[i]Fenrir's smile remained as he extended his left hand, a ball of blue fire coalescing there. It elongates into the hilt, guard and blade of a massive greatsword. It has runes etched into the blades midsection. His other hand is coated in the same blue flame.[/i] "[b]I simply grow angry when others presume my motivations, my demons, or my goals. Also, my apologies, but I [i]do[/i] wield such a blade. It has been with me...since before I was what I am. It was there with me when I became that which I am.[/b]" [i]His smile had dropped since he began to reminisce. He trailed off, lost in thought and memory, but then shook his head.[/i] "[b]My apologies. As for your questioning of my attitude, at my age, I feel I have earned the right to that. I've done enough, seen enough, and experienced enough to be able to speak my mind.[/b]" [i]He procured from the inner pocket of his jacket a leather bag. From it, he took a whetstone and some honing oil.[/i] "[b]However, unbreakable does not mean ageless and forever sharp. I still need to take time and burn out the imperfections, sharpen the blade. Much like myself, I would think.[/b]"