "Agreed," he said, and the robber left.
 The next day he went to the banker and withdrew all the money that remained. He
gave it to the robber, who gauged the desperation in Ajib's eyes and was satisfied. The
robber did as he promised, and that evening Taahira was returned.
 After they had embraced, Taahira said, "I didn't believe you would pay so much
money for me."
 "I could not take pleasure in it without you," said Ajib, and he was surprised to
realize it was true. "But now I regret that I cannot buy you what you deserve."
 "You need never buy me anything again," she said.
 Ajib bowed his head. "I feel as if I have been punished for my misdeeds."
 "What misdeeds?" asked Taahira, but Ajib said nothing. "I did not ask you this
before," she said. "But I know you did not inherit all the money you gained. Tell me: did
you steal it?"
 "No," said Ajib, unwilling to admit the truth to her or himself. "It was given to me."
 "A loan, then?"
 "No, it does not need to be repaid."
 "And you don't wish to pay it back?" Taahira was shocked. "So you are content that
this other man paid for our wedding? That he paid my ransom?" She seemed on the verge
of tears. "Am I your wife then, or this other man's?"
 "You are my wife," he said.
 "How can I be, when my very life is owed to another?"
 "I would not have you doubt my love," said Ajib. "I swear to you that I will pay back
the money, to the last dirham."

And so Ajib and Taahira moved back into Ajib's old house and began saving their
money. Both of them went to work for Taahira's brother the apothecary, and when he
eventually became a perfumer to the wealthy, Ajib and Taahira took over the business of
selling remedies to the ill. It was a good living, but they spent as little as they could, living
modestly and repairing damaged furnishings instead of buying new. For years, Ajib
smiled whenever he dropped a coin into the chest, telling Taahira that it was a reminder
of how much he valued her. He would say that even after the chest was full, it would be a
bargain.

But it is not easy to fill a chest by adding just a few coins at a time, and so what began
as thrift gradually turned into miserliness, and prudent decisions were replaced by
tight-fisted ones. Worse, Ajib's and Taahira's affections for each other faded over time,
and each grew to resent the other for the money they could not spend.  In this manner the years passed and Ajib grew older, waiting for the second time that his gold would be taken from him.

-Adapted from Ted Chiang

"Perhaps that helps?"  Basharat offers.  "I cannot say what will happen, or even if you will meet your other self, for some, like Ajib, never do.  It all depends on who you are, both now and then.  You can be relieved in the fact, however, that those who go forward to the future, already know that they are coming."

No amnesia. Then had Judoc not gone through the gate? What had left a gap of six months in his head? He strains to think, but he can remember nothing after meeting the baron's son, Archibald.

After Basharat finishes his story, Judoc frowns. "Are you saying that time cannot be changed, then?" he asks. "That to some extent, it is already set in place and cannot be moved? Then is free will an illusion? Is there only one choice that can be made in each situation? Time seems less like a river and more like a painting. We can examine other parts of the painting, but it is already painted."

He rubs his chin and considers this. "However, from a certain point of view, my last sentence was the only sentence I uttered at that point in time," he says slowly. "I could have said, 'I could really go for a banana right now,' but I didn't. What of the present? Is it fluid, and once we make a choice, time is locked in that instant?" He considers this further. "And what of the concept of branching realities, of multiverses? Timelines created from each choice we make?" All of this is highly theoretical, and Judoc has spent almost no time studying the sciences.

He considers the situation. "So, take this example. An army attacks and lays waste to a city. The attack is sudden and catches the city's defenders unawares. It would be fruitless to try to go back in time to warn the city leaders of the coming attack, then. Everything would still play out as it had already. In fact, it would be fruitless to go back and try to warn a person's younger self, since the person has no recollection of meeting themselves from the future." He raises an eyebrow, looking at Basharat. "And your story. What if Ajib had waited for his younger self to arrive from the past? What if Ajib had relayed what had happened, told the entire story to the younger Ajib? Could Ajib not have changed his fate?"

Time travel. Judoc had always thought this to be a source of fiction. When he returns to the Templar battle college, he resolves to investigate Gate magic. The field seems rich with potential.

"I wonder if you have heard the tale of the man who goes back in time and steps on a butterfly," he continues. "As a result, when he returns to the present, he finds that elves now rule the Megalan empire and have conquered the world. Are you saying such a thing is impossible? That the man was always meant to step on the butterfly, and that the world we see has already taken this event into effect? What is your understanding of free will?" Judoc is vaguely reminded of a church heresy that states that there is no free will, that God predestines every action of man. He wonders what Islam's perspective is on this issue.

OOC: Judoc is referencing an Yrth version of Ray Bradbury's "A Sound of Thunder."

The heresy Judoc refers to is the Calvinist doctrine of predestination.

So enraptured is Judoc by the possibilities of time travel, of the possibility of changing history, that he hurls a slew of questions at Basharat, though the old man maintains his slight smiles and returns the questions in kind.

"You ask if time cannot be changed.  But how would you change it?  And if you were successful, why would that not have been always the way events had taken place?  You surmise in your example that a city was destroyed and you wish to go back through the gate of years to save it.  But if you were successful, and you saved the city, then you would never have a reason to go back in time in the first place!  You would never think to go back in time, and thus the city would be destroyed anew!"

Basharaat wags his finger.  "You can see the problem I think?"  He smiles again.  "A man who could alter Allah's will as he saw fit, could wreak havoc, chaos that would ripple through time in ever increasing waves.  Your butterfly example for instance.  But I would tell you, if the butterfly had been stepped on, if it had been Allah's will, then Elves would have always been the rulers of Megalos, yes?"

"You ask many questions, and deep."  Bahsarat sighs, looking at the gate.  "But I can tell you that Ajib did not tell his younger double of the trap that he was setting for himself.  Could he have?  Perhaps... but then I would submit he would have never walked through the gate of years and and felt shame the moment he found he had not moved from the home of his youth.  He would have been a different person all along."

"And to the point."  Basharat continues.  "I cannot tell you if your every action is known, or dictated.  I cannot tell you if your free will is real or fantasy.  What is certain is that you can change.  You can learn, you can understand.  Often understanding makes all the difference.  Your analogy of a painting on display is apt I think."  Basharat rubs his chin.  "For while we cannot paint over the places we deem ugly, we can choose our own reaction, we can choose how we reflect the painting back in our own actions."

Basharat's eyes fix on Judoc's.  "While I do not know if you can achieve what you wish through the Gate of Months, I tell you that it is not your will that matters, but the will of Allah."

Listening attentively, Judoc follows along with Basharat's explanation. If he were to go to the past and change something, it would never be changed because he would have no reason to change it? But then what happened to the change? Were events simply immutable? Would his efforts ultimately be futile? Perhaps no one would listen to his warnings, he muses. Judoc dearly would like to test Basharat's hypothesis.

He nods his head as Basharat speaks of chaos. Yes, of course. Chaos. Everything would be splintered, constantly changing, multiplied infinitely if others also had access to the gates. "Forgive me, but my theology is fairly limited. I cannot say what Allah's will is. But you see my point? Before, men ruled Megalos, and after, elves did? If the past can be changed, it would indeed be chaotic, but unless the universe actively resists change, I cannot see how such change would not be possible."

Judoc nods again at Basharat's explanation. "And it may be that what I call free will, you might say is the will of Allah. Perhaps both ideas can be true, both different perspectives on the same phenomenon." This conversation is invigorating to Judoc. It reminds him of the past, back when he, Indrid, Mariana, Grobbik, Giles, and Elliot would toss around ideas about what the world might be. Before the summoning of the demon and their gradual falling apart. Now, Judoc the Scholar is completely engaged.

"Basharat, how many more gates like these do you think exist in the world? Where did you learn your knowledge and craftsmanship? And do you have any idea of why I do not seem to remember the past six months? The very last thing I remember, I had met a new student at my college. Then, I was here in your shop, just a few minutes ago, speaking with you."

Perhaps Judoc had been attacked, he muses. A gang of thugs could have ambushed him, knocked him out, and thrown him bodily into Basharat's Gate of Months. But why on Yrth would anyone do such a thing? And Judoc does not remember waking up. He was simply here. He must have entered the Gate of Months willingly. But why can he not remember?

"Perhaps", Basharat shrugs, allowing for Judoc to take his ideas and beliefs as he will, and no longer pressing the point.

When Judoc asks of other gates however, Basharat again smiles.  "I know of no others but mine.  As I have said, many of my creations are original.  I spent many long months studying the properties of the meteoric iron before I began experimenting with it, and I have not imparted enough of my knowledge for my apprentices to duplicate them, though I suppose the brightest of them could perhaps attempt the assembly."  Basharat pauses for a moment, though he shakes his head.

"Apart from that however, I doubt there are many, if any others.  Materials are desperately tricky to find, and I owe a great deal to luck that I found any at all."

"As for your memory, I'm afraid I do not know.  I can only offer, as I have said, an opportunity for you to go back to when you lost your memory, and to find the reason for yourself."

All of this talk of moving through time is fascinating to Judoc, but now the prospect of what caused his amnesia arrests his attention. If Basharat is correct, then whatever Judoc does in the past will have already been done. Nodding, he says, I'd love that, Basharat. Do you have any recommendations for anything I should be aware of when I travel into the past? Should I avoid speaking to my younger self? Not carry anything back with me to this time?" Judoc is keen to explore what might be accomplished with moving through time, but he also does not want to tear any wonky holes in the fabric of space and time.

OOC: Judoc is ready to jump six months into the past.

Judoc approaches his future, or rather, his past with the nervous energy of a performer waiting for the spotlight.  He asks Basharat a few last questions, though the man laughs and shrugs them off with a non-committal answer.

"You surely know yourself better than I!  Are you untrusting?  Would you attack yourself if you appeared out of the blue?  Do you remember seeing yourself?  Though I suppose if you have lost your memory...  Never mind."

Basharat turns and begins to shuffle back towards another, smaller room, this one dimly lit, with only one object within.  Another thick hoop of the woven, sleek black metal, this one two and a half feet or so across, just barely big enough for a man to crawl through.  Without even approaching, Judoc can feel the push and pull of the mana flowing around the device, and his mind's eye can sense the vacuum created at the center...  He can almost imagine the mana there creating the gate between two different planes... two different times.

"As for your equipment, I'm sure I cannot know, but fortune favors the prepared yes?  Perhaps you should take all your things with you... just in case."

Judoc nods, and steels himself, wondering what time travel feels like.

"Whenever you are ready,"  Basharat approaches the gate, "You may enter on the right side."

He puts his own face close to the gap, and calls loudly through the portal.  "You have one coming through!"

"Goodness!"  The voice of Basharat answers, though his lips do not move... Judoc can only surmise that the voice is coming from six months in the past.  "I haven't even finished setting up the shop!"

Basharat ushers Judoc along, who must get down on hands and knees to push himself head first through the opening.  With a deep breath, Judoc hurls himself forward, and backwards several months in time.

Though Judoc had spent several moments preparing himself, expecting a sense of vertigo or euphoria, disorientation or nausia, he finds that his experience with time travel is somewhat underwhelming.  In fact, so determined is Judoc to prepare himself for some unexpected shock that he holds his hands straight out in front of him for protection, quite forgetting that gravity will likely still be in effect six months ago.  As his body straightens out on the far side of the gate, he quickly finds himself falling, his arms just too slow to get entirely beneath him, and he hits his cheek lightly on the wooden floor below.  Luckily, the only injury Judoc sustains is to his pride.

"Hello."  Bahsarat's voice comes from up above, and Judoc pulls himself to a stand, nodding quickly to Basharat, expecting to simply get on his way, though the man grips Judoc's hand and shakes it.

"I am Basharat."  The man introduces himself, and before Judoc can retort that he already knows him, two truths strike him simultaneously.  Firstly, despite the fact that Judoc has already met the merchant, that this is the first time that Basharat has met him.  It is six months previous to Judoc walking into Basharat's shop and regaining his memory...  More importantly however, he realizes that six months from now, when he does walk into Basharat's shop, it will be the second or perhaps even the third time the two men meet...

Judoc's mind wheels.  The feeling he had that he had already introduced himself and he just couldn't remember...  Perhaps it had happed six months previous, now, rather than when he had walked into the shop.  What else had Basharat known?  And what else had Judoc told him that he couldn't remember?

OOC  It is 1600 on the 14th of June.  You mentioned previously that you were supposed to leave on the 13th, but I think that was the day that you went to Duke Bran's palace and he awarded you, instead you were set to leave the next day at sundown.

Where had Basharat learned his craft? His ability is astounding, the way he can shape metal to manipulate mana itself. Judoc reflects that he could learn as much from Basharat as he could at the Templar Battle College, though the knowledge gained here would be of a completely different kind. As he approaches the larger hoop, he steels himself. Will he feel disorientated, dizzy, nauseous? He imagines his body stretched from this moment to six months prior. What that might sensation feel like? With a deep breath, he crawls through, and is startled when he emerges immediately from the other side and lands gently on the floor.

"Ow!" Only his ego has been bruised, but his cheeks flush with irriation nonetheless. "Basharat, yes. I've met you before in the future. Assalamu alaikum." How many times have they met, now? He stifles a rueful grin. "You'll have to excuse me. This is my first time moving through time." He has questions to ask this younger version of Basharat, but foremost in his mind is What happened to my memory? He knows his younger self is to be at the cathedral at sundown, and if he hurries, Older Judoc can arrive there before Younger Judoc does.

"I have a six-month hole in my memory, and  your future self allowed me to come back to this point in time to see if I could find out why. May I return here after I figure out exactly what happened to me?"

OOC: Once he gets his bearings, Judoc will hurry to the cathedral. He will make sure to take streets his younger self did not take.

"Of course,"  Basharat replies to Judoc's explanation that the two have already met.  "Assalamu alaikum."  He returns the greeting with a gentle bow.  "You may return to the shop as you wish, and may return through the gate, as most do.  Though you are the first to use this one!"

Judoc, however, seems to have little patience for more conversation at the moment and he makes his leave quickly, hoping to beat himself to the cathedral.  Whatever younger Basharat could wish to know, he would have months to learn it, while Judoc had less than two hours until he was set to travel back to Azer!  He says his goodbyes, and barely even registers the front room of the shop as he leaves, though it seems that true to younger Basharat's word, the shop is barely set up, and perhaps not yet even open.  The water clock is on prominent display, though the astrolabe is missing and there is nothing of the fantastic mirror which became Judoc's first memory for over six months.

Judoc wondered if that first moment, if looking at himself in that mirror and the aberration he felt, would be recreated as he looked upon the younger Judoc?  What would his younger self be like?  Should he approach him or stay removed?

Judoc gripped his staff as he walked, almost running, towards Craine's most prominent feature.

---

As it turns out, Judoc has more than enough time to make it to the cathedral before his other self gets there, though in truth, he cannot entirely remember exactly where he stood at his last remembered moment.  He thought he remembered simply being near the front entrance, at the base of the steps when he met Archibald...  though now that he thinks on it, he may have been inside...  He definitely meant to go inside...

Eventually, Judoc decides to find a place at the top<i> of the stairs leading to the cathedral front door.  Though he has a good view of the terrace below as well as the wide front doors, Judoc is sure the place will at least keep him <i>mostly hidden in case he decides to try a more stealthy approach.

And as the sun begins is sharp decent near the horizon...

"Hello!"  The voice comes from quite a ways off in the terrace, and Judoc looks over to see the waving arms of Baron V...  He had never found out the man's real name.  Archibald is there with him, and a stone's throw away is Judoc... himself.  The younger Judoc anyway.

"Archibald, this is your classmate, um... yes!"  The baron turns around to his son, and though Judoc cannot see his face from this distance he decidedly remembers a face full of bluster... a man more than happy to shirk off his own son to Judoc... who he has only met once and only for a few moments.  "Well, I'll just let you two hit it off!  Good luck during the term son!  Make me proud!"

OOC:  It is 1745 on the 14th of June.  You had about an hour to an hour and a half to kill near the cathedral, though it was important to me that you didn't do anything crazy that would interfere with your previous thread up to this point.  However, feel free to use that time in your post to prepare however you feel would be appropriate...  casting a continual light spell, scouting the cathedral, enchanting a hovercraft, knitting a warm hat...  whatever.  If your endeavors pay dividends I can answer them in private, or else try and answer it IC if it makes sense in the next post.

Also, this is obviously right in the middle/beginning of the conversation younger Judoc/Archibald are having.  Since this was where the last thread ended, I wanted to give you the opportunity to disturb things here if you wish.  Otherwise, you can follow along at a distance and we can fast forward as needed.

In his haste to reach the cathedral before his younger self, Judoc finds himself there well before Judoc the Younger arrives. He considers going right up to his younger self to explain what has happened. Forewarned, he and his younger self may be able to foil whatever has caused his amnesia. However, Basharat had been adamant that any action would have already been foreseen. It seems to Judoc that it would be wiser to follow to observe what happens.

While he waits, he decides to prepare a spell, just in case he needs it. Flight? Great Haste? Hm. After a moment, he decides to ready an Invisibility spell, just in case. A light spell would also be useful, too.

OOC: Judoc will look for a small rock and cast Continual Light (torch-strength). Next, he will cast Delay and then Invisibility. The trigger for the delayed Invisibility will be Judoc tugging his right earlobe.

Judoc's plan is to follow Young Judoc and Archibald at a distance. He will attempt to remain unseen. If he is about to be discovered, he will activate the delayed Invisibility spell.

Judoc maintains his distance near the tops of the steps.  Though he does not exactly fear meeting his younger self, he knows that the encounter will likely be unpredictable, especially with Archibald there and the Viscount to show at any point.  Instead, he simply listens and keeps back in a sheltered location, hoping to glean information without disturbing the natural course of events.

"Hi."  Archibald offers in a sort of non-committal voice.  Then, Judoc hears his own voice, though clearer, and perhaps a little higher than he recalls when it is sounding through his own mouth.  "Well, come on then."  The younger Judoc responds, and Judoc can detect a hint of annoyance on his voice as he recalls that he had intended to tour the Cathedral alone.  "I was going to take a look around the cathedral, you know, since we're here.  May as well stay together so that we don't have to find each other once the Viscount gets here."

~What a little scab.

A pang of excitement hits Judoc all in a moment, for that is the thought of his familiar, Aiah.  He scans the rooftops and indeed finds her perched at a corner across the street, looking down on the Younger Judoc and the Baron's son.

~How'd you let yourself get suckered into a mothering a full grown man?

Was that thought for him?  Surely it must be for his younger self, though if the other Judoc responds, Judoc cannot tell, his connection had always been with the hawk alone.

It seems all too quickly, the other Judoc and Archibald are climbing the steps.  Wishing to keep his presence secret a little longer yet, Judoc ducks around, keeping out of sight of Aiah and in through a side door, and into the nave beyond.

The next half an hour or so pass without much occasion.  The younger Judoc and Archibald make their way around the Cathedral, stopping to look at the large stained glass and the shrines and statues dedicated to various saints.  Judoc too, take a moment to recognize a few of the decorations, especially the small shrine of Saint Christopher (the traveler) which is tucked just off to the right about midway down the nave.  It was an odd moment for Judoc as he waited there, younger Judoc and Archibald having stopped to look at the large crucifix high above the altar, with one eye pursuing his quarry and the other looking upon the haggard stone Christopher who stood with a sack upon his back and his hand raised as if blessing Judoc even in this moment.  He represented much for Judoc, not the least of which was the thousands of miles he had traveled from Azer and the return trip which was still looming large in his future... or perhaps his past...

Within a half an hour or so, younger Judoc deems the time appropriate for the Viscount to arrive and brings Archibald to the front doors and then eventually out of them to stand prominently on the step at the base of the Cathedral so that no one could miss them.

Judoc finds himself with no place to look upon them, but decides to approach just behind the doorway, close enough so he can hear, though too close to risk peering his head around the doorway to look.

Just as the skies are beginning to flash oranges and reds of the low-hanging sun, Judoc hears the voice of the Viscount some ways off, perhaps down the stairs.

"Ah, there you are."

"Good evening Viscount."  The younger Judoc responds.  "Shall we go in?"

"I'm afraid not, for you see, I shall need the assistance of a very specific place to cast the spell needed to send you back."

"I had thought you said it was in the Cathedral?"  Younger Judoc responds.

"So it is, but true power is very infrequently held within the new, the flashy, and the grandiose.  Instead, it is the old, the mundane, and the modest which most often carry power and focus beyond any other.  As such, the place I need is in the Chapel of Saint Honorius... which is downstairs and tucked out of the way.  Perhaps when we get there you shall see what I mean."

OOC:  It is 1830 on the 14th of June.  Your continual light spell was successful, and so it appears, were your delay and invisibility spell.  While there was a chance that you could disrupt things by talking to Aiah, I deemed it more serviceable to move the story on than give you more chances to take things off course.   Feel free however to talk to Aiah now if you want the opportunity.  Aiah did not follow Younger Judoc and Archibald inside and has stayed quiet and out of the way since her last thought.

This entire situation is fascinating to Judoc. He grimaces slightly at hearing his own voice, not as deep as he is used to hearing. The annoyance changes to joy, however, when he hears Aiah's voice! He is about to respond when he realizes she is speaking to the younger Judoc. Could she hear him if he were to speak now? Would he give himself away by doing so? What might happen as a result?

The cathedral proves a fascinating place to explore. Judoc's faith is merely superficial, a façade to help ingratiate him amongst the Templars. However, he is still interested in learning as much as he can about the Church's history and operations, especially how it might intersect with demonology. The saints in particular seem fascinating. He remembers with some anger his portrayal of Saint Catherine of the Wheel. Then there was Saint George, slayer of both dragons and demons, who featured so prominently in the Devil's Trap. Now, Saint Christopher. The saint loked as if he had carried the world on his shoulders. Judoc wonders what the man had seen, if there had ever been a real-life Christopher. How many miles had he travelled? How many would Judoc travel? What would the saint have thought about Gate magic, granting one the ability to travel across both land and time?

Ah, Viscount Tenesworth. Judoc is quite keen to see the Gate spell in action. He also finds himself reminded of another journey underground, the one Alevius Cleppo had initiated, and that sudden revelation that Loke had been replaced by the demon Agares. Today was a stark contrast to that night and the evil that had permeated it.

He thinks again to Aiah, out of sight outdoors. Why wasn't she going with Judoc the Younger? Was she planning to fly back to Azer alone? Could she hear him, if he called out to her? ~Aiah~ he sends to her. ~Are you still around?~

OOC: Judoc will try to contact Aiah, just to see if he can. Then, still trying to keep out of sight, he will trail the others.

Memories of his various encounters with saints and the foul underground creep into the back of Judoc's mind, though he shakes them off, his curiosity for the gate spell and to find what in the world had ruined his memory overwhelming the reminiscence.

Before he dashes off however, Judoc sends his mind to Aiah, attempting to ensure that the link has not somehow been broken.

~Alright, alright, I'm coming!  Yes I'm here!

Aiah answers annoyedly, and Judoc can sense in her words her lifting off from the rooftop and gliding down to join the younger Judoc.

~Well then don't be so needy!

Aiah jabs, without even the slightest prompting from Judoc, who had not spoken again after asking the simple question of if she was there.

"Handsome bird."  Tenesworth remarks as Judoc thinks he hears the swoop of a wing.

"Thank you Viscount."  The younger Judoc answers.  "I agree, she can be quite marvelous at times, though she's often quite surly for no reason."

~Look who's talking!

Aiah answers the spoken comment with another thought, though the argument does not seem to stem any further and Judoc begins to hear footsteps gradually descending the stonework stairs.

As he knows where the three are going, or at least the name of it, Judoc waits an extra moment before descending.  By the time he comes out of the door, he only barely catches a glimpse of Archibald walking around a corner of the building and Judoc hurries to follow, his invisibility spell still readied in case he needs it.

Around the corner, Judoc follows the three, and though he does not catch sight of them again, the side door through which they entered are easy enough to find, as there is a small staircase cut into the ground and a placard on the wall which says 'Saint Honorius Chapel.'

Judoc swiftly makes his way down the stairs and gently cracks the door open, pressing his ear to the portal.

"...was the first Archbishop of Megalos."  Tenesworth is saying, for Judoc appears to have found joined them while they were in the middle of a conversations.  "This was in the days of the first crusades and the wars against the Northmen, before the Templar order had even been founded.  Days of chaos...  if we have ever escaped them..."  The Viscount pauses for a moment.

"While this Cathedral has stood for over a hundred years, this chapel is actually much older.  It was built shortly after the city was regained from the Muslims in 1567 and the Cathedral has been built around that structure.  You will see the stone here is much older and more crudely cut.  This altar has stood here for nearly five hundred years and was blessed by Saint Thomas himself.  He, of course, was a remarkable mage, and his magic has withstood the test of time.  The result is quite a powerfully holy and magical object..."

"This spell will take me a moment."  Tenesworth continues.  "It's tricky under even the best of conditions, which of course we have, though it is best not to rush such things."

OOC:  Pause for you to develop a plan, or else wait.  You are not yet looking within the chapel.  Instead you are hiding in the stairwell (behind the doors) which is directly outside.  You can hear Teneseworth, though you cannot see anything inside without risk of exposing yourself.

Also, I didn't mean to give you the impression that Aiah wasn't coming with younger Judoc.  Instead, she would just rather be outside if she has the chance, rather than perched on a shoulder while inside.  She was just waiting until the departure was imminent, rather than trying to fly by land.

A holy place, blessed by Saint Thomas himself. Not the kind of place a demon would be likely to attack, Judoc thinks. He is gratified that he both still retains his connection to Aiah and that she cannot differentiate Judoc from his younger self. He is relieved to touch her mind again, if only for a moment. He would hate for something to forever sever their connection.

~I really am quite fond of you, you know,~ he sends to Aiah.

He strains his ears as he listens. Judoc would love to be in the room with the other four, but he does not want to reveal himself yet. Who knows? The very act of revealing himself could have caused the memory loss. He frowns at this line of thinking, however. Taken to its logical conclusion, anything he may do or not do could lead to his current state. If all outcomes are possible, then he must act in whatever way seems best to himself.

It occurs to him that he does have eyes in the room in the form of Aiah. If he were to reach out to her now, however, she could react unpredictably, perhaps disrupting the spell and causing the amnesia.

What if the spell does work and the younger Judoc steps through back to Azer? Will the older Judoc simply cease to be?Now that would be interesting, though Judoc suspects he would never know what had happened. And if he doesn’t disappear? Best to deal with that if it happens.

OOC: Wait.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:37, Wed 13 Oct 2021.