Six gruesome blades forged from dwarven blood in the pits of ancient bol-Pakash. Six knives the dwarves wish never existed.
Maddoc sat amid a pile of unrecognizable corpses. Men, Dwarves, Orcs, you couldn't tell. He periodically took a stab at one with his new knife and screamed, "STOP LAUGHING AT ME!"
A dark dagger of song, forged for vengance. It shall have that vengance.
A dagger that makes the user think that he is invisible.
You pass through a woodland with a floor that seems remarkably clean of debris. Suddenly your attention is drawn to a twisted bit of wood by the trail side, a short broken twig with several stubs of branches along its length and most of the bark missing. When you reach it, the twig blurs and turns into a small brown lizard, caught in the middle of its body-twisting run. The little reptile darts away down the trail with impossible speed, no doubt magically enhanced, and is lost to sight in a moment. Now someone knows you are coming...