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I have forgotten my name. But I have not forgotten who I am. And I have not forgotten my own roots.

I am a philosopher. A polymath. A man of science from England.

A fortnight ago, I embarked on a cartographic mission in a hot air balloon. I fell through a rift in the sky and landed in the foothills of a deceptively Earth-like land.

Most plants and animals I recognize. I have so far lived off those. There are freshwater springs in every cliffside. They have not yet killed me.

In my rucksack is a telescope, a compass, a notebook, graphite, a ruler, a tool knife, rope, a firesteel, and my dwindling rations. My pocket watch still works, thank the heavens. My flintlock has run out of ammunition.

It is the 22nd of March 1791.

Examine the compass
Flip through the notebook
Look through the telescope