Riloth the 19th the 43rd

The events of the next day followed much the same as the 42nd, with one notable exception—two I suppose, as Ren didn’t stab me in the chest. While walking through the forest, crossbow on my back, a branch caught on the limb of the bow. I tried to pull it out by twisting my body, but suddenly the tension holding me disappeared, and I fell on my face. The bow was gone in its place, a cloud of black particles filled the air above me. As I watched, they quickly faded out of existence.

I 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 inside the door.

But why did the crossbow work the today before? I had also left it inside.

If only I had Spellbook to go over these events to find the difference.

I sat in the grass and thought through my actions of the previous todays, trying to find any hint of what might have caused this phenomena. It took a while, but eventually I recalled that I’d dropped the crossbow unharmed in the last attempt, while in the first it had been destroyed. If that was the cause, 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.

Having positioned the gallons of acid and gotten the vial ready, I opened the door and saw that the crossbow was gone from the doorway. Something had moved it to the wall beside Jimothy.

I stepped through the door with my sleeve covering my nose to ward off the smell, but I found that unnecessary as it had improved significantly. My recently severed and pulverized hand had not yet begun to rot, and I kicked it back out the door as I began to cast. I fired an unmodified Firebolt at the crossbow across the room and was relieved to see my strike land true. The weapon went up in flames. At my spell, the countdown had ceased, and my friends came to join me. They broke the acid container just as before, and I landed another blow against Timothy’s back with the smaller, more potent, concoction.

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

Riloth the 19th the 44-50th

The next day, after my training with Ren, I banged a stone against the crossbow to test its integrity... existence? After a few strikes the weapon still remained, and I judged my theory accurate. Whatever force of magic or nature had caused the duplicate items to disappear seemed to preserve the more intact of the two.

The rest of that day went off without a hitch. My opening bolt attack struck the golem square in the chest, taking off a sizable chip of stone, and they once more stomped on the jar of acid I left in the doorway. The shattered remains from the previous day had dissolved into nothingness before I reached the clearing. After my brief assault, I made sure to destroy the crossbow before leaving the clearing. Then 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 something 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 45th reset, I forwent my training with Ren to research the topic of magical duplicates. With Jarreth’s help, I found a relevant passage in Lesser Lost Spells by Wilstun Aberfon

...A pre spellform spellbook from a wizard and renowned swordsman by the name of Tankred of the Desert chronicled the integration of his magical arts with his swordsmanship. Many of his spells have been retained or rediscovered. Most notably, his discoveries include Shield[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 weapon 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 and can be accomplished through simpler means.

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...

At the time I read this, I hadn’t known what it meant to invest 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 shouldn’t 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 days followed without any issues, injuries, or surprises. Reset fifty 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.

I stood outside the door, surveying my handiwork trying to gauge how many more attempts it would take for me to destroy Timothy and start work on Jimothy. Looking Timothy up and down, admiring the pitted and scarred surface that was my handiwork, I noticed it. The chip on his shoulder, from the first crossbow bolt, was gone. It had healed or been repaired or patched or something. How it had been done was not important—though I ran through the possibilities—the important bit was that the damage had disappeared.

I panicked and did the first thing that came to mind and got the attention of the golems by stepping in the door. As soon as they approached, I retreated back out, leaving my hand inside until 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 that the damage was really gone. As he turned, I could see that the deeper slime acid damage had begun to smooth out, and the other crossbow induced chips were becoming less jagged as they started to fill in.

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 soon as I entered, they moved to get me, but I dodged the first blow with a jump to the side. Behind Timothy now, I attacked him again, my spell doing nothing but venting 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 the 19th the 51-57th

The next morning, I fell back into a pit of depression and despair. 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 a week wallowing. Some days I never left the room, and just slept the entire day.

On the fifty-seventh reset, I decided I needed a change of scenery and went down to the bar to drink. I sat there the whole day in my sleepwear. Simon suggested that he could fetch me 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.

Around eleven at night, I noticed Trish on the gambling floor dressed in her default guise. She must have been down there every reset, trapped in eternal victory or defeat. I watched her silently from the bar, and after a few minutes saw two men approach her. She didn’t see 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, after a brief exchange, 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 with the momentum of my run and shouted, "Let her go!" as I summoned fire to my hands to intimidate them. But no fire came. I couldn’t access the Font of Fire. Staring dumbstruck at my empty palm, I tried again with Lightning Bolt, but still, nothing happened. I couldn’t cast anything.

The anti magic field! I remembered too late.

I hardly even noticed when one of the brigands that captured Trish stuck his rapier in my chest. As I lay on the ground bleeding, I saw that Trish was already dead, her body on the floor a few feet away.