Morning drew nigh and Tamris found herself drawn to this particular area of the academy. The light was still pale and the world still asleep. She allowed herself to slip into a meditative trance to relax herself.

She sat in the center of the academy stretching her legs, arms and back lest she pull a muscle. She took her time; haste was failure. Failure was death.

Khazid danced out of its scabbard on her hip and wound itself in several intricate patterns around her hand. She moved her wrist only slightly and let her fingers do the work. Khazea twirled in her other hand as she played with it.

The dirks were small, gringy, and worn. She loved them over anything... except Siran.

Okay, thought and set the dirks down before her. She knew how to play with them and show off for extra gold, but she had no idea how to use them in actual combat. Tamris made a mental note of that to ask Siran, but then remembered that Siran was trained in the crossbow and rapier... not the dirk.

She picked Khazid up again and studied it. It's brother blade Khazea was identical save the pommel was a different color. She jabbed at invisible enemies and tried out moves she had seen others do. They were all awkward and strange to her and it did not feel righ to use her blades in such a manner. Tamris sighed and set them down again, hoping someone would show her how.