Pine turned the journal over in his hands. It had been through a lot, much like he had. It had been with him right at the start of this journey, and he hadn't had any intention of writing anything in it other than field notes about what he might find about the history of Shadow of the Pride. But it had become more than that, and swiftly too, when there was no one else to speak with of his private worries, no one else to offer council on his fears and concerns, or indeed on his progress. He'd taken to writing in it in order to lay his thoughts out so he might better judge them, and then later he had kept writing them because it seemed important that a detailed record should be made.
The book in his hand held damage and stains on it now, no longer as pristine as it had started out as. There were dents in the cover from the fight with the large insect things at the logging camp, and then a couple of magic scorch marks from one fight or another; probably the wisps. And there was, of course, the staining and discoloration of his own life's-blood mingled with that of the white dragon, Cryovain.
Regardless, his words were still legible. It was still serving its purpose.
While others tended to their own affairs while they rested, chatting with each other while cooking, praying or tending weaponry, or even just meditating, writing in the journal had become its own sort of rest for him, when he needed little these days. One might think that as a cleric, he would turn to his own Gods to find respite, that he would find relaxation in the surety of their demands, but he had never felt that with the Three. The Three were demanding and fearsome, and he was always aware that he likely fell very short on what they might wish him to be. All he ever seemed to do when speaking with them was begging for aid, rather than announcing some success. They had, after all, had very little success. Even killing the dragon had been down to Siax in the end, rather than him.
He let his fingers pass over the dents and ridges of the cover of the journal before opening it and letting his gaze scan over the words there. Page after page of worries and fears, and then later of worries and exhaustion. It had only been months, truly, but it seemed so much longer.
But for the moment he still had his journal, and there was a certain amount of calm to be had by putting his thoughts to parchment.
Taking out the pen and the small pot of ink once more, he opened to a fresh page, and settled himself down to continue the habit that had once been a whim, then more of a necessity. Now, it was as close to a pleasure as one could find outside a hot meal and a warm bed.
Tiaumil
In general Tiaumil doesn't do adventuring, at least historically. But on the occasions he has gone out on something similar, it was for a specific purpose, usually to gather knowledge or spells that are new to him. As such, when he returns, after having had a bath, some food, and generally put the events behind him, he will settle down with the items has has gained and delve into them, working late into the night by the light of many candles in order to scribe into his own tome what he has gathered.