Evandau notes the title and the bearing, though he finishes scrubbing a stiff-bristled brush against the slide of a pistol model once common to Sinbrilee's military. He places brush and hardware down and wipes clean his hands on a rag before stepping forward to stand a few steps beyond her.

"Avatar," he greets, waving back the two armed guards. They move ten paces back, uncomfortable but unwilling to disobey him. They are his trusted officers and trust him in return, so he has at least that in this hellish birth of his reign.

The jian being offered metaphorically stops his heart in his chest and it takes him a moment to reach for it. To accept what would have been Eshai's, had the blood not fallen where it did. Evandau has been expecting it, but his grief is still raw and difficult to manage. Accept it he does, taking a step back to clear the air so that he may draw the sword and admire it -- the scabbard bears beauty, but the blade is what takes his breath away.

"An excellent blade," he says, the admiration clear in his tone. Its sharpness gives him focus and he nods, sheathing it once more. "I shall never be without it, Avatar."