Possessed

Malcolm’s claymore hungered for world domination, Malcolm was sure of it. Malcolm didn’t, mind you (it was Malcolm’s policy not to hunger for anything besides food, and then only when he was hungry), but the sword definitely did. Malcolm could tell be the way it gleamed, by the way it seemed lighter during battle, by the way it never seemed to rust or lose its edge (not that that kept Malcolm from sharpening it daily).

He’d tried to explain all this to Wee Bobby, but the old goat just gave him a funny look and told him he’d taken one too many knocks to the head. This was, of course, true, but it didn’t stop Malcolm from insisting that the damn thing was possessed. Furthermore, Malcolm insisted, that demon sword was going to drive him mad if he didn’t get rid of it. Of course, Fast Willy made a crack about how they probably wouldn’t notice -- which really wasn’t all that funny, but the way Fast Willy said it had half the bar spilling their beers. This got Malcolm all kinds of mad though and he actually got out his claymore. At this point, the others all agreed that perhaps he should get rid of the sword after all.

So, after a few more drinks, Malcolm, Fast Willy, Wee Bobby, and a big man that everyone called Ferret (although no one, not even Ferret, could remember why) headed out on the moors to give the sword a proper burial. It was agreed that they should bury the sword at a crossroads, seeing as how that was what you did with evil swords (at least according to Wee Bobby), but none of them thought to bring a shovel, and since it was still early march, the frozen ground was too hard to dig in anyway, so Ferret suggested that instead they should throw it in the pond next to the crossroads, and everyone enthusiastically agreed that this was close enough.

Malcolm was sad to see his sword go, but they assured him that there were other, less evil swords out there. Then Wee Bobby suggested that Malcolm show any new swords to him so that that he could make sure they weren’t cursed, and everyone else enthusiastically agreed. After that, they all headed back to the bar, except for Ferret who stuck around long enough to fish the sword out of the pond (and damn near froze his fingers off in the process). He eventually sold it for a pretty penny (of course, when Fast Willy found out, he made him give him half).

Malcolm spent the next few days looking for a replacement sword, but was disheartened to learn that every sharp metal object in the county was apparently under a terrible curse. Malcolm started getting suspicious eventually, so Wee Bobby called his friend who was a priest in a neighboring town and had him personally bestow upon Malcolm the greatest weapon the land had ever known, the mighty (wooden) Spoon of St Andrew.

From then on, Malcolm always referred to himself as Malcolm, Lord of the Spoon. Everyone else just called him Malcolm the Mad.