So a guy walks into a bar with the Glaive in one hand and a penguin in the other.
The bartender says, "Hey, we don't want any trouble, mister," at which point the Glaive shoots forth and slits the bartender's throat, spins around the room menacingly, and returns to the guy's hand.
As the bartender dies he says, "Why? Why?" and the penguin says, "It is I who controls the Glaive."