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The views and opinions expressed in this article are solely Arachnea's own and do not necessarily reflect the views and opinions of QueenArasene.

Arachnea's Notes is a book written, edited but never published by the Sanskriit-Mah Arachnea. Looking like a mostly ordinary magic book, it actually contains innumerable pages fused magically into the space of a regular tome. The owner only rarely allows this item to leave her sight, for fear of it being stolen and its contents misused in ways that could wreak untold havoc to the world.

The Book

Passing, to those who are aware of this book's history, as arguably one of the oldest literary works in the world, Arachnea's Notes were created even before her passing to Gielinor. The first pages set into it were made from Warring Flowers, while the original cover was little more than two slabs of Freneskaen stone, imbued with the world's own living lava. This is also the current cover of the book: A dark, almost black shade of blue offset with intricate designs in glowing orange which give the book a most disturbing personality. Written to the center of the front cover is a single, Old Freneskaen glyph which translates, in the direct fashion of old languages, to nothing other than Truth. This is a testament to Arachnea's drive to ensure that everything contained within the book is true. Nevertheless, it contains both speculations and personal opinions, though the former of these are specifically annotated as possibly false, while the latter are changed regularly in order to ensure their continued truth value.

The next notable feature of Arachnea's Notes is its seemingly unlimited amount of both filled and empty pages. In fact, it is said to be possible that one can open the exactly same page over ten times in a row and find them to contain different information every time, with the page numbers suggesting that at least an entire book's worth of information (around four hundred pages) has been skipped in the process.

Last, but not least, is a magic bound to the book thus far unreplicated, thanks to Arachnea's sole experience in the realm of Gielinor as to the tricks and dangers of L-space. Using a specific and highly dangerous series of spells, Arachnea's Notes is a book which is capable of containing any other tome, hidden or otherwise, in the universe. This allows the book's owner to obtain, if necessary, information otherwise only printed in secret or private literary works as well as the potential to make changes- in any book, anywhere.

Children of Mah

I realized, at some point, that the Mahjarrat were not the only tribe who had somehow gained entry to the realm of Gielinor. Hence, I changed the heading and began watching with great interest if the old tribal rivalries would begin to spring up in lack of greater conflict within this soft realm.


Arachnea chathead3

How much there is to love about me, and how equally many things I am despised for. My history and knowledge span across the ages, too intricate and long to ever be recounted fully. Perhaps some day, they will be assembled and collected into my final legacy: the truth about my existence. Certainly, this is a book I would most enjoy reading by the fireside on a quiet evening. That much, I remember from my past.



I remember Azulra very well, from a previous life. How many frustrating hours have I not spent in battle against her, how much time fruitlessly wasted? No, I will leave her to herself, a watchful eye on her antics. There are many things to watch, and few of them rewarding. But suspecting the hate that I remember she once held for me, no precaution is unjustified.

Evgeni Avencianci

So many creatures are haunted by ghosts of their past, but this one is truly the most substantial one I have ever encountered. I met him recently and he was, in every sense of the word, his old self. Truly, it smarts me to remember what we shared and how I grew from it after his disappearance. Alas, the past is not to be changed. Perhaps the future will bring a reconcilement, perhaps it will soften the so very human emotions towards me that he demonstrated at our recent meeting.


Halcyone chathead
When I cast my mind back to recall my daughter, a wistful smile inevitably finds its way to my face. How much, a continual question remains, did I fail at being a mother to her? Perhaps I will never know. Somewhere deep inside, in the part of my self that has been exposed to humans too long and adopted some of their emotionality, I miss her and mourn her. But it is a faint sorrow, one hidden away under mountains of true nature.


There is surprisingly little information to be found about Kemses. I remember, of course, where he holds his base of operations and its weaknesses, but otherwise? Tidbits, at most. Curious, perhaps. Most important among the things I know is his friendship- or should I say minionship?- with Ptolemos.


How numerous, I ask myself, are the Mahjarrat I can look back at and remember with fondness? Too few, perhaps, while others would say even one is too many. Either way, I like to believe that if I had to choose any of the Mahjarrat to remember with fondness, it might be her.



Ptolemos' spirit animal is a cat. As time goes on, this only becomes clearer, for every time he meets adversity, he lands on his feet. Kill him? We have. Once. Twice. Three times, perhaps even more, and yet he keeps returning through a seemingly inexhaustible supply of means. It is rare indeed to see a will so powerful that it can transcend time, space, even death, not just once but again and again as the world tries to strike it down. With the destruction of what I retained of his weakened state, I can hope that he will finally rest- and yet, yet I feel his presence.


Even now, I can remember him fairly clearly. Without doubt, Pyris is a devout figure- devout to what, one cannot ever truly tell (not necessarily just because those who believe themselves to be Zarosian have a most unfortunate tendency to be far too cryptic for their own good). Ultimately we are, of course, always merely following a fiction of our own creation. Still, I refuse to enter into a debate about religion with him, knowing very well that it can lead to no good for either of us. In so many cases, I find it better to preserve amiability- if that is what it is- than to be right.


My past self, as I recall, looked at Renac with a fair share of respect for his accomplishments, and I will remember to take heed of this when I meet him again in the future. Though the reason why some of our kind fall victim to such a bizarre obsession with demons will forever be a mystery to me. Surely, it cannot be for the inherent power that these creatures hold- after all, everything we are, everything we were made to be, is so exponentially more powerful than the fiery companions might hope to become.


Through my long, long time lived in the realm of Gielinor, I have met hundreds, thousands of humans. Many of them died by my hand, the end of their lives likely the most spectacular moment they ever experienced. Those few that made themselves notable, even to me, are marked in my memoirs forever.

Aranitus Aren

Among those humans who have had a profound, memorable effect on my life, Aranitus is probably the most important one. Strange, considering how long ago it is since we parted ways. Regardless of the time that parts me from his memory, I recall him with a strange sensation of fondness that sometimes reminds me of what I feel for my youngest daughter.

Rosaline Haines

May the gods grant that her death was painful and permanent. Too long, she has hassled me- me!- with her demands. Truly, I shall be disappointed if the demonsbreath that she was engulfed in fails to keep her from returning.



What is there to say? He is a demon- and I despise demons. Worse, perhaps, is his ex-servitude to Rosaline Haines and her never-ending quest to serve Ptolemos for all she is worth. I worry, to be honest, that he will carry on her legacy and that he will do so with more efficiency than she did.



This Dragonkin seems intent on the world's destruction. Ptolemos, who refuses to die by any means applied, informed me of his existence and plans- and showed me some of the results. For once, I believe he and I are in accord on a course of action: This being must die.

Though I heavily disagree with and despise Ptolemos' way of using humans, even undead ones, to order his fellow kin around, it must be admitted that the communications were reasonably effective. Myself and the other would-be Dragonkin slayers stand prepared to face the foe and end his existence.

It is done. Though it took the combined power of five of our kind, we subdued the Dragonkin, and Ptolemos possessed it and dragged it with him into the Divine Rift, where it was disgracefully torn apart. Praise the all-mother that we are rid of it!


A Dragonkin I have yet to learn the name of. His Archives of information in the deepest parts of Morytania have proven an extremely valuable source of information, even though I have not dared remove any of its contents.

He almost caught us! Curses, had I not noticed and reacted swiftly by shifting us into the Shadow Realm, both mine and Halcyone's life would probably have ended right there. I must proceed with much greater caution whenever entering the Archives now.

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