"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!"