Dnd Character Journal Novels & Stories

’ I assured myself, thumbing through the pages of the journal. I wasn’t surprised to find Dain’s handwriting slender and impeccably neat. The ink he used changed throughout every handful of pages, and the dates appeared to jump forward every few days. I counted the years as I thumbed through, watching the month written in the corner of the page flit by. Each page was written in the same, neat handwriting. Not a splotch or smear of ink, or a tear in the paper. As I reached the middle of Dain’s journal, I noticed a slight change.

Most of the books were donated by a head librarian (a retired wizard). I don't know why Fiona was so adamant against me copying her skill. She was okay with me copying from others, but she was off-limits. That didn't stop me, though. "Status," I whispered, and a blue screen appears before me. I glanced at my level, which was stuck at one. My stats covered six groups (everyone's stats covered these five groups)—Strength, Dexterity, Intelligence, Wisdom, and Growth.

Why didn’t they just use the mind-link? "Whatever," I muttered to myself, grabbing my backpack and rummaging through it until I pulled out my journal. Before I had ever been able to shift, this journal had been the only thing keeping me sane. It was where I wrote down my thoughts, emotions, fears, and dreams—before I had finally accepted what my life had become. Just as I flipped to a blank page, the door opened again. I quickly stuffed the journal back into my bag and stood up as Damien walked inside, sighing heavily.

Instead, she shifted gears, asking, "What were you reading?" I snapped my fingers, and my journal reappeared in my hand. It was a treasured possession, filled with entries spanning the past 100 years. I had amassed a collection of these journals, each one a testament to my love of recording every detail of my life. I wrote about experiences, adventures, thoughts, plans, and ideas - nothing was left unrecorded.

That familiar ache in my chest rises, but I suppress it and bring my focus back to the task at hand. The journal’s pages are cracked and yellowed, brittle at the corners. Some sections are smudged, others scratched out entirely. As if someone started writing and then changed his mind, or lost control halfway through. I slowly run a thumb over the margin, trying to piece it together once again. The entire journal consists of instructions on how to find an ancient, powerful relic, but there are no specific coordinates. Only the descriptions of the area, and notes on how important it is for the golden shield to keep the chaos contained.

His entire reason for breathing. I straightened up and wiped the tears before they could fall. Crying was useless. I had cried enough to fill an ocean and it had not changed a single thing. If Damien would not choose me on his own then I would remove the other option entirely. I went back to the bedroom and pulled a small leather journal from the bottom of my dresser drawer. Inside were contacts I had been collecting for years. Names and numbers of people across different territories. Nobles. Merchants. Information brokers. I kept them as insurance because a woman in my position could never have too many backup plans.

Notes like: “Add extra ginseng if he’s been gone more than three days, he likes the water warmer after patrols, or ‘He always sleeps better after clove oil.’ Every detail. Every preference. Every small thing I never noticed. I find myself sitting on the edge of the tub, the book trembling slightly in my grip. The pages whisper things I should’ve known. Things I should’ve seen. But I didn’t. Beneath the notes is something else—a folded sheet tucked into the spine. I pull it out. Her journal. Just a few entries. But they hit harder than any enemy has. “He smiled today. Just for a second. That’s enough.”

Hannah said in a bored voice. “So, what exactly are you doing?” Silas questioned coming over to stand next to me. “Truth brew” I answered as I opened the lid to my trunk, I remember the journal tucked in my dress and pulled it out to place in my trunk. My trunk held my life in a way, everything I deemed important enough to hold onto and the ingredients needed for various brews. My trunk not only had extension spells on it, but it also had various protection spells on it as well. I placed the journal inside, tucked away on one of the lower shelfs.

"Rebecca." He stepped in front of me. The crack widened. Ancient mechanisms I hadn’t seen before hidden under the chamber groaned awake. Stone shifted against stone. Slowly and patiently, the pedestal opened into two halves. There was no treasure. No weapon. No ancient crown. Nothing but one leather bound journal kept in a small compartment, untouched since time began. The leather on the journal was black from age, but in perfect condition. The corners had been worn down through the many hands that had touched it throughout its years. On the cover... one symbol had been pressed into the leather.

The owner, a wise old man with a gentle smile, welcomed us as if he had been expecting our arrival. As we peruse the shelves, our eyes landed on a worn, leather-bound journal that seemed to call out to us. Intrigued, we opened it to find a collection of handwritten stories, each one filled with magic, adventure, and the triumph of the human spirit. The journal spoke of forgotten legends, hidden treasures, and ancient prophecies.