Hyuponia's Journal

(Eh if i'm on maybe Zwei can come upon it)

[[Do I move this to the Story Board where other journals are kept or leave it here? O.o;;;]]

(Well, since TNN is hard to get to because Barri is still sealed up, I guess Liiam is the most likely person to find it since he does a lot of his training there and can cross between TNN and Erinn whenever he wants to. I'll get in touch with you over notes, if you want.)

Frowning as he read the introduction, Liiam arches an eyebrow the further he reads. His eyes narrow as he reads the touching narrative, his thoughts hidden in silence. Before reading further, he calls out Sepulcher, summoning the large horse, "Need ya ta carry some dead weight, pal." Snickering at his own joke and ignoring the horse's wicker, he lifts up Hyuponia's body to sling it over Sepulcher's back. "Don' mind'the smell, his death magic was'a little rotten, ah think." The warning of 'read at your own risk' goes unheeded as Liiam turns his attention back to the journal, reading further on.

The tone and sharpness of the words quickly changes to a more mechanical format upon the first page. There are concept sketches, and in various places the handwriting is vastly different. Multiple people seemed to have had a hand in writing in this book...

Journal No. 1

For many years and in many worlds, beings have attempted to seek out the origins of legend and superstition which ties deep to their beliefs and cultures. Such wild and varied tales, ranging from the mythical Fountain of Youth of Earth, to the endless energy of the Moon Kingdom of my own world spawned in fact, the questions that drives this research. These questions, are simple: What ARE the legends that surround Erinn, such as the Land of Eternity...Tir Na Nog? And do they in fact, hold any factual significance whatsoever?
To answer this question, one had to dig into Erinn's history however. In order to do that, I had to seek out a Druid of considerable age; As well as willing to hear me out, being of a nature of magic that perverts the sense of balance these creatures have. I found my answer, in Tarlach. In return for a very generous supply of mana herbs...And my company, which he oddly found pleasant, he gave to me a scroll. Though badly damaged, it did yield an answer to my first stated question.

The people of Erinn, called it the "Mabinogi." It is a series of epics, each detailing a time in history. Battles, romance of nobles and the aristocracy, the deaths and triumphs of great heroes or the sorrows and horrors of the commoners, all could be found there. Mabinogi, was in fact the living history of Erinn, itself..! This scroll contained some of the melody, and most peculiar lyrics. It described the ascension of an Elf, into what was almost considered a 'God-like' status. He could not be killed by conventional means...Nor did he ever age, or sleep. He ruled by fear, until a great deluge of the people forced this monstrosity away...By threatening his very soul. He stole away, into the night bearing the vessel of his mortality...And was never seen again. This was, the Mabinogi of the Arc Lich. He and I...Have been fighting in Metus since the days of the Parthalon Wars. This could prove to be a powerful tool in my current arsenal...I now had something that lays his past bare. Our relationship is no longer impersonal; I could potentially kill him now, as the song not only tells what his Phylactery looked like, but where in fact I might find it.

...Perhaps I should confront him with this scroll...If he believes I might be on to the location of his Phylactery, it might intimidate him just enough into giving me the answers I so desperately seek as a means to bring about a truce...Either that, or give him more of a reason to find mine and destroy me.

...More details to come, should I find it necessary...I haven't left the precise way to go about destroying the Arc Lich, because in theory, the current location of his Phylactery may have changed many times from when this particular song was sung. Best not leave anything to chance...


There is a sketch of the Arc Lich himself, though grainy on the right side of the page. The text seems to wrap around him. There are various incantations in Fomorian littering the page as well, where no other words have touched. Upon closer inspection, these are in fact what appears to be wards of some sort or another. What was Hyuponia attempting to create...? Most seem to be defensive, at a glance.

Page two, seems to bear the first traces of a second writer. The words however, are done in blood; Relatively fresh blood, that somewhat blots through the first and next pages in negligent degrees. Despite the foreboding and grisly choice of ink, the letters are alive with an elegant and almost electrically horrifying style. Each word contains a raw amount of perverse magical energy, that is both sinister and playful. It mingles in constant conflict with the energy of the journal itself.

Journal No. 2

..I must admit, when I had first come across the concept of a second Soul Stream in my own works...I was a bit,

...Skeptical.

However...Given some time, and the generous amount of Fomorian subjects upon which I've experimented due to the foolhardy endeavors of the supposed 'Black Council' of Arch Mages...I can safely conclude that the spiritual residue lingering behind on cadavers after stimulated myocardial infarction do not in fact remain in Erinn. Or at least, this instance of it.
It would seem as though in banishing the Fomor, Morrighan had created yet another form of passage for these often times arrogant creatures. Why however the location she has re-located them to, Tir Na Nog, remains unknown to me. Shortly after death, the spirits of my subjects will behave in one of two fashions:

-The first, and most predictable is the soul will simply linger on and collect mana from Eweca, growing slowly in power until it first manifests itself as a full body apparition. These beings, while retaining memories of their past lives and existence, are entirely hollow and act purely on instinct without a shell to contain them. Given this irony, they are easy to control; If you can manipulate an instance of their memories, you can bind them and bend them to your will. This is the most fundamental basis of Necromancy, which is nothing more than the twisting of another's own thoughts after death.

-The second instance, is that which will continue to baffle me. Though I share it with Hyuponia, who's own records are within these pages as well, he will time and time again refuse to glean even a mote of his own light on the subject. Until recently, he had cared very little for ANY of my research; Though I can't complain of his curiosity now. Shortly after death, the spirit will depart the body, and begin collecting mana from Eweca, in standard poltergeist fashion. Abruptly however, it deviates from this course of events, and simply begins to dissipate, drifting apart into what I first believed was a return to the Soul Stream. Thereafter though, it is obvious that there is no definite path these beings take; In other words, they do not behave as Militeans do...You can often times trace where they are headed. Shades perform a similar feat, to what I have witnessed. This was by far the most plausible theory. The subject will die, and form as a ghost. From here however, the initial spirit begins to dissolve away, overpowered by raw mana. Only the poltergeist remains. Due to their lack of interactive conscious, They cannot be controlled. But unlike shades, no poltergeist activity remains after the initial removal of the will the spirit retained. The entire essence of this spirit, seeps away into the Void, where it is not seen again...

Page three returns back to it's simple black inking. Hyuponia must be writing again. His words are shaky and in places he has scratched out words altogether in some parts, as though he were in a total rush.

Journal No. 3

I'm beginning to doubt my own actions, even though what I am finding thus far is sound. I've had yet another encounter with Auron. He has changed drastically since last we met...And if I were to proceed with my plans, he will most assuredly kill me; Either before I finish, or shortly after I've succeeded. On that note, violence...I've been seeing much of it lately, in my exposure to Dunbarton. I do not know how Xeek approves of any of the current regime's actions. Requiem is as twisted as it's ruler. I am debating on whether it is wise or not to assault and eliminate Fenrir Gatemo Eir before my transitioning back to mortality. To do so however would put me at odds with not only Requiem itself, which is currently my haven...But possibly with Mariella. Not because of her personally; but Xeek.
To attack Eir is to attack Requiem. I doubt he would find my idealism a satisfying excuse for yet STILL more unneeded bloodshed. And I would much rather not have to be forced to harm the people whom I've dedicated myself to protecting. I know this must be done, but at the same time I am too cowardly to take action. My own hypocrisy is sickening. So much in fact, it's been burdening me with vivid and horrific memories of my past. In an effort, I shared some of this with Mariella to relieve my own stress. I showed her what the Sen Mag Plains had looked like during the earlier years of the Parthalon Wars. This was in fact, my memory of it, projected by means of illusion upon her.

It was before the second battle of Mag Tuireadh ...Fomorian forces were gathered to march upon the battlements set in place in the grasslands. We had trekked for many days, through the catacombs beneath Erinn, before finally arising from Peaca Dungeon. It was believed no one would be foolish enough to mount an attack from the dungeon itself, as both factions were losing an alarming number of their best scouts within to unknown horrors. We traveled as one, in the dank darkness, and we had experienced many casualties. Most instances our ranks were thinning before we realized anyone had been missing at all. Sentry duty became tighter, and sometimes even they go missing. Many of us became fearful for our lives. This stretched on for several days, before we emerged in what was to be a surprise attack upon the Parthalonians staged in Sen Mag. Morale and numbers were much lower than the initially planned campaign called for, and ultimately it failed. However, the battlefield was so serene before the actual fighting, that it struck me with overwhelming pity. Wildflowers, as far as the eye could see. How could we be so selfish...Humans and Fomor alike, to go and destroy something of such gentle purity? It was from here Mariella told me of the Nubes Mountains in Iria. That we could perhaps escape there...Create our own haven. No more having to participate and bear witness to the fruitless destruction and machinations of the 'civilized' peoples. I very much like that idea...And I'm going to be planning extensively for it. Maybe there'll be hope for the future yet.

...Because, as of now...I don't want any part in this battle; This world that we've created and just as quickly torn apart. As of tomorrow, I begin exploring again Fiodh Ruins. This was in fact, a fortress in the time of the war, maintained by humans. Perhaps I can find what I am looking for there. If not, I will return to Peaca again...The horrors of my past need not frighten me now. I am what I've grown to fear.


On the opposite page, there is a much more elaborate, and carefully drawn diagram of a house, materials, and even a cut away of a single room, dissected in half and labeled meticulously. The house is gorgeous, and almost laughable, being just a picture. It seems like something quite literally out of a fairy tale, marble covered in vines and various roses. Was this really what the Incubus intended to build?

I have concluded my research. My time of judgement is finally at hand. Three beings now of considerable age and power have leaned towards and partially confirmed the possibility of the Anti Soul Stream. My confrontation with the Rich of Peaca was not fruitless; He too confirmed of our research, shedding all too eagerly his own from perhaps his lonesome once he learned that I too, remained unchained by the passage of time. In return, all he asked was if there was indeed more like us, and I had to lay bare the existence of the Arc Lich to him. His curiosity was insatiable, and I told him I did not know any other beyond us three, which in practicality is the truth. I dared not tell him my relationship with the gods and goddesses whom I do not publicly speak of due to a considerably healthy fear and earnest reverence, (Though they too cannot be everywhere at once.) nor the Dragons that I made acquaintances with over the last few centuries.

My reasoning for telling him of these things did not just stem from desperation for information, but because of his pitiful state as well. He had become a Pariah, as immortals in general usually are, and began to hate with a passion all life. He figured it hated him perhaps just as much. I cannot tell as of now however if it was by conscious decision on his part to enter his exile or the superstitions of the common people. Fear always makes one so keen to destroy the first unnatural thing to come across as dangerous to them; Fomor and Human alike. I hope this decision wasn’t foolish on my part, as there was a very strong possibility of him leaving to seek my old colleague out.

The Rich has also helped me to design the actual framework for the ritual I was going to perform that was essentially my suicide. Again, his persistence to finding the purpose of why I would want to do such a thing earned him some of the details of my life and love interest. He called me a fool, a bloody idiot for my self condemnation, and all manners of expletives too degrading for me to repeat again. I bore them all with a sublime patience, and told him then that in none of my endless years had I ever been truly happy. I was ready, and forgive me, truthfully willing to die at any point in time, to snuff out all traces of my own continuity. I told him of Mariella, and how she changed my entire outlook on life, effectively saving me. I told him of her own complications and sorrows, and how I too wanted to do for her as she had for me. He obliged finally, silencing me with a weariness that far preceded the reaction I wished my words would instill. For him at least, there was still perhaps a bit of humanity left.

The spell we devised, we created with the general intent that it would perform itself upon activating. It was a series of seals that the previous spell would break, to activate the next enchantment, that would continue until it would finally release all of the mana (as well as my soul). We did this with the fact in mind that I would be dying, and theoretically unable to complete the ritual half way throughout.
The spell would consist of three ritual circles, each within the other. Within the third center circle, would be my Phylactery. The first spell will do what is essentially flood the Phylactery with mana, and the seal on the second circle. The mana will envelope my soul, as well as corrode the seal. Once that is broken, the second spell activates, harshly ripping the mana out of the recesses of the Phylactery, taking my soul with it. This will end my life, unbinding me from a physical vessel with which to interact. The third spell is one involving Necromancy, and it will in practice compel me to find and sink into the Anti Soul Stream should it even exist.

The plan has been set in motion now. I will be accompanied by Mariella to Tir Na Nog, where I will perform the spell in a secluded recess. I do this with her, because I want the chance to say my goodbyes. Another secret part of me hopes she can talk me out of it all. This will be the last and only true brave act of a man who was until love found him, a coward. Farewell, until fate sees fit to join us once more.

I’m happy. But at the very same time, I’ve realized, afraid of what the future has in store for me. Allow me to better explain this bizarre circumstance.

I had been caring for Mariella during the course of her pregnancy; Ever the supportive one, I wouldn’t relent in keeping her in high spirits, despite the hormonal changes she had been undergoing. The wedding went spectacularly well, even considering it was to take place in Filia, where my new mother by proxy, Soifa, did not feel comfortable being in because of possible legalized action against her. And disregarding my growing weakness due to a lack of being able to have any intimacy with Mariella, I really could not be any more content if I had tried. Financially I tied down loose ends concerning my own coffers as an immortal, so that we wouldn’t fall on hard times later, and I had been able to unveil Haven to her and Pumpkin. The reaction was very much worth the wait. It was apparently so unexpectedly pleasant that it left Mariella in tears. Surprisingly enough as well, the gold I had been investing for decades was not in any way challenged by the Merchant’s Guild, even when I made my status as immortal readily available knowledge to my fellow stockholders.

I had mentioned her before in my previous statement, but Soifa has given us a wedding gift as well, in the form of a succubus infant. This, was quite possibly the strangest thing to have happened to me in my entire life. I had a sinking suspicion perhaps that Soifa was to blame for the child’s current orphan status. Needless to say, I went through town to town, searching until finally giving up on the idea that her parents were alive. I didn’t even want to consider the other alternative, that they had chosen to abandon her anyway, and were actively ignoring my bulletins. Someone like that isn’t a parent. I don’t even think you could call them a person, even. We’ve adopted her, officially. Her name is Aldora. “Winged Gift,” is what it means. I think it’s both fitting and cute. Mariella really had a knack for names. Another identity sprung up for her after a while as well, entirely by mistake. We’ve taken to calling her ‘Pumpkin’ because she has striking orange-blonde hair.

So, why then would I be so terribly frightened? Things were going well. They continued to, until Mariella conceived. She gave birth, several months earlier than should have been expected. And was when the first blow against our attempt at happiness together occurred. We were returning to Solea after an inspection of the Nubes Mountains, when Mariella’s water broke. She was expecting, and due to it being so early, I was terrified by the prospect of attempting to deliver in unfavorable conditions. I was a researcher. A Necromancer. Not a medical practitioner. So I did something I knew would be clearly insane; I took her in my arms, and I flew for Udalh. I flew urged on by blind terror and adrenaline, as well as some secret elation in the less rational part of my mind that wasn’t convinced something was going horribly, horribly wrong. I was going to be a father; If nothing adverse happened during the birthing.

It’s unfortunate then, that this is precisely what happened. We were stunned. The combination of Mariella’s youth and the prematurity of the birth came with complications. The child was a girl...Our Kisiah. Yet we faced the prospect of her possibly dying. We stayed in the healer’s clinic in Tara for about a week, waiting for some sign of stability in the child. It’s impacted Mariella in a way that’s acutely painful to have to witness. She blames herself for what she now sees as a potential miscarriage. That Kisiah was struggling to stay alive, or probably was in pain, because of her. I am doing my best to comfort her, but as one of the nurses had informed me, it could very well be postpartum depression. That may well be the case, but there’s other conflicts that run deeper than that, well. She told me she couldn’t bear to look at Kisiah, let alone touch her. I will remain unflinching in my resolve...I’ll take care of her too if I have to. So be it.

The unthinkable, had happened. Mithos arrived at my household, after we had housed a strange guest for some time. She was very sensitive to magic, the erg of which she was most suited being the darkness. I only know this now because of a conversation I had with Mithos. My wife was studying this girl, Ekio...Who happened to be a Homunculus. Mariella has gone entirely missing at this point, and I cannot contact her with normal means. She has been gone for almost five months now. This is profoundly painful to me. My wife had been abusing my trust...Lying to me, all this time. She had done it so easily, anything she could tell me I would have believed. And I did, too. I’ve made up my mind that I will find her and have answers. She won’t be able to lie to me again. Not after this.

I can’t kill her now though; There is really nothing I can do to stop her anyway. She is a Millitean. After all the foolish things I’ve been doing and saying, I can’t find the will or way to destroy her utterly. Not after what Asmodeous had told me. The boy Momo really was a front, an alias for this demon. He was trying to find his lover, and had called me unfaithful for wanting to stop my wife. I was a hypocrite who spoke many vows and only kept them when convenient. That I wasn’t willing to do do anything and everything for Mariella. He was probably right in his accusation...I was acting as though I were too afraid to simply embrace my love regardless of consequence. Either way...It doesn’t matter now. I will talk. Things are changing...Mariella isn’t the little girl I met years ago anymore, and I’m not the calloused self abusive sentinel of Metus.

Why is this so difficult to bear? Am I really overreacting? I am full of questions and doubts. Maybe they are all right about me. It’s time for me to stop playing God, and put aside my age and assumptions; Delve into the modern world. It’s growing all the time, with or without my help, and there’s no possible way to alter it alone without dire consequences. My only regret now is not having done this sooner. I will write again when I have located her and sated myself. The ring will lead the way...I love her. But I also need this. I probably already know the answer to why she lied...Why she left us here. I want to hear it all the same from her. Only then can I maybe come to terms with this confusion; For better or for worse.

Some time written later. The tone is much lighter now, and the penmanship has improved; perhaps due to a change in level of stress.

Well, it’s happened...I’m here. After a long and wild chase throughout the Shadow Realm, I had finally tracked down Mariella. I am ashamed of myself. She was with the Noitar Arat Society and what’s more, one of their ranks. A ‘Corrupt Alchemist’ as the Aliech Regime dubs them, though after meeting several of their members and leader, as well as witnessing firsthand the work they undertook, I can’t say with clear conscious that this brand is at all accurate. I had found her the moment she had attempted to abandon her wedding ring to prevent me from discovering her location. She must have realized I could track her after examining it more closely. It was synthesized, after all and a very basic structure at that. I found her locked in combat with a sort of monster, and she was in dragon form. I did what was essentially the equivalent of suicide by landing on her neck while she was fighting to speak to her. After which I expended myself in chasing the creature off.

Mariella left shortly afterwards, obviously not very pleased to see me. I could not have blamed her however...Exhausted, I collapsed only to be captured by two Corrupt Alchemist who had been following me the moment I discovered their location, and put into a sort of captivity where she came to see me. She was pregnant with twins...She had run away from home after Mithos’ visit to protect the children before I reached her first. She...Actually believed I might have killed her even though she was with children. This, my fatigue, and sudden joy entirely overwhelmed me and I dissolved into sobbing on the spot. At this point...I forgot my questions entirely. There was no longer any doubt in my mind as to why I was here. I was here for her. Not to stop her. And I could and would do everything possible in my power to help her. My love was far too great to question morality, and I have I am afraid, succumbed to it’s clutches entirely. I was growing tired of being a philosopher and marytr for ideals I no longer believed were entirely true or substantial in an ever changing world. Tired of being selfish with my power.