Caudecus's Journal rests on a coffee-stained desk, its cover a deep, lacquered black leather streaked with coppery flecks. The spine is creased, the edges softened by decades of handling. The pages are vellum-thin, the ink a shade of iron, the cursive traces of an aristocrat's hand still legible despite a blot here and there. The binding's clasp, a small brass clasp with a faded sigil, keeps the book shut as if reluctant to reveal its secrets. The scent of aged parchment and wax lingers, as if inviting a reader to lean in, to listen to the hush of secrets and street markets. The Canthan noble's margins bear glyphs along the edges—notes, prices, and the occasional doodle of a courier's route—hinting the journal traveled through courts, back alleys, and merchants' bazaars. People whisper that Caudecus, a name long tied to power and backroom trades, kept this book not for poetry but as a ledger of deals, a chronicle of negotiations and betrayals. Each page feels like a doorway to someone else's memory: a merchant's ledger line, a diplomat's half-remembered promise, a soldier's stubborn oath. In gameplay terms, the journal has its own quiet importance. Players who encounter it do not simply inspect a dusty artifact; they carry a thread of the world's texture—its economies, its secrets, its political undertones. The journal functions as a conduit for lore, weaving Caudecus's shadowy network into the present. Some pages hint at hidden vaults and long-lost shipments, offering clues that can illuminate side quests and puzzle routes that threads of the world nod toward but never quite declare. In this sense, the journal becomes less a thing to own and more a thing to follow—an invitation to trace a chain of rumors that winds through markets, mansions, and the margins of power. People who chase its other half-dozen companions know how the market breathes around such items. In discussions on Saddlebag Exchange, a journal like this finds its price not in a fixed number but in the tide of curiosity—bids rise when collectors sense a missing fragment in a larger story, and fall when the season shifts or new lore surfaces. A seller might describe it not as a mere object, but as a key: a tactile map to Caudecus’s ambitions and the merchants who once moved between them. And the buyer? They imagine a life where every crease in the page corresponds to a choice made in the shadows of Divinity’s Reach, a reminder that every artifact is a fragment of a larger tale, waiting for a reader bold enough to stitch its fragments back into the world. There, on a shelf or in a rucksack, Caudecus's Journal waits for someone to turn its pages and listen.