The Somewhat Tedious Life of a Sword Life of a Sword

You ever think to yourself, I sure do wish I had no legs, hands, feet, or any way to move other than someone else picking you up and lugging you around like luggage? If your answer was no I can only wonder why the hell not? I can tell you from experience being in the grip of a sweaty palm constantly slashing, piercing, and most of all thrusting into meat bags only to feel their wet sticky substance all over your body is quite refreshing. Forget water or rain, the true luxury of life is the revolting texture of blood

Being someone's tool is by far the best possible way to live. It’s boring, pointless, and far too demeaning to ever think about silly thoughts like dreams,ambitions, or moving. I am lucky enough to sit in a single spot for long periods of time unable to change up the scenery, truly that would be just awful to be able to do that. Some people might say I’m being sarcastic or disingenuous and to those people I can confidently say, no shit. You must be the most gifted fuck in your entire race to have caught on to that you ingenious bastard. Honestly I don’t know what gave me away, was it the revolting part? Or maybe it was the thing I said about hands and feet?

I'm getting ahead of myself, it's possible you don't know anything and everything has just gone over your head so let's start at the beginning. It all started with this narcissistic prick called the All-father.

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