"Look, I need you to listen to me." The blade spoke from its place gripped in the long-de-fleshed bones of its former master. It's blade was steel, polished to a satinlike, workman's finish, with an oddly vibrant red cross-guard and grip that was so shiny that it seemed wet. Along the blade was engraved an abstract twisting coil that ended in a sharp point.
It spoke with the cadence of a used horse peddler.
"No, you're a cursed evil sword, probably thirsty for blood or souls or whatnot." The knight said, idly picking through the coin pouch that once belonged to the sword's master.
"Okay, yes. I am an evilly cursed sword. But I don't feed on blood or souls. But I am fucking starving and need your help."
" What is it then?" The knight sighed. This was not his first encounter with this sort of thing and the novelty had long since worn off. "Bile? Innocence? Fear? Plump Bavarian housefraus? Speak, fiend!"
"Fiend? I'm not even evil. The curse is evil, not me. Go ahead, detect my alignment, I won't even oppose the effort." The blade sounded offended.
The knight obliged, reasoning that he was going to have to take that precaution anyhow, and it was best to do so when the vile thing was most cooperative.
"True Neutral. Who curses a neutral sword? Much less evilly so?"
"Nevermind that. I see you have a bottle of beer there... Oh, two bottles! Oh I think we're gonna be good friends."
The knight raised a brow. "You drink alcohol?"
"No, never touch the stuff. Wouldn't be, ya know, professional-like. Nah, what I need, what I need is for you to take my blade, and just... pop the cap off that. Just pop it right off." The blade then made a "pop" sound with the mouth it didn't have. "Just like that."
"What?" The knight looked confused. Then he looked suspicious. "Is.. is this a kink?"
The sword paused for two breaths longer than was reasonable.
"Maybe? Look, I feed on the satisfaction produced by that little pop when a cap or cork comes off, all pleasant and refreshing even before you take a drink. That's all I need, and I've been waiting for three centuries down here, conversing with the cranium rats, waitin' for it. Do you know what cranium rats talk about?"
"Cheese. Cheese and world domination. They do not care at all for the simple pleasures of opening a cool, refreshing fermented beverage after a long day." The sword whispered, as if trying to hide his dealings from prying ears. "Tell ya what. If you give me that, I will improve my capacity to cause harm by a roughly 3 in 20 chance and do extra cold damage in your hand. That's a good deal right there."
The knight paused. The sword wasn't evil. It was powerful. And while all magic had its costs, sometimes those costs were just plain stupid. If faeries would make shoes in exchange for cream then why wouldn't a sword exchange power for a little ritual?
"Heck, you talked me into it. I'll even throw in detecting poisons! No extra charge. Just use me to crack into a cold one."
"What is it with you and opening beers? What kind of cursed sword feeds on removing caps and corks?"
"I used to be a bottle opener!"
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