Gram was enraged when he felt himself being lowered. Not just lowered, though, jammed into the ground like some kind of stake. He was not a stake. He was a sword. Not just any sword, he was Surtr Nothung! No one stabbed him into the ground. "[i]WHAT ARE YOU DOING?![/i]" the weapon screamed, "[i]THIS IS NOT HOW YOU TREAT A SWORD![/i]" it managed to cool its temper a little when it noticed more people approaching though. More people, obviously attracted by the commotion, and he could feel their intent. An intent to kill and take by force. "[i]Now, you've got a trio of bandits coming to get you because you got me all worked up and I had to scream.[/i]" the blade began to explain, "[i]So in the future, I suggest not being so horribly moronic. For now, I suggest you ready me, that we might effortlessly slaughter these men of mayhem that approach.[/i]" he sounded much more reasonable when the threat of combat was imminent. All the sword wanted was to kill things. His desire for death was insatiable. And while he wasn't the most persuasive weapon around, he was pretty sure that he could convince someone to fight for their life when they had no other choices.

But then it occurred to him that murderous bandits were on the way. If they killed this hapless adventurer, he'd have a real killer for an owner, he'd have so many more chances at bloodshed. That seemed just as appealing. Suddenly the situation was looking up. Now he had a wielder, but if they died, he'd have a new one. Unless something silly happened, like everyone got seriously injured and then died all the way out here in the woods. If that happened, the weapon decided it would sit there and scream bloody murder until he got to participate in one. Gram chuckled and the chuckle quickly turned into a laugh. "[i]Prepare for battle, little one! Tonight, I feast![/i]" he cackled violently. Clearly this blade had some mental issues to work through. He blamed it on the years of solitary confinement and the uncontrollable bloodlust that had been forged into him. Fire and blood and death were all hammered into his very bones. Bones of precious star-metals that couldn't be unforged and reworked without the help of all the greatest smiths in the world, and another bright, and blinding star-fire to fuel the forge. Thirsty for blood and death, Surtr Nothung continued to laugh, hoping someone would die horribly and that he would be the reason for it...