Dear Spellbook,

Sorry about yesterday. Dagmar got caught up in another rug and died, I thought we had gotten them all. I had to clean up and then go pick him up from town. Dwarves, it seems, are terrible with surface directions and can’t tell one tree from another.

Riloth 19th the 36th

We left off just when I had gotten to the turn-off for the door to the tower. It is a tower by the way. I didn’t know this at the time. Dagmar and I have been calling it the Dahn, Torcish for tower. “The Tower” was already taken.

With multiple Ghost Lights hovering around me, I made my way through the woods with the crossbow on my back. The round trip took forty minutes. The acid was easier, not catching on every branch I passed.

The first experiment I fully expected to fail. I loaded the crossbow using a winch built into the stock to pull back the cable that acted as a string. I opened the door and surveyed the room. Nothing had changed, besides my body’s continual fading. Without stepping through the threshold, I took aim at Timothy and fired. The firing of the crossbow let out a loud crack as the cable hit the stop at the end of the stock. The bolt shot through the door where it shattered into splinters. Examining the splinters, I found the head of the bolt, not an unrecognizable lump of steel, was in the grass before the door. The splinters themselves fluttered down in a pile below the door. I kicked the head into the doorway, and it passed without issue. Testing further, I took a new bolt and gently tossed it into the room. The thrown bolt also passed without difficulty. From that, I determined that there was a ward of protection in place against objects moving with too much energy.

I hadn’t expected it to work, but all this would have been much easier if it had.

Satisfied with the results of the first test, I moved on to the next. I entered the door, crossbow held awkwardly at an angle to fit through the frame. The announcement boomed through the room and I took the time to aim at Timothy. When he was at “two,” I fired the crossbow, the bolt struck him in the shoulder and broke off the barest hint of stone.

Not waiting to see how they reacted, I backed through the door and struggled to get the crossbow through. Eventually, I gave up and dropped it. Timothy got to the door first and crushed the crossbow in a strike that narrowly missed me. Once I was outside the door Timothy and Jimothy stepped back, each within striking distance if I chose to enter again. I nudged the glass jars of acid through the doorway, carefully watching the two golems for any sign of movement. The only sources of illumination were the Ghost Lights hovering behind me outside the door, which cast dim rectangles of light into the room.

Neither golem seemed to react to the jars. Slime acid vial in hand, I stuck my left hand through the doorway and the golems immediately moved for me. When I pulled my hand out, the golems immediately stopped and returned to their original positions.

I was not looking forward to this next part. I stuck my finger through the doorway and cocked my right arm back, prepared to throw the vial. This time when the golems attacked, I kept my hand in place until the last possible moment, but I was not fast enough. I had hoped they would not be able to leave the doorway; I was wrong. The block-stone fist of Timothy reached through the doorway and tore my hand off at the wrist. The pain was... I am not going to write about that. I don’t need to feel it again.

Shocked and in pain I dropped the vial and fell to the ground, clutching my wrist to stop the bleeding. After some time, I had recovered enough to notice that the two jars of brimstone acid had been shattered as planned. So had the crossbow. I attempted to tie my wrist with a strap from my bag, but it was too difficult with only one hand. With cold detachment, I summoned fire in my right hand and seared the stump of my left to stop the bleeding. That was also quite unpleasant, to say the least.

Luckily, the vial was unbroken in the grass. I stood, vial once more in hand, and examined the golems through the faint light. It was hard to tell, but it seemed like the gore-spattered block-fist of Timothy was wet from destroying the acid jars. Reaching through once more, the golems charged. This time I pulled out and took two large steps back long before they reached me. As soon as they turned their backs to return to their alert stations, I stepped through and hurdled the vial at Timothy’s back, where it made contact and shattered with a violent hiss and emitted smoke.

Apart from the loss of a hand, I marked that day a great success. I spent the remainder of the night lying in the grass, trying to block out the pain. Eventually, I remembered I should try to get a good view of the golems to survey the damage the acid caused. For the last time that today, I reached through the doorway to get their attention. As Timothy got closer I could tell that there was a very faint discoloration on his fist. Where before it looked like polished marble, now it appeared dull. I removed my hand, and Timothy turned to reveal the damage on his back. A mark was clearly visible where the more powerful acid had made contact. Where the brimstone acid had removed the polished finish of the stone, the acid slime concentrate had eaten away enough to create a visible divot on the stone surface. It hardly seemed like a fair trade for a hand, but it was progress.

Work done for the day, I curled up in the grass and tried to find comfort in sleep.

Riloth 19th the 37th

The next morning I woke up, tasked Levar with creating the acid once more, and sent Simon to purchase the crossbow and collect both it and the acid in a cart. Eating an early lunch, I returned to Ren’s home to get an early start on training.

As before when opening the door, her eyes scanned me up and down. Her hand once more went to the rapier at her side, she said, “Good morning young sir, how may I be of service?”

This time I introduced myself differently, hoping to make a better impression, “Good morning. Do I have the pleasure of speaking to the Ren Griffin’s Bane?”

Her face set in a self-satisfied smirk. “You do.”

I continued my prepared lie, “I am a journeyman Stormcaller on leave on The Continent as part of my training. Amongst my clan, they speak of your exploits and say there are none who combine magic and swordsmanship better than you. When I learned you lived in town, I had to come right over. Could you possibly humble yourself to train one such as I in the art of the rapier?” I felt I had laid it on a little too thick.

She laughed, “Flattery will get you everywhere with me, come in, and we will see what can be done for you. Did you practice that speech?”

Embarrassed, I said, “A little, was it too much?”

“A little,” she replied, “but also just enough.”

In the back, I demonstrated my spell repertoire, this time showing her the focused Gust I had used on Tilavo in the library. Sorcery spells are not discrete things in my mind, but as far as I defined it, it was still recognizably a variant of Gust, but it felt like it was on the verge of becoming something more. This version of the spell did not have the component that allowed it to follow a target, but the Will saved from removing that aspect was put into channeling more power. With less complication to the shape of the hole in the Font, I was able to summon it slightly faster than a regular Gust. I could also only summon this Gust directly in front of me, pointing away from myself, but the spell did not move until I dispelled it.

The training covered the same ground as the previous today’s, but this time she gave me pointers on when Gust would be best suited over my other spells. She even let me use it on her. The torrent of wind drove her back nearly ten feet, but near the end when she was about to fall, she performed a back handspring and recovered.

After two hours of learning to integrate spells into sword combat, we returned to more traditional training as she said my basic form lacked “polish.” That was a kinder assessment than I expected since my training consisted of maybe a dozen practice sessions with Daulf, and one with her.

Due to my early start, I had time to relax in the bath for a few hours while waiting on Levar to finish the acid.

Now more worldly and experienced, I was able to more or less repeat the feats of yesterday without losing a hand. After firing the crossbow, which hit Timothy square in the chest, I dropped it and stepped out. Once more Timothy punched the ground outside the door, shattering the acid jars, and as he retreated I threw the small vial of acid slime concentrate at his back. I found the ward of the door did not prevent me from throwing the vial through it. Whatever threshold the crossbow bolt had triggered was not reached by my toss.

Tasks completed for the day, I returned to the wagon where the same bottle of wine I had shared with Levar was waiting—along with a nice warm blanket and a camp chair. I sat out the rest of the reset drinking in silence, reflecting on the day’s events.

Riloth 19th the 38th

The next day followed the same as the 37th, with one notable exception. While walking through the forest, crossbow on my back, the limb of the bow became tangled in a branch. I tried to pull it out by twisting my body but suddenly the tension holding me disappeared, and I fell on my butt. The bow was gone. Where it had once been was now filled with a cloud of black particles that were quickly fading out of existence.

My mind ran through the possibilities, but it didn't take long to come to a conclusion. Never had I heard of a phenomenon like this until fake-spellbook disintegrated in my hands. It had to be related, right? When duplicate soul stones were made, the old ones became unstable and faded when left alone or touched, just like my bodies in the door.

But why did the crossbow work the today before? I had also left it inside. Mind you, I was thinking all this in the forest, not here now writing in you, so I had not the benefit of your memory. It took a while, but I remembered in the last attempt I had dropped the crossbow unharmed and in the first it had been destroyed. If that was the source, then it stood to reason that if I was able to destroy the one in the doorway, the next reset I would once again have access to it. That was easy enough to test.

Outside the door, I positioned the gallons of acid and had the vial ready. Opening the door revealed that the crossbow was gone from the doorway, but I spotted it along the wall beside Jimothy.

I stepped through the door and noticed the smell had improved significantly, my recently severed and pulverized hand had not yet begun to rot, and I kicked it back out the door. I fired an unmodified Firebolt at the crossbow, and was relieved to see it catch fire. At my casting, the countdown ceased, and my friends came to join me. What followed was a near repeat of the day before.

Escaping narrowly through the door once more, I retreated to my cart for another night of contemplation under the stars.

Riloth 19th the 39-45th

The next day, I tested the crossbow in the back of the cart by hitting the stock with a stone from the road. It maintained its... existence. That day went off without a hitch, and I resumed my spell training in the woods before retreating to my cart.

I still needed to do some testing to determine exactly what caused an item to lose its integrity and disintegrate, but the best I could determine at the time was this: whichever is closer to the original form at the time of the reset is the one that gets to continue existing.

On the 40th reset, I forwent my training with Ren to research the topic of magical duplicates. I found a relevant passage in Lesser Lost Spells by Wilstun Aberfon

...A preform spellbook from a wizard and renowned swordsman by the name of Tankred of the desert tribes chronicled the integration of his magical arts with his swordsmanship. Many of his spells have been retained or rediscovered. Most notably, his discoveries include Arcane Buckler[1], Hone[2], and Lightness[3]. Only one of his spells has been lost. No effort has been made to recreate it due to its limited application. He called the spell Twin Blade and when performed, the spell created a duplicate of any metal weapon held in his hand. The spell was very complex, requiring access to the Fonts of Metal, Symmetry, and Connection. The duplicate was temporary, lacking access to the Font of Creation, and required a constant infusion of Will to maintain. Tankred reportedly used the spell to duplicate his ensouled blade. His blade was created by his own soul, and because of this, his Twinned Blade was able to mimic the abilities of the original. When used on an ensouled artifact from another's soul, the duplicate was mundane. This last aspect of the spell is why no effort was made to rediscover it after the loss of the knowledge to create ensouled artifacts. Temporarily duplicating mundane items is of little value.

The spell lasted until the caster stopped feeding it Will, at which point any minor damage to the object would cause it to disintegrate into a cloud of black dust, which would in turn disappear entirely. If the object remained unharmed, it would fade after eight hours to a full day later. There is one strange aspect of the spell, that makes it worthy of inclusion in this text. Tankred discovered that if the original item is sufficiently damaged while the spell is in effect, he could invest more Will into the duplicate, causing the original weapon to disintegrate. If more Will is invested into the damaged copy, it will remain until the duplicate fades...

I had forgotten about this passage. I will have to perform an experiment to confirm some things I later inferred.

At the time I read this, I hadn’t known what it meant to “imbue Will” into the item, but the rest of the details were enough to paint a picture of what I was seeing. Items created without the use of the lost Font of Creation are not stable in this realm and quickly fade. Whatever force is causing these resets must not have access to it. When an item is left inside the doorway, an unstable duplicate is created by the reset.

So long as I destroy the crossbow, or take it out with me, I should not have any more problems. The acid it seemed, continued to function each reset. Could this be because the used acid is thoroughly changed from its original state when used? Or maybe the fact that Levar must make the acid each reset has a part? More things to test I suppose.

I spent the remainder of the time before my trip to the doorway perusing the library. The attack on the golems went as before, and I succeeded in removing the crossbow during my retreat.

The next four followed without any issues, injuries or surprises. Reset forty-five did not. By then I had gotten into a rhythm. While each day was repetitive, I finally felt like I was making progress towards a goal and not fumbling blindly in the dark.

Standing outside the doorway, I was surveying my handiwork trying to gauge how many more attempts it would take for me to destroy Timothy and start work on Jimothy when I noticed it. The chip on Timothy’s shoulder, from the first bolt, was gone. It had been healed, repaired, patched, something, but it was no longer there. Panicking, I got the attention of the golems and pulled my hand out of the door at the last instant. Timothy’s stone block of a fist almost hit me, but I was able to get a close-up look and confirm it was really gone. As he turned, I could also see that the deeper slime acid damage was starting to smooth out.

They were self-repairing. Not fast, but faster than I could destroy them. I had done all of this for nothing. Angry and frustrated, I stepped through the door and unloaded a Firebolt at Timothy. As I stepped through, they moved to get me, but I successfully dodged the first blow. Behind Timothy now, I attacked him again, still doing no damage, but needed to vent my frustration. Jimothy came around Timothy’s back to get me, but I Blinked and appeared once more in front of Timothy. I lunged for the door but didn’t make it. Timothy caught me square in the back and finished me off with another blow to the head.

Riloth 19th the 46-52nd

The next morning I fell back into a depression. A deeper, darker depression born of lost hope. Before, I had been scared and worried, not knowing what was happening. Now I knew, and I knew I could do nothing to stop it. My training, my plans, they weren’t enough to defeat the golems. Who knew how long until our bond would fade? Surely sooner than I could amass the power to rescue you.

After getting my potions, still clad in my sleepwear, I went to my room with a bottle of liquor and didn’t come out.

I spent—wow—a week, wallowing. I would have said a few days from my normal recollection. Some days I never left the room, and just slept the entire day.

On the fifty-second reset, I decided to have a change of scenery and went down to the bar to drink. I sat there the whole day in my sleepwear. Simon asked me if he could fetch me any clothes, but I ignored him. I don’t know how long I would have continued to wallow if I had not gone down to the bar, but luckily for me, I did.

Around eleven at night, I noticed that Trish was gambling on the floor in her default guise. She must have been down there every reset, trapped in eternal victory or defeat. I only noticed her that night because two men approached her. She didn’t notice them until one of them grabbed her firmly by the arm. From the look of shock and terror on her face, she knew these men. Meekly, she walked with them into a back meeting room off the gambling floor. Even in my inebriated state, I could guess they meant my friend harm. People screamed as I ran past them, but I paid them no heed.

I burst through the door, breaking the latch, which had been locked, and shouted, “Let her go!” and summoned fire to my hands to intimidate them. But no fire came. I couldn’t access the Font of Fire. Staring dumbstruck, I tried again with Lightning Bolt, but still, nothing happened. I couldn’t cast anything. I hardly even noticed when one of the brigands that captured Trish stuck his rapier in my chest. As I lay on the ground, I saw that Trish was already dead, her body on the floor a few feet away.

I'm sorry, I need to stop here. The emotions, the fear, helplessness, terror... it’s too much. I need to take a walk. Get out of the tower and get some fresh air. Maybe finish an experiment I’ve been working on. I'll continue tomorrow.