Novel & Cerita Dnd Character Journal

"I love barbarians! Fuck yeah!" My barbarian was kinda overpowered for level 9, he would have a blast. And just like that, a thick stack of papers was foisted upon me. "His notes were almost gone anyway, so I was really dragging it out. I don't know how I would've kept going," Kerry said with a shrug. And there was my shitty manuscript, or a section of it at least. Monsters or encounters described throughout were circled, with little arrows leading from the circles to text blocks. "CR8 Encounter, use Basilisk stat block." Or "DC17 charisma check to seduce the guard babe."

And beneath them both was a small, leather-bound journal. My pussy clenched. A hot, sharp jolt of arousal shot through me, so intense it made me dizzy. Oh, fuck. Mr. Davenport. The cold, distant, untouchable Mr. Davenport. He was… one of those. A dominant. My curiosity was now a raging inferno. I had to know. I had to see. I reached in and carefully lifted out the journal. The leather was soft and cool to the touch. I opened it. The handwriting was a strong, elegant scrawl. I flipped to a random page and started to read.

My voice low, warning, “Gonna what? Trust the first boy who hands you a plantain and a pep talk?" Dru flung her journal open with a picture bookmarking the page. A sketch fluttered out—Dragon’s profile, shaded with coffee stains, his scarred knuckles cradling a magnolia bloom. Beneath it, in shaky letters: *‘Not a savior. A mirror.’*

The romance was being squeezed out. "The journal" Elara shouted, her bare knees hurt as she fell flat onto the asphalt to pick up the black leather book that was lying between them. The moment her fingers touched the leather, the blank white pages inside the journal did not just move they started bleeding. A lot of midnight-blue fluid came out of the journal mixed with the cold rain water and formed a swirling indigo circle around her ankles. The gold letters on the cover of the journal; THE MASTER LEDGER: VOLUME TWO ​flared with a white-hot, blinding radiation that scorched the skin of her palm, the unique, un-templated human syntax of her blood-infused veins screaming in protest against th

His scent still lingers on it which makes my heart beat faster, it feels like he is here with me. I let my fingers run along the edges of his table, touching everything that once belonged to him. A journal sticking out of his cabinet catches my attention and I pick it up. It’s black and leather bound, just like Don. A voice at the back of my head warns me to keep it back but I don’t listen. The first page is blank, not even his name written on it. I keep turning the pages until I see his first entry. It’s on my supposed death anniversary.

My throat tightened, and I looked up at him, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness behind it. “Dante, this is… thank you,” I managed, my voice thick with emotion. He smiled, the kind of smile that made my chest ache in the best way. “You’ve been planting so much out there,” he said, nodding toward the garden. “I thought it might be time to plant something in here, too.” He tapped a finger gently against my temple, then my heart. As the weeks stretched into months, the journal became my confidant. I filled its pages with sketches, ideas, and pieces of myself I’d long since buried. For the first time in years, I allowed myself to dream freely, unencumbered by fear.

His right hand held a mighty heft of oak, an enchanted quarterstaff of kicking-your-fucking-ass. Jon looked at this character sheet, thin in some places due to erasures, with pride. He had worked and sweated and rolled long and hard to raise this character with sub-standard statistics up into the powerhouse he was now. He had become a mighty hero who had conquered many a fearsome foe.

No doubt reached his mind even when I mentioned a person who was currently in the dungeons. "He...he is my...my grandfather," I mumbled as his eyes widened. Before he could say anymore about the matter, I interrupted. "We should hurry up.what we're doing here. Princess will want to return soon." I slid the book towards myself and inspected its leather bound cover. "So, what is this?" "A journal about the dragon charmers," he said. "The grandfather of the current King himself wrote this. He had befriended a charmer and as he got to know more about them, he wrote it all down in this book."

Aurelia stared at the forest and tried to find an answer to the puzzle. "I agree, princess, but there is more to this world than both you and I will ever know, or hope to know in our lifetime. I used to keep a journal of every new creature or circumstance I encountered in my youth, but after I was disgraced, I stopped." "I think that's the most useful thing you've said all day, do you have the journal on you?" "No, I left them all back at the brigands camp."

I don’t know a lot of guys my age who keep a journal, so it’s kind of sweet knowing Luke keeps one, even though I’ve never seen him write in it before. On the front cover, embossed in gold, are the initials D. F. Darren Ford. His dad, it must be a gift. Most of the pages are empty, which is disappointing because I’m really hoping to read his deepest darkest secrets in here. But on a completely random page in the middle, I freeze. It’s Luke’s neat, but slightly messy handwriting, scattered all over the page like he was just jotting things down whenever they came to him. *Always wanted to go on a road trip.