The Writer glimpsed it in his journeys through the various hells, but he paid no heed to it. His tale was about the afterlife and the punishments therein, not the arms and armor of the Darkness.
The grave robber grinned as he left the royal barrow, his pockets full of stolen gold, and dressed in a helmet and chainmail shirt stolen from the now naked, decomposing body of the king. The explosion that followed ten seconds after he stepped into the sunlight wiped the smile from his face and blew his body into pieces. Had he studied metallurgy, he would have known that the armour was made of pure Orthacarium and he would have left it alone, and escaped the barrow with his life.
You wake in a pub and see that it's full of were creatures, and they're all staring at you with a scared look on their faces. As you continue on into the pub you look at your arm. You notice that your arm is covered in thick brown hair. As you continue on into the pub you look in a mirror, and staring back at you is a 7 foot werebear. As you continue into the pub people start to shy away form you. Once you go the bar you ask the weretigress that's the bartender and begin to ask her why everyone is shying away from you, and she begins ro tell you why.