"Ah yes sire, a bargain at any price." The grinning man passed the black sword across the counter of his shop to me. His smile betrayed his intent, as the words formed on his lips dripping with venom, the corners of his mouth turning just ever so slightly upward. He knew the sword, knew it's curse, and he had sold the blade countless times.
My hand grasped the hilt and the feeling was instant, perfectly balanced, the cool leather grip succumbed to my finger's lightest touch. A mild vibration ran up the length of my arm as I took the blade fully into my posession, a sinister glint passed over the shopkeeper's eyes as he awaited my reaction.
I provided none. A sword that held the power to slay any enemy, overcome any challenge I may face, only it eats away at the morale? A perfect blade for a deaf man. The shopkeeper's face slumped for a moment and then radiated with a genuine smile as he realized. I left the small shop with a grin, setting out to conquer my destiny.

"You mother was a hamster, and your father smelt of elderberries!"

"For once in my life, can you SHUT UP?!"

>Hi there. The name's Johnathan Grikks. And my sword hates me.

"YOU SWING LIKE A INFANT!"

"No I don't, asshole!"

The man slashes at the throat of his oponent, causing them to choke on their own blood.

"And your aim sucks more then you mother does on a daily basis!"

"I WILL THROW YOU IN THE OCEAN IF YOU WON'T STOP."

>Incase you couldn't tell, my sword LOVES to insult me. As it turns out, it's a pretty well known sword for that specific reason.

The man screams in frustration, repeatedly slamming the sword into a rock that just splits on every impact.

"You call yourself a warrior?! Your grip feels like that of a little girl!"

"JUST SHUT UP FOR FIVE SECONDS!!"

>I'd say the hatred is pretty mutual. However...

The man stands atop the head of a dragon's corpse, bloodied and cut.

"What was that, a mosquito?! Why'd you take so long?!"

"...I'm just gonna take that one as a compliment... partner."

>It's still a pretty dependable blade.

"You smell of cheese and urine!"

>Still hate it though.

"What should I make for dinner?" mused Kyle as he idly surveyed the carnage surrounding him. Every separated limb, every slice, every stab was a clean one; Double Edge was rightly known as the sharpest of all the sentient blades.

"That took ten times longer than it had to you sheep-loving cretin," the sword said as it began its tirade. "You strike with the force of a small child and you waste your energy over pointless maneuvering," the sword continued, building on what would be today's theme: why Kyle's swordsmanship sucks. It was a common theme.

Kyle surveyed his surroundings as he began to walk. He hoped to make a village by tonight and sleep in a real bed. He grinned as he walked and listened to the sword's tirade, laughing at the more colorful and vulgar insults the sword hurled at him. "Dumber than mud f*cked by goblins is your best one," Kyle interrupted. Before the sword could respond to this, Kyle continued: "Anyway, you miss the point of my style completely."

"Your style? YOUR STYLE?!" exploded the sword. "I am the mightiest and keenest of all the sentient blades! I can cut through an ancient dragon's scales like parchment and no magic can ever break my blade!" Kyle was pretty sure Double Edge would be frothing at the mouth if it had one. His grin broadened as he listened to the sword rail on. "And yet despite all of my might, you insist on only striking weak points. You parry when you could just cleave through their blades. You strike too soft to break a shield I could cut through with ease!"

"Well, yeah, I do that on purpose," responded Kyle. "But there's no reason to is my point," snarled the sword. "There are, my friend! Three, in fact. One: I want to be a genuinely skilled swordsman without relying on a blade to be my strength. Two: The extended time it takes me to gain an opening to strike those weak points is good for my physical conditioning. Three,' here Kyle's eyes took on a mischievous gleam and he finished; "I know it insults your pride and bruises your ego to no end."

Kyle let out a roaring laugh as the sword renewed its tirade with a vitriol reserved only for the worst of enemies; or the best of friends. Kyle let the sword's invective fade into the background as he returned to his musing on tonight's meal. The sword's verbal rampage came to an end. "I guess you ARE skilled," the sword grumbled. Kyle chuckled. "But you're still dumber than mud f*cked by goblins!"

The battle that had been raging around me for the last hour was finally nearing its gruesome conclusion. The last of the goblins trembled on his knees before me. The sharp copper blade on my legendary sword, “Double Edge”, glistened in the sun despite the grime and goblin blood encrusting it. It is the strongest, sharpest sword known in all of Edoch, and you’ll hear songs of it in every tavern from coast to coast. It has taken the lives of many creatures, both good and evil, since its creation by The Blacksmith Bard himself 300 years ago. It not just an immaculate killing machine; it’s enchanted to enhance its owner’s prowess in battle by tenfold.

It also won’t shut the fuck up.

“The standards for knights these days are appallingly low. Aren’t you embarrassed? This would’ve ended 30 minutes ago if you could see your own prick past your gut, you fat fuck,” my sword bellowed, loudly enough to be heard across the entire battlefield if not into the village. Knowing the truth in its words, my traveling party erupted into laughter. Even the doomed goblin spent his last seconds chuckling.

“Oh fuck you, Dub,” I muttered.

Anything more only encourages the abuse, and in the 3 months since I paid a crying orc 6 coppers for it (which in retrospect should’ve been suspicious), Dub has already ruined my once proud reputation. It told anyone who would listen about my irritable bowels, small member, and peculiar masturbation habits. I made the mistake of bringing it with me on my last visit to my mother, and I will not repeat the vile things it said of her.

While my family calls me Hector, I used to be known in town as “Sir Quicksplit” for my dexterity with the blade; I’m a fierce warrior even without Dub’s enchantments, and I WAS a knight well respected in all circles of society. After hearing Dub’s stories of my last bout of intestinal distress, my comrades have taken his suggestion of addressing me as “Sir Quickshit”. From his scabbard on my fine leather belt, he announces my every erection to all within earshot. I’ve been told that even the ladies of polite society sometimes refer to me as “Little Hector Erector”. Ironically, wielding a legendary, enchanted sword has the same devastating effects on my reputation as it has on my foes.

I am a sight to behold when wielding Double Edge. I slice through flesh effortlessly, slinging blood off its impeccable copper blade across the battlefield. I dance among my foes, decapitating and maiming them before they even consider striking. Fear fills the eyes of all who gaze upon me as I glide among the bodies, some dead and the rest soon to be dead, once ending the lives of 6 foes with one forceful swing. Until Dub shouts something like “Jab it in them! The gods know the maidens will never let you jab them with that forest of hair hiding your cock” or “his mother shall be wailing the way you did when Seraphina took her leave of you- you know she lies with Sir Thrasher now, right?”. I walk away from the battlefield victorious, only to walk into taverns to hear bards playing the song Dub wrote:

“Sir Hector Erector, strong and quick,

So fat he cannot find his prick,

Near the privvy he must stay,

Lest he shit his britches away,

The maidens will not pay him mind,

And so his hand must pass his time

Double Edge longs for a worthier touch

Are you the next to suck this much? ”

I attempted to sell my glorious yet terrible sword to the local trader, but as soon as he heard Dub’s voice viciously mocking “Sir Quickshit Slowbrain” for being foolish enough to think we would part, he backed out of the sale. I offered my fine blade as a gift, but no one would receive it lest they become the next pariah. I tried to abandon it on the battlefield, but when I returned to my hut, I found a gaping hole in my roof and Double Edge planted firmly in my bed. It seems I’ll be the wielder of Edoch’s finest weapon for years to come. Fuck.

“Hey hey hey, woah, buddy. Hold on a second!” Edgy implores me, afraid. For the first time in the year I’ve had him, he’s afraid.

“Why? Why should I? Why, after everything, do you expect me to value your opinion?”

“Just hold on a second there. Look; if you kill yourself with me, I’ll be distraught! I may never get over the trauma of–”

I pull him back to plunge him through my stomach, but freeze when he changes tack.

“Okay! Okay! Message received; no more flippantly narcissistic comments!”

“Well,” I say, breathing heavily, “we seem to be at a crossroads, Edge.”

“Yeah. We do.”

“So what should I do?”

“Well, you could start by putting me down…?”

“Why?”

“Well, because killing yourself isn’t really a great idea–”

“No. That’s not what I meant,” I interject. “Why do you care?”

Edgy’s grip ices just slightly, but I’ve wielded him long enough to notice when he’s been caught out. He doesn’t speak, though.

“Why do you care if I live or die?”

Still silence.

“WHY DO YOU CARE!?” I yell, spittle flying, at the motionless blade, still threatening to impale myself upon him.

There’s a long pause. A long, long pause. After enough time has passed, and I know his outlook, I steady my hand again, and–

“Because I do,” Edgy says, quietly. “Because I care about you.”

“What?” I breathe, stunned.

“I care about you, Toby. I always have.”

“Oh, you’re taking the piss now,” I say, but don’t make a move with my hands.

“Okay, maybe not always, I’ll admit,” he says, shakily, “but for a long time now. I don’t know why I treated you like I did for so long. I don’t know why I let you– I don’t know why I pushed you to where you are now. But I’m sorry.”

“You are?” I ask, and tears well in my eyes.

“Yes,” Edge says. “I am. I really am.”

I drop him, stumbling backwards on shaky legs, staring at his gleaming blade, and he clatters to the ground.

“Ow! Hey! Idiot, get back here! Pick me back up!”

I let out a loose chuckle, which grows into a shaky laugh, and then into a fit of elated giggles.

“Okay,” I say, in between breaths, “but only if you do one thing for me.”

“What?”

“Say please,” I say.

And for the first time in the last year, I feel… happy.

I have something.

I have a friend.

There had been much debate as to whether the sword could be tried for the string of deaths of its owners. They were all technically suicides but it’s clear Double Edge’s bullying caused them all.

“The sword is clearly sapient!” the crown’s prosecutor argued.

“But the crown’s laws all specify ‘man’, not sapient creature. This court has no authority over a blade.”

“Probably written that way because so many men are less than sapient.” the sword chimed in.

In the end, the court decided it had no authority to try the blade for its crimes but noted that the blade did not have any legal protections either.

So the crown’s officers of the law decided to destroy the blade. They subjected it to smashing between massive stones.

“Oh yeah, that’s it! Reminds me of the time I did your moms!”

“Really guys, strongest blade in existence and you think a couple boulders can dull me? When men say they’re ‘hard as a rock’, they usually mean their penises, not their heads.”

Finally, the chief of the crown’s law, Lord Archibald Lester, whose first name and lack of hair the blade had made numerous swipes at, gave up on destroying the blade and chose to have it disposed of instead. He tasked his head butler’s son, Erian, with taking the blade to the cliffs and dropping it from the ledge. A simple task he could entrust to even this young and unskilled man.

Erian had grown up a servant of the Lester family. When Archibald’s father died and Archibald became patriarch, things changed for young Erian. Archibald’s father was an understanding, even tempered, and even arguably kind man. Archibald was none of these things. He did not accept excuses performance below his standards. Even good ones like “I’m nine and no one ever taught me how to cook so I don’t know how”. Archibald had resented Erian ever since that moment now four years past. However, Erian’s father, Rowan, was a valued servant so he couldn’t simply dispose of the boy, opting to send him on trivial errands instead.

Erian, now 13, was thrilled to receive such an important task as disposing of a legendary blade. He saw it as a chance to prove his worth to his Lord. He eagerly accepted, stocked on supplies for the two week long trip there and back, and set off, too excited to even mention to his friends that he would be gone.

“Hey half-pint, smooth out your steps a bit. It’s bumpy on your scrawny shoulders.”

“Huh? Who said that?”

“Oh great, the half-pint is a half-wit too. Me, Double Edge, the only one on your shoulders.”

“You can talk?! A blade can talk?! I must let Lord Archibald know! This will surely change his mind!”

“And you’ve been downgraded to a quarter-wit. Good job. The old fart knows. That’s why he’s getting rid of me.”

“Hmm… I suppose Lord Archibald doesn’t like when people talk back to him. Father always reminds me to keep silent and nod in his presence so he won’t get rid of me.”

“Okay, you’ve been upgraded to third-wit.”

“You’re rather rude for a blade, Mr. Sword.”

“And back down to quarter-wit. But you had a good run. My name is Double Edge and how would you know what’s rude for a blade if you’ve never heard one speak before?”

“I take it back. You’re very rude in general. Though I figure since most blades don’t talk at all, they’re not rude at all so by saying anything rude, you instantly become one of the rudest blades.”

“Huh, that’s actually a fair point. Okay, back to third-wit.”

“Thank you. So you’re really getting thrown off a cliff just for being rude?”

“I thought we already established that. Being rude and… maybe some results thereof.”

“Seems a little unfair to me. Do you at least have a last request I can grant?”

“Hah, last? I’ll be back. A simple toss off a cliff wont even scratch me. But if you’re taking requests… don’t throw me off a cliff.”

“Sorry, I don’t think I can grant that request. But you’re really that strong?”

“Of course I am. I’m the strongest and sharpest blade there is, both in edge and… edge. That’s why they call me Double Edge!”

“If you’re that powerful, can I—”

“Yes, I will let you try me out. Go cut that tree in half and see how it feels. With any luck, I’ll at least have company over the cliff.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Try me out!”

So Erian did. He found his weak young arms were able to easily cleave through the sturdy elm before him. The power was intoxicating. He forgot about his journey and spent most of the day making a clearing in the forest before he finally got tired and made camp for the night.

“What do you think? Pretty fun, right? I can teach you how to use me in battle too.”

“It was amazing! But I know how to fight already. My friends and I duel like knights all the time.”

“What were we at? Third-wit? Not anymore, quarter-wit. Fighting with a blade like me is nothing like hitting your friends with sticks. For one thing, you don’t have to worry about being blocked when your blade can cut through theirs.”

“You can cut through other blades?!”

“Indeed I can. Let’s spend a few days in the forest here and I’ll make a proper duelist out of you.”

To be continued.

"Man, you are ugly. You're definitely staying single for life with that face." My sword pretended to gag as I wiped blood off my brow. My short black hair drenched ruby red in the sunlight. I whipped my blade covered in blood as it scattered onto the grass.

"You missed a spot. Also, you handle a sword like a toddler." I've had this sword for a couple years now. I bought it for only a few copper. I thought it was an amazing deal seeing that it looked like an amazing weapon. The sword edge shined deep red in a way that made it look unique. I could sense its power within.

"I'm honestly surprised you made it this far."

I was curious why it was cheap. The guy looked really desperate to get rid of it. When I took the sword home. It was silent like any other blade. That lasted about two days. I still remember the first words it spoke to me. I was going to cut a roast from a boar I just recently hunted. I cooked it under a fire while camping out. "You. You better not be thinking about what I think your thinking. I am not a cooking knife. Put me down right now." I stopped reminiscing, returning to the present.

"If it wasn't for me, these orcs would have slaughtered you and ate you for breakfast the next day." I ignored him as I walked over the mangled dead bodies of orcs scattered around me like fresh leaves shaken from a tree.

"You smell like orc shit." That time I laughed.

"Why you laughing?!" The sword asked offended.

"Because I'm wondering how a sword can even smell."

The sword went silent a moment.

"I don't need to smell to know you smell of orc shit."

"Touche." I said calmly while trying to withhold a giggle. The sword sighed.

"You are no fun. Out of all the owners I had, you are the only one that can take my insults calmly without any reactions."

"I want a new owner." The sword said begrudgingly.

I smiled condescendedly.

"Unfortunately for you, you're stuck with me since no one can handle your snide remarks...except me."

"Grr." The sword grunted in reply while I laughed harder.

"You got another 3 orcs on your six. You better not embarrass me again." I turned around and glanced at the orcs that slowly approached me. They looked at their dead brethren before glaring at me.

Roar! They charged at me seeking blood and vengeance as well as honor and glory.

"Your posture is wrong! Spread your legs and bend your knees. How many times do I have to say this?!" I did as I was told.

"To your left you buffoon." I swung at an angle as an orc brought an axe down to my left. I redirected the axe so that it fell beside me. The sword glowed green as a wind gust increased the momentum of the axe. It got stuck into the ground. I aimed for his neck as he tried to pull it out. A clean slice. A head flew.

"Hey, watch it! I might be the most powerful sword in existence but glancing an axe still makes me uncomfortable. It's like getting felt up by a stranger." The sword vibrated from the powerful contact.

I span 360 degrees and used my momentum to kick the falling head at the next orc to my right. The orc who was in mid swing with a wild hail maker punch growled as it eyes widened as the head flew true and hit him right in the face. The orc stumbled backwards as it became blind from the blood of his people.

"Hahahaha now that was brilliant!" The sword shined in a blue glow as an ice blade shot out of it and cut the orc in half.

"Oh I think that's the first compliment you have ever given me."

"Shut up! Behind you!"

I flipped the sword in a backwards grip and stabbed behind me. I tilted my body as a sword flew and cut off a strand of my hair on the way down. I felt flesh as my talking sword sunk into the orcs gut. I turned swiftly and pulled—the orcs head flying a moment later. I took a breath to recollect myself.

"Never. I mean never. Stab me in an orcs gut again. It was bloody disgusting. You better give me a good wipe down later."

"Sure thing buddy."

"Hmph!"

I glanced at the dead bodies one last time before gathering all their teeth before making my way back to the adventurers guild. My task accomplished...

This new warrior simply confounded Double Edge. As he had stepped into the dark, pitiful looking shop, his eyes gleamed with interest as he spotted Double Edge, peering out from his dark purple hood. Eager, he paid the depressed man behind the counter the full price, without any bartering even attempted, simply pulling out a purse of coppers and counting it out, no questions asked.

That had been weeks ago. The new warrior was incredibly solitary, and Double Edge had not seen civilization since their time back in that dank, wretched store built into the alley of a city. Double Edge had waited until they'd left the city to begin their typical games; endless insults and roasts of the new owner. They didn't want to be returned to the store too quickly this time, after all. The previous owner didn't even last a day, and you simply haven't lived until you've tormented someone throughout the night with mockery.

However, as Double Edge glowed lightly and began with the usual, "Ha, and so another worthless fool believes they can handle me! None can handle the Double Edge!", the hooded man only glanced at them and continued onward down the forest path they were on.

This continued for quite a while. No matter what Double Edge said or brought up, no matter what insults, curses, or what have you they tried, nothing seemed to faze their new owner. The swordsman was quite skilled, and very quiet, slashing through monsters, bandits, and anything else in their way without much but a slight smile on their face.

Double Edge was enraged! Weeks now and the swordsman hardly seemed to notice them! Many has tried their best to ignore them before, but they never lasted this long! Just how was this purple-clad fool able to remain sane!?

Days later, the swordsman was approaching a hut out in the mountains. Knocking on the door, it was soon answered by a man Double Edge recognized. One of its previous owners. This one had lasted about a week before tossing them on the side of the road. The man and the newer owner seemed to know each other, smiling and waving at each other. The older owner noticed a new weapon at their friend's side and gestured to it. The purple swordsman smiled and held Double Edge in front of them. The man's eyes widened, and seconds later, he was, frankly, laughing his ass off. Tears streamed down his face as he cackled and laughed.

Furious, Double Edge said, "Silence, you piss-poor warrior! It's a shame enough I have to even see your face again! Why are you laughing so!?" Struggling to answer, the man eventually said, "M-my friend here, heheh.. he's DEAF! He hasn't been able to hear a word you've said to him, hahaha! He can read lips well, but...heehee, you don't have any, you fool!" The purple swordsman stood in shock and surprise, only now knowing about Double Edge's true nature. However, much to Double Edge's anger, he decided to keep the sword; both due to its usefulness, and to keep it from insulting others.

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