[ WP ] You discover a grand hall filled with legendary weapons like Mjonir and Excalibur . Each generation or so , warriors come to the hall to inherit a weapon that they are worthy enough to wield . Across the hall you see a forgotten weapon that 's been collecting dust . You hear it call to you .

It is an odd thing to hear the voices of an object. 
 The utterances can not be replayed by any human tongue. 
 Understanding is not lost, but explanation is unreachable. 
 So it is with this very story, for I am merely a cup. 
 
 Her form was unique, far from perfect and yet perfectly acceptable. 
 The hair was fair, and taught. 
 Exquisite was the word I would use for her hands. 
 This woman was perfectly adequate, I would say. 
 
 She was not simply sad. She was angry. She was mad. 
 I began joviantly proclamating my sounds and she responded in kind. 
 Well she sort of `` humphred'' actually, a low visceral grunt. 
 I showed her many wonderful things, in the voices of my former bearers. 
 
 To see her eyes swell was enough to make me shake, enough to make me ready. 
 Forget the hall, forget the tools of men, she would wield the greatest threat of all. 
 A cup full of poison, for the fools who would drink me, and all are fools before me. 
 I am sad though, for she used me valiantly, and then drank from me herself.
