Muttering to herself, damn infernal training knives a few thousand strikes and they were already getting worn down how was an honest student of the knife supposed to be able to work under these kinds of circumstances? Sitting down in her workshop, with a grab of a piece of wood, glad that she knew what she was doing for the most part on this already, how to balance the weight, how to get her dagger just as she wanted it to be ideal for her to train with. And by the winds her hands knew it to as deft hands flies through the air creating her training dagger complete with her markings with flying ease.
Knife 1 6 successes

Marveling at her first creation for a moment but one would not be enough so onward to her next piece, trying to work it, to shift it, to repeat her earlier process as focus vanes from her mind, unable to mimic the rare deft ease of the first. Sighing and going back to just work it like normal instead to better be able to get it done, and marking it for her personal usage.
5 successes over 3 hours


Lifting the daggers up side by side, weighing them and striking through the air a couple of times to sense their weight, to double check they were just as she needed them before going back to the drawing board to begin working on her next two ones this time though taking a bit more normal size into account not tailoring them for herself but for the average person to be able to wield with a comfortable grip. Not putting as much care, or making them as nice as her own these were meant to lend out, to not be as special nor had she put the greatest of care into her own either not compared to what she could achieve at least.
5 successes over 2 hours

Lifting it up with a little weight, trying to feel it, to strike with it but instantly feeling that off sensation, the lack of comfortability as she grabs the leather to bind around the handle before picking up the last piece to make another duplicate of these oddly sized knives.
4 successes over 1 hour

Lifting the second one up, damn working with wood was truly a special feeling, how could anything else ever truly compare to such a sensation? Still she would have to learn to work with that infernal metal, to bend and adjust that crude material so void of life, of essence, of a soul how could people willing choose to wanna work with such a thing?

Shaking her head as she puts the knives down, grabbing her own two ones to put in a few extra marks, following, tracing the half ready signs floating around her eyes, spinning them around, allowing their shifting nature to fully decorate her knives until they were truly filled to the brim with markings that would make anyone but herself go insane trying to figure out their meaning but to her it was clear as day, so simple to see. How did people go through their lives not seeing these markings, did they never feel void of the connection, like something was missing? They were a true companion, a kind ally, a presence that never lied, never disappoints, always ready to aid without hesitation, without judgment. How was it to not have that support, to lack that aspect of connection to the truth of the world?
Poor sleepers having to miss it, then again I wonder if it isn´t worse for my fellow awakened to not see it, to be able to see the truth still lack this connection, and no one seems to even get it, how do they handle it?

Shrugging before heading up to watch something, eat and get some sleep, a bit annoyed at how chilly the nights had started to become to make sleeping outside that much harder and rarer.