Garroth Minecraft Diaries Novels & Stories

Possibly the best decision Garrik had made since I'd met him. A knock sounded at my door. Six. Exactly. I opened it. Garrik stood outside carrying several packs. I stared at them. Then at him. “Are we moving into the mountain?” “No.” “Because this looks like we're moving into the mountain.” He handed me one. It was heavier than I expected. “What is in this?” “Food. Water. Parchment. Charcoal. Ink. Quills.” I opened it. There was enough parchment inside to document half of Ironfang.

A stack of flat stone slates, and above them, carved in elegant script: RECORD OF THE LOST My heartbeat stutters. This is a library. A hidden, sacred one. A place the Game doesn’t want found. I step forward, and my legs tremble so violently I almost collapse. Each slate has a name carved at the top. Some I don't recognize. One I do. Dax Roran. A chill rips down my spine. I lift the slate, and the stone warms under my touch. Words carve themselves across the surface in shimmering silver.

The key opens a secret door in the basement which depends on you; are you going to allow humans to enter? The diary, you need it to trace the day, month or year, it is a mysterious diary only given to generations. There is a bunch of it in the secret door. They’ll appear to you if you plan to have a family. Lastly this pocket watch, it will let you travel anytime. Literally, any TIME. Sam we’re immortals... There are a few of us living in this planet. At his first day during 1940, he noticed that the fields were no longer emerald. Houses and establishments were built all over.

She turned it so I could see a thin string attached near the corner of the mouth, with a small deflated ring at the end. “And this is the best part. This string goes down your throat. The little ring inflates and sticks to the side of your trachea. It hurts like hell at first, but once you get used to it you won’t even notice… except you won’t be able to talk anymore. Only barks for my little Bitch.”

This baffled me as I kept walking up the stairs. I was yet to see guards whom I always saw everyday damned day but now, where I needed them the most, they suddenly vanish. I seemed to have been walking for twenty minutes when I soon stopped before a wide mahogany door which also had two guards standing by each side. Not only that, but I needed not to ask if Mr. Red eye was there because I could feel his presence. Call me stupid! “Good morning, is Mr….err, Is your boss in?” I asked one of the guards, who appeared as if he was dead. I was yet to get used to the unique appearances of everyone I saw in this castle. I mean, they all looked like 'the walking dead!'.

UNKNOWN POV DEAR DIARY, She grows beautiful each and every passing day. It was just yesterday she was a child, and now she has tits and curves in all the right places. I stare at her through this broken mirror, I see her every step, her every move… I feel pain when she’s happy, and I relish in the joy her sadness brings me. She is mine, Diary. Mineee! Oh, it won’t be long now…

"No. I was looking at all the jewellery. Didn't know you had a stash like that." "It's not a stash. I just like nice things, and with nice things comes complicated codes." Russell wrapped his arms around me, then kissed my neck. "Got to protect your valuables." He said after. Yes, I'm glad that your stupid friends didn't know about this little secret space. And I'm glad that the code changes every day, and was sent to my phone, which was only accessible by my thumb print. So if your friends just happens to come here without my permission, they can't get in and if they get in my phone will get an alert that they had opened the door and would automatically lock if I don't confirm it.

I cried, the sound torn from my throat. "That’s it," Garry grunted, picking up speed. "Take it. Take my cock like a good little femboy." His hips snapped against me, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the alley. Each thrust sent sparks through my body, my prostate lighting up like a live wire. "Harder," I begged, my voice breaking. "Fuck me harder." Garry obliged, his grip on my hips bruising as he pounded into me, his balls slapping against my ass with every brutal stroke. "You like that?" he snarled. "Like getting your tight little ass wrecked?"

Except this time, it was Ann, Adam and Bartholomew that stood solemnly in the hallway, waiting for their friends to appear. Lord Brarthroroz sauntered casually through the doorway into the hall and grinned broadly at them as he approached. "Seems like a nice morning for a quick jaunt into the woods and destroying some souls." He quipped as he dug through his pockets, seemingly looking for something. "It's nice to see you haven't lost your sense of humor even in dire circumstances such as these." Bartholomew chuckled as Lord Brarthroroz produced a large chunk of a midnight blue rock from inside his jacket pocket with an almost triumphant smirk on his face.

Just the dry rustle of coconut trees. "Knock! Knock!" I knocked at the mahogany wood door. A shutter creaked on the upper window. A moment later, the front door—heavy mahogany with three different locks—swung open just a few inches. A man stood there. He looked older than the photos in the NUAT archives. His hair was a chaotic crown of grey wool, and his skin was the color of parched tobacco. But it was his eyes that stopped Becca cold. They weren't the eyes of a scholar; they were the desperate eyes of a man who had been expecting death for sixteen years.