Surtr wasn't sure who he had just killed. And he didn't care. It tasted blood, and as the crimson vitality boiled around him, the weapon cried out in excitement, having been fed for the first time in a long time. It was the succulent flavour of a tormented soul, the irresistible tang of violent death. The blade's warcry was terrifying, and silent. "Oh, do that again. Please? Slay another. Slice them in half, gut them like pigs, slaughter these lambs, led so far astray." he whispered into his wielder's mind. Then he heard her cries. She screamed at the one who seemed to like her. The one that wanted to help. He had everything he needed now. Nothung grinned, or would have, were a sword capable of such facial expressions. "They don't care about you." it whispered into the woman's mind. "Look at them, they think you mad. And they still don't believe you. Even as you blaze with righteous flame, they refuse to accept it." the weapon whispered louder as it spoke, encouraging the madness in his wielder. The wicked thing cackled to itself as it continued to sow unrest in the mind of its owner. "Look at them. All convinced you're weak. None of them trust you. That look in their eyes, it's not fear. Look at them. They don't trust you. They thing you're a stupid, weak little girl. Show them. Slay them all. Show them your strength. I am your friend, would I lie to you? Let me show you how strong you are. Cut them down..."

Even as he spoke, Gram grew lighter, easier to wield. But with every passing second, his power faded. Starving from going so long unblooded, trapped in a cave, the sword could only maintain its violence for so long. But if she kept killing. If this would could keep killing... Oh the things he could do for her. But these ones had to die. The blade was sure he could convince her, he just needed her to take the first few steps down the dark path. Once that was done, it would be an easy task to shove her off the cliffs of madness. Soon enough, weapon and wielder would change roles. It was never very hard. Especially with troubled individuals like this one. But he'd never converted a woman before. They had strange wills, and stranger minds. That didn't worry the weapon, but it made for a new experience. "Kill them. Kill them all. Gut them, flay them, take off their heads. Run them through, for the sakes of all the gods. Please... Let me taste them..." Surtr was not about to put up with hesitation and conversation, and other "tion"-based nonsense. It needed slaughter, it was was prepared to pull some strings and blatantly lie, and do other, more underhanded things just to taste the gore of the slain once more. This wasn't the sort of Frazettan masterpiece the sword imagined when it thought of the sort of violence it desired. But it would be sufficient, it supposed. More than that, even. A blood-soaked princess was probably more attractive than some axe-wielding barbarian anyway. Certainly, if both were standing atop a mountain of corpses, he'd pick the former. The fact that the barbarian already had an axe notwithstanding. This all hinged on his wielder actually slaying all these people, though. Dying a second death by starvation thanks to her sluggishness was not going to go over well. Though he supposed it would give him a chance to find someone more suited to the task, if she couldn't pull it off. "Kill them. Nothing but liars, cheats, and traitors. They hate you. Show them your strength." he encouraged, eager for the slaughter, even as his flames began to fade, albeit unnoticeably slowly...