[@Gentlemanvaultboy]

[i][color=662d91]
”A good artisan...
  Never blames.
   Hisss... 
     Sworrrd.”[/color][/i] 

A low whispered voice echoes in the drows head. The words long and drawn out, holding an almost defensive tone. 
The sword, although short felt heavier than it appeared and the eye, while possessing no eyebrow or muscles around it, somehow still gave a judgemental condescending glare. Or was it just in her head? 

[i][color=662d91]”So, you think you can do better than... he did?”[/color][/i] The sword hesitated, seemingly already forgetting its previous owners name or simply deeming him to unimportant to mention. Then it continued, its soft slow whisper absent of any commitment or vigor.

[i][color=662d91]”Please go ahead, find vengeance, slay the wrong doer... Use me as a tool to deliver death. As was his dying wish.
That is only if you know how to do more than just stare at me? Or maybe all this one does is talk?”[/color][/i]

The eye continued to stare, blinking twice in succession but then not again. Simply becoming unable to.